Rural education is supposed to be Bush League.

Top of the morning gents,

I absolutely love mornings.

Hangovers, whining kids, noisy farm animals, and loud trams and trolleys don’t make a shit of difference: mornings are the best time to “spend your guitar or your pen.” (P. Townsend)

I’ve tried to sit at the computer and write in the evenings, but it ain’t the same: too many parts of my brain are up and running, inhibiting my creativity and free range of language.

The same rule applies to your first response to multiple-choice (multiple-guess) questions on your exams you’ve just finished rolling up and smoking. Your first answer is most likely the correct answer and second-guessing yourself after 2 hours of testing, reviewing smarter logic with a fatigued brain, is dumber than stepping out of the shower to take a fucking piss.

By now you can tell that my most amusing works are my first works. Inflammatory tirades and caustic rants about issues that really piss me off.

By day’s end, I’m much calmer and sensible typing articles about never seeing $50 a barrel oil again or how meth is exhausted through the skin because the kidneys and liver are incapable of removing it from your blood, hence speed bumps, meth zits, and crank bugs. Ya see, analogous to congeners, when it comes to meth, we’re all natives. No ethnic group has yet been able assimilate and digest the toxic byproducts associated with bathtub crank vitamin distillation and speed cooked nutrients.

You also heard me bitch and moan about the abysmally low wages paid to teachers in rural Alaska, but our current roster of teachers don’t deserve higher wages. Our children deserve better teachers with much higher salaries. Merely giving our current teachers raises won’t make a shit of difference; the best and the brightest have already been culled from the herd.

What I admire most about the private schools my siblings enjoyed, was the caliber of teachers: well dressed, well educated professors, instead of screaming low wage caliber public school cunts. Teachers earn what they’re worth, educators earn what they’re worth: 2 separate job descriptions and requirements. You get what you pay for.

Simply giving our current roster of rural teachers raises is foolish and akin to putting frosting on a turd. To revamp our current system, I suppose we’ll need to revamp our notion of what constitutes a professor, thus overstepping our current crisis of mediocrity.

This may account for me paps and grandpaps loathe of teachers and nurses.

My dad and grandpa have many mottos to live by. Like a landlord’s bible of proverbs, I can parrot dozens of phrases and mantras that are ethnically and financially specific. One phrase I’ve been known to recite was, “It’s important to always to lie well, honesty is the highest form of respect, and very few people deserve it.”

“Never pay more than 6 years rents, and you only make your money when you purchase real property, not when you sell it.”

And the clincher, “Never rent to teachers or nurses.”

These bits of advice coming from a two wise landlords: over the ages of 70, and 90, respectively.

The reason nurses and teachers get paid so little is because they’re teachers and nurses and more often than not, they’re naïve coddling women that don’t have, or choose to neglect and loathe children and domiciles of their own.

Altruism has no home. It’s a veiled spectacle only for public consumption. The measure of a human lies in the examination of the tidiness of their own backyard similar to miserable Heeb wisdom, “Don’t borrow trouble, mind your own business.” Meaning, the world only improves if we tend to our own sanitary happiness and quit trying to save the natives, or fuss about our neighbor’s trash filled and garbage cluttered back yards.

Public school teachers have starting salaries that could conceivably be considered below poverty. With a public education industry and teachers unions structured around normal people, we have to accept it’s inherent outcomes mirroring regression toward its norm.

This paradigm is how we arrived at our current suffering and unyielding mediocrity, extraordinary talent has no place within the intellectually restrictive confines of our current model of public schooling, public toilets, public assistance and public housing. Hence brilliant educators make no sense and have no place. Extraordinary talent is best harvested in other industries and may explain their glaring non-existent nonsense in the context of our current model under scrutiny heretofore.

Bang for the buck is a quantitative maxim, fuck qualitative analysis; meaning quantity trumps quality daily. If you think your goddamn kid is a genius, why subject him to teachers, subjects, and advancement based on an average IQ hovering down near 100?

Besides, learning to read, write, and combine like variables and shuffle them across the ‘equal sign’ is merely a means to learning to learn.

We have an obligation to teach our children to learn: a task far beyond the abilities of an overstressed and overcrowded classroom led by an overpaid, yet unqualified product of just such a process.

You know something? Our dumb kids deserve dismal teachers, cuz if we completely restructured our education system, we’d be forced to hire educators.

Shun the thought. Who wants to hire a smart-ass engineer or physician or playwright to teach our kids? You ever see the salaries those fuckers receive?

Water seeks its own level and the quality of personnel we’re willing pay for is pert near right at the high water mark we’ve grown accustomed to; really cheap and a lot of bang for the buck. To insure the kind of absurd bilingual and bicultural education all of ice niggers desire, we have to accept the mutually excluded extra-cultural epistemologies of thought in return for Inupiaq studies.

There’s only 5 hours of student teacher contact, it’s far cheaper to teach our kids middle class topics with middle class teachers. Genius ain’t ever pretty, but he demands inordinate wages and sure looks good in a suit and tie.

A Buddhist monk once told me that the moment I realize the world is in a state of perfection exactly as I found it, I’ll have reached my full quid.

You may gripe about our rural school systems, but it’s the best you all can afford. None of you can afford a proper education for your children; hence your own upward immobility also serves to retard your children accordingly. I know what you all make; you can’t afford $30K per child, per year to attend private schools. Now you understand why rich kids will always be rich, they earn the top wages because they’re smarter than your kids.

You can call me many things, but I’ve never heard any of you call my theories obtuse or asymptotic. Ye reap what ye sew. Working class proletariat children come from working class proletariat parents.

The parents that break their backs and banks to better educate their children are extraordinary and not normal. You’ll likely find them adhering to a higher standard, likely out of sight and out of earshot, but just 2 standard deviations away.

Karl.

When it comes to meth, we're all natives.

Top of the morning gents,

As parents, we're such dorks. We thought we were so
cool to sneak out to the goats' barn, rabbit hutch, or
the tackle shop to spark up a doobie or choke down a
fatty. Fuck, I wish our rural drug problems were as
simple and relatively non-addictive as smoking a joint
with the Big Lebowsky, or Willie Nelson.

My old boss Trooper Tyler used to laugh and only wish
he could return to the days of chasing stoned hippies
across wheat fields. "Arresting spics, niggers, and
chiefs on speed is just too dangerous." "All them
fuckers are carrying."

Bowman once scolded me to ignore my neighborhood
grow-ops and "focus on the powders." He once lectured
Bleicher and I that if Mat-Su Narcotics wanted bud,
"we can grow our own!"

"I want to see some warrants for cocaine and crystal
meth sales god dammit!"

