Friday, July 08, 2005

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.

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