This scared me, cuz it meant I had to hang out and
party with filthy bikers like the Carlsons, Jim Bob,
Raw (Johnny) Hyde, and the Dinardo turds. These sick
fucks lived on crystal meth, cocaine, nicotine and
alcohol, just 250 yards up from the Chief's moonshine
hideout. Nice neighborhood, lots of GSW's and knife
wounds.

Weed was smoked around the clock like cigarettes, but
my bosses wanted 'hard drug busts.' Besides, pot is so
weak.

Looking back at our last 20 years of narc work
together, I see my supervisors' logic. Booze is the
big time Indun killer and associated with every
goddamn service request you ever responded to, but
Meth simply kills EVERYBODY.

Quit now while yer ahead. You coppers don't have a
clue what's rumbling beyond the horizon. If you think
bootleggers and 6-pack bud dealers gave you grief,
you're in for a heartbreak.

I ain't denying that our best fucking drug customers
are Natives slinging welfare dineros, Regional Corpse
checks, and Alaska PFD drunk checks, but this meth
epidemic is killing good honest white folks just as
effectively.

Since nobody cares about drunken ice niggers, I didn't
either. But now we have children of all colors
destroying themselves and I find this upsetting.

Instead bitching, I did what I do best: I write about
it.

Here's another Meth submittal, scary shit hombres.

Karl.

---

Briefing on the explosion of Methamphetamine use in
the Pacific Northwest and Alaska.

Meth abuse has been nearly a century in the making.


No one can pinpoint the exact day methamphetamine, one
of the most potent and destructive drugs known, first
crossed Alaska's borders.

But it has been lurking here for decades.

Most likely, illegal speed (crystal, crank, zip,
go-fast, trailer park dust) first came to Alaska on
the roaring wheels of biker gangs in the 1960s or
'70s, Anchorage and Fairbanks police say. It stayed in
and around the biker community, which had a stronghold
on the trade.

It wasn't until the '80s that meth — now in a more
potent form and more easily made —began to gain real
popularity.

Narcotics detectives around the state were busy
battling cocaine, the scourge of the '80s, when users
started turning to meth as a lower-priced alternative.
Meth was soon dubbed the "poor man's cocaine."

"The trouble is, there were labs done quite some time
ago, but they were not recognized as labs," said Tim
Bleicher, now an investigator with the Alaska’s
Statewide Drug Enforcement who was a narcotics
detective with the Mat-Su Drug Taskforce at the time
meth emerged as a drug problem in the mid-1980s.

In those days, narcotics detectives would ask their
informants and field agents about the trade of the
drugs they were all familiar with — cocaine, crack,
heroin, but not meth.

"If you don't look for it, you just don't find it,"
Bleicher said. "No one ever thought to ask about speed
or crank."

In 1987, a 47-year-old man associated with the Hells
Angels was arrested while making meth in Lynnwood,
Washington. In his rental home was the country's first
recorded home based meth lab in the Northwest.

Amphetamine was first synthesized in Germany, in 1887.
Methamphetamine, a purer form, has been around since
it was discovered by a Japanese scientist in 1919.

Meth — legally made as Desoxyn — is part of the larger
family of drugs that includes amphetamine (Benzedrine)
and dextroamphetamine (Dexadrine).

Amphetamine came into common usage after Los Angeles
research chemist Gordon Alles discovered in 1927 that
it could be used to treat dementia, siezures, and
respiratory illnesses as a replacement for other drugs
then in short supply.

That discovery would later be described in a 1971
report to the U.S. House of Representatives as "a
Frankensteinian-type monster over which we seemingly
have no control."

In 1965, possession of nonprescription amphetamines
became illegal and the number of clandestine labs
began to grow.

But meth stayed mainly around the biker gangs and
their associates until 1980, when the federal
government regulated a key ingredient known as
phenyl-2-propane.

With amphetamines growing more scarce cocaine use
started to rise again.

Meth cooks soon found different recipes, using
ephedrine and pseudoephedrine as key ingredients. The
new recipes also proved to be easier and made a more
potent form of meth known as Hitler Speed, NAZI Crank
and D-meth.

By 1989, it was the third most popular drug in the
county behind marijuana and cocaine.

Today, its use has exploded in the Northwest Arctic
and North Slope Boroughs and around the country,
sucking thousands of users into a black hole of
addiction, poverty and despair.

Meth is different from other street drugs in its
toxicity and its relatively low cost.

· The materials used to make the drug are toxic and
flammable.
· The drug itself is so toxic that it cannot be
processed by the kidneys and eventually will try to
work itself out of the body through the skin, creating
sores, in popular street parlance: speed bugs, crank
blisters, and meth zits.

The addiction rate for meth is staggering.

· It is estimated that 40 to 45 percent of first-time
users become addicted to the drug.
· For those not addicted the first time, 80 to 85
percent of those trying the drug a second time become
addicted.

Meth treatment is difficult and success rates are low,
estimated between six and ten percent. Because the
effects of the drug are so long lasting, it can take
over four weeks (the standard time for in-patient drug
treatment) just to get the drugs out of the body.
Treatment efforts can only really begin after this
period of time.

There is no pharmacological treatment for meth
addiction. Treatment centers simply try to keep the
recovering addict safe and protected. Then they begin
a long-term rehabilitation program to develop healthy
coping mechanisms for lethargy and anxiety.

“Withdrawal symptoms can last up to 18 months,” said
counselor Grahek, who added that due to the intensive
care and treatment necessary with Meth addiction,
Lakeside Recovery of North Seattle, Washington only
has the capacity to work with up to 20 recovering Meth
addicts at a time, and currently has a waiting list
for their program. Alaska’s leading recovery center,
Charter North located in Anchorage, Alaska, doesn’t
offer recovery and treatment programs designated
specifically to treat such an insidious disorder as
Meth addiction.


Many states Attorney Generals feel that Meth is one of
the worse threats facing their communities. In short,
they are alarmed; they feel this may be one of the
biggest threats and challenges they face.

Meth, because it is so highly addictive, is a very
real, imminent threat to those who try it. Because of
its super addictive nature, many who try it just once
become hooked. Some experts believe that just one use
can change how the brain operates -- can change the
chemicals the brain produces. Meth literally destroys
those who use it.

Countless street crimes are caused by addicts seeking
to make a quick score. America needs a more
comprehensive and aggressive approach to address this
growing threat.

Those who are hooked on the drug are a threat. They
are a threat to their next victims and they are a
threat to officers on the street (many of those
involved in officer attacks/assaults are on drugs when
they fight).

Meth labs are a threat to those in and around the
production of the drug in clandestine labs scattered
through communities across America (increasingly
including children, neighbors and first responders).

The criminal drug trade in general -- and
Methamphetamine in particular -- are a very profitable
criminal activity and it is attracting the interest,
backing and active support of organized crime and
international drug cartels.

“There is no doubt that control of precursors will
lead to new or old variant syntheses,” says City
University of New York pharmacologist John P. Morgan.
“If the curtailment of [pseudoephedrine] works, such
success will be temporary. Another method of
manufacture or other supply will be found.”

“According to the Drug Enforcement Administration,
some 80 percent of illicit meth comes from large-scale
Mexican traffickers, who tend to buy pseudoephedrine
in bulk rather than a few packs at a time in
pharmacies and grocery stores.”

“Recent reporting indicates that Canadian companies
are a major source of supply for pseudoephedrine
destined for U.S. laboratories because of minimal
chemical controls in Canada. On March 7, 2002, search
warrants were served on two residences, one in Everett
and the other in Lynnwood, Washington. Four hundred
containers of 25,000 count pseudoephedrine jars, or
"pickle jars," (approximately 10,000,000 tablets) and
$1,502,000 USC were seized. The pseudoephedrine is
believed to have originated in Canada.”


From the White House Office of National Drug Control
Policy.

“Methamphetamine trafficking and abuse have changed in
the United States during the past 10 years. Mexican
drug trafficking organizations have become the
dominant manufacturing and distribution group in
cities in the Midwest and the West. Methamphetamine
production and abuse were previously controlled by
independent laboratory operators, such as outlaw
motorcycle gangs, which continue to operate but to a
smaller extent. The Mexican criminal organizations are
able to manufacture in excess of 10 pounds of
methamphetamine in a 24-hour period, producing
high-purity, low-cost methamphetamine.”

In closing, I found a quote from right out of our own
back yard:

*As reported on Anchorage’s KTUU Channel 2 News,
“Grade school kids can now find meth more easily than
cigarettes.”

Drinking and Smoking is only for the rich.

Top of the morning gents,

Freedom is a bitch.

As with all of Alaska, Shitbanks residents are free to
choose their elected officials. Even if yer a dumbass
and don't vote, ya still gotta dog in that fight.

Squarebanks residents are also free to vote in new
taxes for pert near anything they want; fuel taxes,
school levies, tobacco taxes, and ESPECIALLY alcohol
taxes.

I like watching local residents flexing their
groinular structures too. Know what I mean?

The North Star Borough has been slugging it out with
The Interior Cabaret, Hotel, Restaurant and Retailers
Association over a new 5% booze tax.

Fair is fair, we've elected our advocacy group: the
bad guys can hire theirs too.

I like sin taxes. Big, heavy sin taxes. I want
Alaska's tobacco and alcohol taxes higher than fucking
Sweden.

Don't get me wrong, drinking and smoking is a
honorable hobby and I enjoy partaking in those
inseparable two: neither is complete without the
other.

Like "coffee and bong hits" or my UK counterpart "tea
and toke", cigarettes and alcohol are like the souls
of woman: a heavenly match created in hell.

Bourbon, Alaskan Amber, and a good smoke comprise a
trinity of chemical bliss far more pleasurable than
sitting on a rock hard pew, smelling yer brethren, and
singing retarded songs from worn books. As I ride my
mountain bike past churches in Eskimo villages, I
frequently hear animal sacrifices that sound like
toothless women screaming out of tune.

Drinking and smoking is a selfish pleasure. I also
believe that such self-indulgence should have a
benefit to our community. Thus my support of any tax
that hoists nicotine and alcohol out of the hands of
children and the poor, safely isolating this bi-polar
duality of chemical bliss in the yin-yang existence of
only the rich.

Ain't nothing better than to relax in a sidewalk cafe
on a sunny Sunday afternoon outside the LatsiPalaza
(Glass Palace) in downtown Helsinki.

The human ego grows and expands when surrounded by
criminal partners of equal despicability and good
looks. Dwayne, Timo, and Paul Quinn enjoyed chocolates
and champs, schnapps and ales, and espressos and
cigarettes every Sunday afternoon.

What a coincidence? So did I.

But a significant difference between Finland and
Fairbanks is that in Finland, ya gotta be rich to
enjoy such flamboyance and arrogance. Scandinavia
learned a long time ago that sin taxes maintain far
more community control over an industry than
prohibition.

To sit at the table reserved for rich obnoxious
Euro-trash, yer gonna pay dearly. But it's worth it.
This tall felon from Alaska rather relished the chance
to hang around a crew of well-dressed trust fund
snobs.

Like the Brittish tradition of buying 'rounds' instead
of buying individual drinks or fighting over bar tabs,
we each took turns covering our entire Sunday food and
drink bill individually.

To surround myself with such overt wealth and
masculine snobbery, it was my pleasure to pay the
total tab every four or five visits. Since I was
spending ill gotten gains from unjust enrichment, the
sting one feels when staring down at a 1,000 mark
($400.00) food and bar tab ain't so bad.

Plus we purchased the privilege: 22% VAT (value added
tax) went directly into the Finnish Health Care
System, with a little less greasing the palms and
lining the pockets of the restaurant manager, another
blond like-minded felon, Marku Kussinen.

What we most enjoyed was the fact the most Europeans
could never afford to join us. The rich are rightfully
justified in bragging about paying 90% of all the
civilized world's taxes.

All of us graying gunslingers are landed gentry and
men of substance: be arrogant in your indulgences and
in your contributions to state and local social
programs.

The poor are always nibbling out of our feeding
trough. We now see an inverse relationship between
income and daily caloric intake. Jesus fuck, now the
poor are gulping down rich foods faster than us fat
cats.

I believe we oughta make drinking and smoking an
indulgence only enjoyed by the rich.

5% tax hike? Fuck no. I say a 20% tax hike, I'm sick
of seeing shit ass poor folks stinking up my favorite
watering holes.

I have a birthday celebration this June 30th: I pray
it snows, 44 years of hell raising. I’ll pay all you a
visit to yer gravesites in another 44 years by pouring
some really good bourbon on ye, after I filter it
through me kidneys first, fuck ye.

I expect to knock back a long line of double bourbons
and beers. I also expect to hork down plumes of
carcinogens too. Ya see, you can eat the rich, but ya
can't afford to drink and smoke with them.

Since my neighborhood has no sin taxes, just ignorant
prohibition, I'm going to enjoy myself immensely, yet
not put a single penny towards my community social
programs.

Now if rural Alaska had a 25% tax on my indulgences, I
wouldn't be so unfairly spoiled. The best taxes are
voluntary taxes.

According to Adam Ant, if "Ya don't drink, don't
smoke, what do ya do?" Yer probably home jerking off
while Tom Peters or some Noatak bag of puke is porkin'
yer wife and children.

June 30, Barrow, Alaska. Fine day to send your regards
to the Muktuk Man. The weather is here, wish you were
great. My arrogance is only equaled by my generosity.

The only way to pay zero taxes is to earn and spend
zero money, an option I loathe.

Like the Moron Theory, if a little bit works: put
'more on.' If a 5% tax increase helps, lets peg the
throttle and put a 25% tax on every bottle.

It's simply depressing to see poor people drink and
smoke.

Karl.

It takes only one bad asshole makes a stereotype.

Top of the morning gents,

I enclosed an article describing senseless native
violence.

I'm not sure if I've completed forming an opinion on
this one. When I’m done pounding on your sensibilities
and sensitivities, I’m sure you’ll have formed one.

I give up; rural Alaska will always be a ghetto.

I pray it's not due to my jaded resignation that our
browner brothers from dumber mothers simply don't know
any better. You know those poor natives; they're a
simple folk that deserve sympathy for their chronic
drug and alcohol abuse.

There are some things in life that I fail to
understand.

My wife's family curse irritates me greatly, but since
they're merely subhuman natives, we're not in a
position to judge.

Ready to puke?

Me too.

I fucking hate excuses for shit ass behavior and
refuse to accept them. All humans are capable of being
human.

We may point a filthy finger at Hitler and his
National Socialist (Nazi) homo boy crew, but
responsibility for the devastation and death in WWII
is our own fault. Hitler's campaign of "Our Land, Our
People Unite" was a clever way to send a covert
message to the subconscious regions of weaker minds
much like petting a retarded puppy. To convince
Germanic people Jews were subhuman fuck ups, he only
needed to parade around a few examples of ugly Heebs
to convince his constituencies of their animalistic
greed and inability to evolve into higher life forms.

He won all of his elections with overwhelming support.


Hitler was more popular that a rock star, except he
didn’t have his MTV and wasn’t a “little faggot with
the earring and the makeup.” Okay, he was a one
testicled faggot.

Our planet’s continual holocausts are our own fault,
nobody else’s.

My brother tells me of horrifying tales of Imperial
Superiority propaganda he continually hears on
Japanese radio on his bullet train commute into Tokyo.
I heard the same Viking Supremacy crap all over
Finland and that all the world’s best looking people
are of Nordic descent.

At the request of one of my many rug-munching dyke
fisting professors, I purchased the most racist
products I could find on my dozens of UAF financed
trips to Europe. I kicked ass; had lots of fun too.

I found “Nigger Kisses” brand chocolates, “Philipino”
brand cookies, and “Japp” brand candies, in descending
hues of brown, a skin and brain color abhorred by my
lineage.

Such branding is in English and not offensive to
Scandinavians, but they all know better and still find
racist humor degrading darker folks really funny.

So do we.

But we mask our laughter with veiled concern and
camouflaged acceptance of shit ass nigger behavior
from lower life forms like natives and their family
structures that include murder, rape and domestic
violence, neglect and child abuse.

In my old age, I’ve accepted all this baby pumping and
sister fisting as just another day in my life here on
the retard reservation.

Upon my delivery to my aforementioned finger licking
professors, my hoots and chuckles could be heard all
the way across campus. I shared the duplicate packages
with my other professors and best mates in the
computer lab eliciting shock and awe. Most dumb ass
folks assume Scandinavia is the land of the free and
home of the brave. Well it is, if you’re as pretty as
my sisters, or blonder than I.

Being “Tolerant” is one thing. “Acceptance” is
another.

I don’t have to accept alcoholic reasoning or cocaine
logic; I gave that crap up when I shed my last layer
of psychotic and violent friendships in Seattle.

Some shit never changes. We are in the midst of
another series of waves of epidemic drug abuse
derivative of cocaine’s wreckage on the West Coast
just 20 years ago. Today we’re witnesses to an
identical wave of crystal meth, but with domestic
manufacture instead of Bolivian production.

We’ve already accepted and excused; virtually given a
pass and get out of jail free card for suffering souls
pickled from prenatal liquor brain malformations and
postnatal child abuse.

What the heck, they’re just natives, who am I to care?

I married a very pretty, sober and bright Eskimo
woman: classy fucking broad, good-looking dame.

For her safety and sanity, I’ve severed all ties to
her hometown and family. Soon this process will be
complete with her immersion into a wealthy family that
loves her without all the rape and violence.

Ya see, I need to provide my Viking family with a
wonderful example of an Eskimo human.

In order to dispel their accurate stereotypes, all I
need is just one.


Karl.

You boys are survivors.

Top of the morning gents,

A wise man once wrote: non-linear emotions are hard to manipulate, express and debate on 2-dimensional paper with linear sequences of logic.

I think he was trying to say that it’s safe to express factual data, but risky to share events we find painful, frightful, and highly emotional.

You boys are survivors: sufferers of violence, abuse, neglect, and trauma.

You boys may now realize why I leave this arena gaping wide open: I invite any and all of you to express your suffering and partake the reassurance that all the rest of us will love you killers in uniform, regardless.

We happily take crap off each other. Not because we’re dumb asses, but ‘cuz abused boys require a little chiding and coaxing before we’ll fess up and share wrongful injuries we received from humans that failed us: humans that betrayed and hurt us when they were supposed to stick up for, love and protect us. These humans of plethora relationships could be moms, dads, aunts and uncles, but worse of all: brothers, sisters, and best friends.

This is the place you’re free to heal, and we all got some damn hurtful things best gotten off our chests. Some of you lads have been insulted and degraded by hateful mothers, but more of you have been hurt by violent fathers and kin.

Healing is horribly painful, and more often than not is most effective with some degree of re-injury. Nice thing about typing all these wonderful letters to each other, we can hide trembling in our voices and our tears fall invisibly silent down our cheeks and onto our keyboards.

This is one of many zones that I will violently defend where you won’t be made to feel wrong for suppressing pain and actually encouraged to communicate guilt for actions beyond your control. Each one of you has been carrying a heavy load for far too long.

I’ve seen some of you fetch breathless boys from deep waters, disintegrated girls from inverted 4-wheelers and crushed vehicles, and assembled body parts like crude puzzles to make sure they all came from just one broken child.

I also know that you boys quietly envied these dearly departed souls for their eased burdens and released agony of its ever-increasing weight. You never learned that life long best friends are the best we got, and the only place where you might get some relief from your burdens. It’s also one of many zones where you’re free to communicate guilt for trauma and bruises beyond your responsibility.

Goddamn it, it’s not your fault, but easing your pain is all of our responsibility.

Guilt is a funny and predictable human response to resentment, hatred, and fear, and is always the lingering emotion we retain long after a good beating, break up, or abandonment.

Another funny thing about guilt, it vaporizes the moment you notice that caring lads like us recognize the fact it’s not, and never was, your fault. Guilt clings to your back and to your stomach for years, even though you’re not the offender, but the victim.

Ya see, guilt, more often than not, clings persistently to the wrong child as a lasting and cruel haunting for broken bones and bruised faces. Besides you graying gunslingers, all of your children know this too.

Don’t believe me? Just ask one.

Every time you or your wives throw a temper tantrum and slap, punch or hurt your children, the injured child adds one more serving to an already burdensome and backbreaking load. Every nasty insult, push or shove that we parents dole out to our children is merely another featherweight piece of straw added to your kid’s life load of pain and inadequacy.

There ain’t no determining how much your kids can shoulder, but the last straw will most certainly not break your child’s back, but our hearts.

Every one of you has a special place where you store horrible events. This storage bin of suffering is the inventory of mistreatment and bloody trauma we conceal from each other and pray stays under lock and key.

Your children also have such a storage bin, and the burden is always one straw away from breaking their concentration on keeping eyes dry and upper lips stiff and cheeks free from rivulets of salty water.

I believe we owe our children better, so from this day forward we might try to alleviate the predictable scar tissue encroachment slowly wrapping around their hearts and tear ducts.

As you boys age, your vision will improve, thus allowing you all to see through your children’s camouflage and protective barriers, to that storage bin of overwhelming tenderness and pain.

As fathers, we have a responsibility to alleviate this burden and to lighten our dear children’s painful load of internal suffering. It’ll be a wonderful day when I witness a bird’s eye view of you lads taking your children for walks, and sitting together alone with them for talks.

Shame is bulletproof, so to pick the lock to their storage bin of suffering, you’ll need to clear a sufficiently safe zone by sharing your own dark cellar of haunts. Trust me, once a child discovers he’s not the only human on earth that shoulders this burden alone and that you too have a heavy yoke of agony, he’ll happily tip his treasure box over and spill it’s contents for you both to examine. He’ll likely spill lots of tears and sobs too.

We’re all older now, and you boys ain’t boys no more: you’re fathers. Lend a hand, and a heart and spend a few quiet moments each week helping your blessed children dump out their toy box, and their box of torment.

Once you get used to such intimate discomfort, you can help your beloved wives tip over their toy boxes, and their hidden catacombs of fermenting torture.

I’ve always had a hard time keeping friends, but not faith. Faith is a word that defies definition, but not my explanations.

We’ve been friends for pert near 20 years now. My promise to you all is another 20 years of support, understanding, and uncomfortably close friendship and intimacy. Shit, we’re closer to each other and share more secrets than we do with our own wives.

Speaking from the perspective of a grandfather twice over, I expect more than excellence from you fathers, I naively and faithfully anticipate miracles.

To quote a fellow angel with broken wings and battered halo, Dean6Killer,"Keep the faith brothers."


Karl.

Nobody's fault but mine.

Top of the morning gents,

Double tap from our beloved David Craig, and he punched me off my rocker with the following statement: “Blaming is an easy way to displace responsibility.” He also advised I compose a letter scolding you all for letting your kids get infected with rural Alaskan mental retardation.

I’ve been reviewing the test scores of our Alaskan children. I’m fucking ashamed. Where in hell did natives start believing that skin color and tooth count have a direct correlation to IQ? When our daughter Sara started bringing home report cards similar to mini-limbed drooler ‘tards, I blew an ass gasket.

I also engaged in the blame game. I blamed the teachers, culturally biased testing, and the state for under funding bush schools. Shit, I even blamed my doofus ice nigger wife and her dullard family.

Blaming is so native, which makes me equally native.

The only person to blame for my own daughter's piss poor native academic performance, is me. I can't blame the Mrs. and I can't blame skin color, culture, or prevailing IQ's out here on the reservation. It all falls on the shoulders of the dad.

If yer swinging dick meat on the front of you: then this lecture includes you also.

We can’t blame anyone for native testing scores that mirror those of gimps, niggers, and retards. My daughter’s academic performance is my own responsibility. Likewise, all of you gents are at fault for how embarrassingly retarded all your own brown tooth and brown brained children are.

Without anyone's advice, consent, or permission, I sent Sara Magnum far away from this cesspool of bad teeth, shredded rectums, and steadily declining intellectual potential. I sent her to Seattle to live under the same parents that mercilessly forced all their own children to master numerous musical instruments, excel in the sports of their choosing, and complete the entire math-science curriculum at their respective high schools: some private, most public.

Few people are blessed with millionaire parents that can afford to take in students from the International Exchange Student Program and both Sara Magnum and I fully appreciate these blessings.

When my irritation with Sara Magnum's emerging native retardation reached a peak in second grade, she was ruthlessly tossed on a jet airplane and became another boarder in the Ewing mansion on the hillside overlooking Puget Sound.

I'm ruthless about potential. Potential that is raped, beaten, and poisoned by the same parents that suffer from and promote a plague of ignorance. The only antidote is the forced relocation of your smarter kids; the retards can stay on the reservation to continue breeding the culture we see today.

Eskimo kids are like every nigger of every despicable race. Their sentiments are frequently parroted with declarations of ignorance, "I don't wanna be white."

Is there something I'm missing? White folks are the dumbest niggers I know and I don’t see the logic behind being native, failing all aspects of achievement, and a life of poverty and welfare we humorously call ‘subsistence’ to look forward to.

Yes I have a fucking clue why native children are retarded, but it ain't likely one of the excuses bandied about. Alas, I'm reminded I too am also such a dumb ass and instead of bitching I should set by example.

Well I did. I was a college dropout until the age of 36, now I display three college degrees on my office wall, surrounded by countless Honor Society certificates.

Children do as you do: not as you say. There ain’t nothing wrong with a bunch of kids watching an old fart grandpa like yours truly spend 2-4 hours composing a dozen pages of prose every morning.

Imagine the stimulated potential we could reap if every Alaskan child sat next to wealthy grandparents, like us, while I type my stupid shit all morning while drinking coffee with lots of cream and sugar, then listen to me read my literary output out loud whilst knocking back bourbon and aromatic hydrocarbons until the Mrs. returns from work at the college.

Ain’t nothing extraordinary. Me and Cully used to sit next to our mum while she baked, sewed, typed articles for the local paper and listened as she read her compositions out loud so we could hear what she wrote. We could only listen cuz this was before either of us could read.

If I could chemically chain every native child to a station in my computer lab and painfully mold them into the students their parents only dreamed of, well, we'd have a whole new generation of smart asses just like me, my parents, and grandparents: unfairly rich, educated and snobby. Ya see, I’m only a link in a long chain of folks identical to me, and your kids are only a link in a long chain of folks identical to your dumber wives. Scary huh?

At the moment, we have a generation of American students that as Alan Greenspan describes as, “academic failures at the bottom of the international barrel.”

God forbid we make this affirmative action mistake again, talented and bright kids are too fucking valuable to kill off at such a young age. And we do this every time we force them to learn in the same classroom with slow humans sheathed in thick skulls and brown skin.

Like that blessed little Eskimo boy told me at the library the other day, “nigger is as a nigger does.” Our children’s academic performance mirrors our own.

Looking at all of us, that’s a damn shame.

If you wish to have children that stand an academic prayer competing against the likes of my nemesis plural: Chermaine Fullinck and Captain Jay Gardner, ya best ship them far away from yourselves and the retarded villages we live in. I’d be lying to you if I dared state any of you have set the academic bar very high.

Nigger is as a nigger does. Our children will only do as we do, not as we wish.

You boys are tough. Tough enough to take a scathing lecture like this.

I highly recommend you all shop around for private schools with Sylvan Learning Centers close by, or else your kids will grow up no smarter than our dumber wives.

Seems I got the biggest shoulders ‘round this reservation.

Ain’t nobody’s fault but mine.


Karl.

Minorities, and other lower life forms.

Top of the morning gents,

In the last few weeks, vitriolic and vicious hate speech has been heard echoing up and down the D.C beltway. Since the current putrid volume of hatred is gushing from the minority party, the Democrats, my bias shall reflect this.

Subtle racism is a predictable behavior displayed by every minority party since the Whigs and Tories battled over our hearts and minds. We saw this previously when the tables were turned the other way around and the Republicans were the bitter losers.

When President Fox of Mexico stated that illegal immigrants from his country working in America were taking jobs that “even blacks wouldn’t take”, he wasn’t too far from the perceived truth.

Yes, it’s a derogatory, racist, and ugly statement, but close enough to prejudicial images in all of our minds to win a game of horseshoes and hand grenades. To quote a brilliant and scathing Chris Rock, “There’s a civil war in America between the blacks and the niggers.” “Niggers got to go.”

Out here in rural Alaska we have Asians performing duties and tasks that even ice niggers refuse to do. If there were a Chamber of Commerce for bush Alaska, it’d likely be composed of mostly Philippines, Thais, Laotians, Samoans, and Koreans.

Most of our restaurants, bodegas, and cab companies in Barrow, Kotzebue, and Bethel are owned and operated not by ice nigger pockmarked salmon crunchers, but by hard working immigrant Asians joyful to be given so much opportunity to create and retain wealth unheard of their respective countries heretofore.

Housing projects, inner city ghettos, reservations and rural Alaskan villages share the same odor: with or without modern sanitation. Not by sharing similar skin color, just culture.

The only way to remove the village from the Eskimo is to remove the Eskimo from the village at an early age. This is documented with much lauded success with inner city ghettos and our beloved black neighbors escaping self-imposed poverty and disease with the offering of freedom: an education.

Meritocracy is the name of the American game; merit for hard work and education, democracy granted only to those that vote smartly and continuously.

Other countries don’t have this phenomena cuz they don’t have remotely similar population diversity nor open borders welcoming new immigrants refilling labor shortages left behind by our upwardly mobile citizenry.

Accordingly, it may be considered poor taste amongst women’s libber abortion suckers, gay same sex fecus eating activists, uppity blacks and high stepping yellow folk to use racial slurs, but it’s perfectly acceptable for them to insult and bash intellectual freedom, and choice of religion. Hatred of thought and freely disagreeable speech is still politically correct.

Our race wars have now penetrated the skin and skulls and become wars of philosophy, opinion, and ideology: exactly where it should be.

Judge a man by the content of his character (consistent beliefs and views) but not by the color of his skin. (I kyped a beauty from M. L. King)

This is a common occurrence throughout history whenever you the hear stereotyping of races by similarly colored minds collecting under a common political platform. Lincoln was nominated by the Republican Party due to his neutral stance on slavery and perceived as no threat to Slavery Power so prevalent in the agrarian economy of our pre-Industrial country. To maintain this veiled acceptance of slavery and perceived resistance to abolition he was kept out of site during most of the 1860 Presidential Campaign.

What’s not commonly known about Lincoln was his vicious and cruel treatment of other Americans: Natives. Lincoln was the first president in American history to engage in biological warfare as an additional tool in ethnic cleansing and genocide. He signed off on the intentional distribution of infected blankets to Induns along with selling arms to both sides in tribal warfare and conflict. Few historians will reveal his confidential statement that he “cared not one wit for the Negro man, but if freeing the Negro people will effectively topple Southern power, then that will be our goal.”

Lincoln era Republicans are much like our current majority party, the election strategy that toppled the Democrats from power in both the White House and Congress, then and now, is a result of a fucking stroke of genius, if you ask me.

Imagine, the same party that brought us Lincoln and Reagan, also brought us 3 Bush terms resulting in the most racially and gender diverse cabinets and administrations in the history of the United States.

If Lincoln were alive today, he’d likely not be surprised to see Powell and Rice making world-changing decisions. You can call Republicans a lot of things, but the racial slurs seem to echo from a party that is famous for using the filibuster to thwart equal rights for all Americans, assassinating great emancipators then and now, and failing to smell its own shit first.

All American mobs, if given a chance will lynch a nigger, a faggot, or a welfare trash abortion cunt. See how labels affect your view of other humans? We’re all the same folks sharing fear and self-loathing of our neighbors, but divided by perception, ugly labels, and highly inaccurate stereotypes. The two dominant political parties are merely engaging in separatist and mugwumper hate speech in the prayer we’ll agree with and vote for them.

Political power is a battle where nobody walks away un-bloodied, with elections yielding black eyes and fat lips very similar to a Rwandan amputee.

Ironically and aside from the issues of slavery and equal rights, both parties are fully engaged in pirating oil-laden countries under the guise of a war on terror, and tyranny. It ain’t piracy when political parties are coconspirators and if the robber baron scumbag’s supertankers proudly fly the stars and stripes.

When you hear party leaders bad mouth their opponents, tune the crap out and replace it with the old frontiersman slogan, “The fox smells his own shit first.”

An example that comes to mind is the erroneous claim that radical religious fundamentalists have hijacked the Republican Party. Not so. More accurately, the Republican Party has hijacked most of the Bible belt away from the Democrats.

Building consensus is an art and winning presidential elections is a science.

During the 1976 Presidential Campaign, Jimmy Carter swept the election with overwhelming support from the following odd mixture of liberals from the Northeast, White segregationists below the belt of the Mason Dixon line, and the demographic sector consisting of the Religious Right; dubiously titled the Moral Majority.

Foibles in his international foreign policy and the subsequent disaster with OPEC’s oil embargo cost him his re-election handing the White House over to Ronald Reagan and George Bush.

Alas, history repeats itself: presidential scandal and ineptness will always castrate our country. Such shame is good for us all because it reunites Americans in kicking the bums out when we’re in dire need yet long overdue for a really good war.

“The needs of the many always outweigh the needs of the few.”

The party that unites us by hook or crook will always have the majority, and the majority is always cruel. Since we abide by majority rules and it’s inherent minority cruelty, we must accept reciprocate intolerance when we find ourselves in a post election minority.

Building consensus in a highly diverse nation is a bitch, but not impossible. Who’d ever think that us Alaskans would be voting and marching side by side and in step with folks that also voted for the party that’s agenda includes both foreign and domestic energy development under the guise of smoking Muslim sand niggers, and repulsed by the notion of a ShopVac behind a rape and scrape clinic filled to the brim with rotting human fetuses?

Me mum is famous for parables and one that’s stayed with me is “To know yourself is to know God.” This also applies to our free choice of elected officials. We have to vote for the party that fights on the side of the issues we feel important. Cultural relativism and secular resistance to opinion formation relegates us to nothing more than cynics and a jaded populace powerless.

Until a citizen discovers where he stands on conflicted issues, he has stripped himself of the meaning behind being an American; we’re free to follow our hearts and minds, and vote accordingly without fear of retaliation. We must elect an advocate that shares our feelings and thoughts, not their lack of either.

Amoral leaders earn their place in the history books alongside Hitler, Vietnamese and Russian Presidents. Immoral leaders earn their seat at impeachment hearings. It broke my heart to see Blow Job Bill relegated to the same garbage heap as “I’m not a crook”-Nixon. (I quickly got over it.)

Every election requires extensive learning, personal research and reflection. A good education may be extraordinarily expensive and time consuming, but far cheaper than chronic ignorance, left-wing cynicism, and intellectual hopelessness.

Carry on gents, there ain’t no bad guys with different opinions, just neighbors like you and I. God created man, Samuel Colt made us all equal.

An armed society is a polite society, and the most lethal weapon against all social ills is an education.

You killers are likely already aware of this, thus why you put up with these seemingly witless miscellaneous ramblings from way too far North of 70 lat.

Karl.

Elders can also be smart, and white.

Top of the morning gents,

Goddamn! I had 2 really good chats yesterday.

My pops phoned yesterday to check in with his number 1 prodigal son, or so he calls me. He phoned me to discuss the metal warehouse building he's having delivered and assembled on a piece of property in Northern Idaho we've already discussed in previous lectures.

A pastime of elderly educated men is waxing philosophically about topics that can never be discussed with elderly women of any color. The best thing a lad can do with his padre is simply talk, laugh and share clever quotes and quips. He especially enjoys debates rhetorical and witty discussions esoteric.

We fired multiple salvos of extraordinary IQ back and forth, but as usual he sank my battleship with the following backhanded and sagely advice regarding the care and feeding of a girl abused and neglected, hence raised by natives: my Eskimo wife.

"Karl, small minds like the one you possess constantly endeavor to be right, instead of understanding and expanding."

I may have swindled myself a masters degree in biz admin, but I'm the least educated bastard in my family and me paps rubs it in every chance he gets.

"Whenever you're arguing with your wife; the instant you discover you're right, apologize immediately."

You fuckers are luckier'n shit yer parents are miserably ignorant dumb shits. I get my ass handed to me on a platter every time I engage in intellectual discourse with me paps. Shit, I read whole encyclopedias and industry journals with the dumbass hope I can show him up.

It's okay, my father double teams me by repeating comments and jokes emitted from the shop gesticulated by my grandpa, who also enjoys outwitting their suffering bastard son who has a preference for darker girls existing way too far north of 70 lat.

Circular logic is hard to manipulate, express and debate on 2-dimensional paper with my confusing non-linear sequences of lame humor.

Later yesterday afternoon, David Craig jingled to discuss the arrangements we're scheming. Ya see, he's excited about driving across Washington on I-90 to Idaho and Montana to visit and spend time with us. He’s also quite happy to befriend my parents.

Now I’m fucked.

He's giddy with excitement about his new car; a Toyota Camry. His old POS (piece of shit) has been rattling louder than a box of hammers akin to a diesel engine. 'Cept his motor ain't a diesel, it's an old worn out Ford Taurus with a gasoline engine that has loose main bearings and eroded oil control rings.

David Craig didn’t think I was funny when I sang a chorus from the song, “Driving in my Indian Car.” That rattling old junker spewed more blue oil smoke than a carload of Mat-Su horticulturalists smoking fat chiefs and getting chinked.

I promised to keep mum how he acquired this new car, but strange and wonderful things happen when you befriend elder Scandinavians. Go figure.

Mr. Craig is now comfortably settled in the brand new old folks home in Shelton, Washington and has grieved sufficiently over the passing of his wife and son. I can tell he's again 100%, cuz he's back to lecturing me on odd topics he was personally involved in.

One topic we argue, much to my chagrin and griping, is the Nixon administration's handling of the Vietnam War, whereupon he slammed me by reminding me that it was President Kennedy that first sent Special Forces into French Indo-China, now known as Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam. Kennedy feared, and rightly so, that Communism would (and did) engulf all of Southeast Asia.

The Communist epistemology is contrary to our constitutional guarantees of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. This disease of tyranny we battled 40 years ago is very similar to the Islamic virus we battle today: a religious dictatorial destruction of private property, and private worship. A virulent epistemology affecting disparately poor and abysmally uneducated masses programmed to believe that the only good Christian is a dead Christian.

Who’d ever think we’d live long enough to see the final battle between our kind and the Anti-Christ? Warfare brings out the best in all of us and exterminates the qualities we find counterproductive and contrary to theorems asserted in my father’s bible: The Wealth of Nations.

Good reading: such depth of economic understanding will automatically earn you a seat at my ancestor’s dinner table and bar anytime.

I recall a sad irony: you cannot retain ancient aboriginal culture (hunter gatherer/agrarian) if you expect to grow your own wealth. Christianity and education are the perfect antidotes to all things tribal and aboriginal.

We may argue this ad infinitum, but even us blanched retard Vikings had to abandon our similarly tribal warfare practices of raping and pillaging if they too were to adopt a paradigm monotheistic, cultural meritocracy, and catch up with the rest of Europe’s industrial revolution and subsequent religious reformations.

The telecommunications industry is now currently led by a small group of Northern European nations best described as tall blond alcoholics with a persistent penchant for raping trees and burning women.

As exemplified with obsolete Viking philosophy, here in rural Alaska and elsewhere in indigently indigenous cultures around the world: Christ and Commerce was a destroying godsend of stupid ancient Suomen and Laplander traditions of warring towards riches.

The Nordic Tribes were the last resistant holdouts against Christianity, Commerce, and investment risk dispersion and the formation of guilds that could purchase Common Stock and enjoy landed gentry privilege.

Did I ever tell you killers I’m a dumbass?

I'm starting to think I’m much more like Super Dad from Unalakleet claims, an “Oochuk Negro Boy” or “Groidal 'Tard”, but tremendously blessed to be acquainted with you lads regardless.

As promised, I'll continue composing witless missives and keep you all chuckling, perchance upchucking yet warmly welcomed and encompassed, and up to date.

Don’t feel bad I even confuse myself.

If you see Mr. Craig, slug him.


Karl.

Kayakpuk Pusser

Date: Wed, 25 May 2005 09:39:09 -0700 (PDT)
From: "Patrick Octuck"
Subject: Walking Tall
To: "Stupid cops"

Hiya Karla,

Just think, ten years ago sexual assault was hard to
talk about in most communities. Now kids are killing
themselves and selling drugs.

When I was growing up the hardest drug I ever saw was marijuana now kids are walking around with lots of Meth and cocaine.

Sounds like another "Walking Tall" movie to me Karla.

You know your part in that movie, you big dumb redneck.

I still can't believe a drunken 17-year-old Eskimo girl would be walking around with 2 ounces of crystal meth. That's enough drugs to kill even a crazy white dude, ah Karlukmun?

The drug community there in Barrow may never get jail time so they will keep abusing their children just like this one.

I'm with you there Karla, our rural communities are disgusting and embarrassing. I never thought so many Eskimos were so much like disgusting Indians on disgusting reservations and white trash on the military bases. I always thought we were just like bun says, higher class of nigger.

Soon you will be considered an adult at 16, which will hopefully reduce my client caseload. You should see the pile on my desk.

Good writing there karla,

Patrick.

---

Top of the morning gents,

I'm surrounded by smart asses.

Our dude that was a former cop has cut out all the middlemen and is directly intervening on behalf of our smaller citizenry, Alaskan children. The jury is still out if I ought to be insulted or flattered with comparisons to a big redneck that can't keep a car between the ditches.

That's what makes me most proud to know you bastards; you've incorporated your wisdoms (and extraordinarily violent tendencies) into your new careers. I breathe a sigh of relief knowing you battered, beaten and scarred village copper gladiators are working for the greater good.

Last night me and Mrs. chatted over tea and Indun fried bread about how all you uniformed felons have kept the faith and evolved into more advanced and lethal life forms. God bless ye.

I brought up Pat's Walking Tall analogy, which she chuckled and agreed with. She says it's quite a site to see my interactions with drunken neighbors and smaller browner relatives.

'Interactions' is an amusing description of my busted knuckles, chipped teeth and swollen lips, and a few busted rifles resembling Eskimo children with hair and blood on the butt.

You would've chuckled if you sat in the courtroom during my village banishment hearing. Under oath I had to endure testimony describing me as:

* a killer wanted by Interpol
* a smuggler
* a 200 pound hybrid dog rapist
* a bomb builder that puts them under my neighbors' houses
* and that I gave a little girl shrunken head brain cancer with my mind and that I can kill people with only a thought

Weird, the other day I was also scolded for being egomaniacal and using the local radio and press as my personal playthings.

Things that make you go Hmmm. Looking back, I don't think I'm any more of a sinner than any of you lads.

Which by the way doesn't set the bar very high. Hooah!

Yes, I've been arrested numerous times and have a criminal record longer than your dicks. But since none of you can check my arrest records in any of the countries I was incarcerated in, I can play the Native game of child rape, DENIAL.

I can still remember every single time I got busted. I have MCA's, arson, bombing, theft, malicious mischief, and grand larceny charges on my sealed juvenile record, with similar charges on my records in Estonia and Finland, but you don't get the truth, cuz "you can't handle the truth". I'm far worse of a despicable human than my shame allows me to disclose.

Funny, every place I've ever pissed, shit and squirted sperm, I mixed it up with local cops and local criminals. My hun-bun chides me for having both horns and halo; just like you butt fuckers.

I'm my only advocate, so I gotta stick up for my wife and I, batter and abuse drunken natives, AND take out a UAF professor, wrestling coach, judo expert, and boxing trainer who thinks he can dump shitty drugs on my blessed Inupiaq community.

The life of a contract agent sucks and is a highly overrated and thankless fucking job. I now have zero friends; aside from this conspiracy network of visible and invisible am cop talk newsletter recipients.

Nope, I won't be volunteering for any more black bag jobs 'round these parts anymore. My beloved native brethren will likely continue raping their young, drinking their grocery budget, and committing their own cultural suicide for another 10,000 years. This tall Finnish version of Buford Pusser has to return to his origins and clean up unfinished business.

Hence, I'll happily sign on for said work down south in yonder lesser 48 after the Mrs. retires.

This is why I won't be visiting any of my pals in Washington, cuz I'll be forced to entrap them, or bury them up at my grandpa's dead Indun dump site at 7-lakes. If this feral Finn can kill, butcher and eat his own beloved pets back on the farm, putting a pistol in the mouths of me mates back home ain't nothin' but a thing. Shit, beats jerking off to confidential dossiers and classified intelligence reports.

Jesus never returned to Nazareth to preach, but I'm tempted to eat some killer serial rich in vitamins and minerals and do my humping best to hatch a turd consisting of my buddies from my youth.

Never say never.

It's Friday gentlemen, wish y'all could join me way up here for a drink. Alas, those wonderful thoughts are best saved for my possible visits to Galena, Delta Junction and Fairbanks.

Rumor has it my pals there still enjoy my company, provided I bring lots of muktuk, caribou legs, and crates of firearms.

I'm that kind of guy; neither good nor evil.

Have gun, will travel. Fuck all.


Karl.