I gotta lick my ass just to get the taste of rural Alaska outa my mouth.

Top of the morning gents,

You gotta love Alaskan violence.

I do.

I used to defend Alaska when debating my colleagues overseas over niceties and atrocities human. Northern Finland has similar rates of alcoholism, property crime and violence, so did my stops in Siberia both respite and incarcerate. American national violence statistics are now at a 30-year low, while Alaska’s violence is ALWAYS alcohol related and increasing slightly faster than population growth.

Playing with really bad people in Seattle, Dutch Harbor and Kotzebue readied me for the overt thuggery and bullying we see in equally less civilized villages and towns.

If our rural Alaska villages possessed enforceable rules of fair play and good faith in dealing and treating our neighbors, guys like me would never have a chance or corrosively corruptive foothold into your highly addictable sub-consciousness. I can detect childhood trauma a mile away and decades ago; it’s a gift allowing me to peg compulsive customers of ethnic handicap and self-discipline non-existent.

But that's what makes Alaska unique and a magnet for sick natives and cruel witches (white bitches) like yours truly: zero community support for policemen and constables. In Alaska, no good deed goes unpunished and nobody says thank you; especially to the cops.

Self-deprecation is an art and a science. I may beat up on issues near and dear to our hearts and farts, but regardless of my relegation to either help or hindrance, solution or problem: ain’t nobody’s fault but mine. Those poor Alaskans don’t know any better but I should.

Blame is easy; shouldering our own responsibilities for neighborhood and village carnage is a bitch. As I look around the room at all your killers in uniform, I see ingeniously fallible fuck ups and flawed angels. Make sense?

Ya see, each of us shares responsibility for our neighbors missing teeth, bruised marital status and children gaped before their first boner or old enough to bleed yet breed without telling on dad.

I gotta take a break, the cops are finally here.


*Okay, quick synopsis.

While typing this submissive sarcastic, our house was shaken with a boom so I left my station here at the keyboard and ran into foot deep snow with only ankle length socks on to see whose ‘snogo bump my house’. To my anger a punk ice nigger had rallied his snogo sled into the rear foundation of the duplex and was quickly trying to pull his shit back out and free his Mongoloid PONTIAC.

Seeing me and hearing me truly pissed and most potently hacked off is never a dick-hardening affair, but telling me to pound sand in modern ghetto mod nomenclature will guarantee I’ll unleash one of my best mudsling tirades of the most racist flavor.

Which is what I did.

I cursed and cussed that little bag of shit word for word, spittle for spittle derivative of moments of prayer with Mack, surly insults at gunpoint from Ken Jewell, and some ingredients plagiarized from Westlake’s horrifically intimidating bark down and overwhelmingly loud yell downs. All key moments and life changing experiences shaping me into the wonderful and beautiful human I’ve become 4 and 20 years later.

Fuck ye. I didn't crush his ribs and gonads like Columbo and I didn't split his eyelids and eyebrows like the Sgt.

Why can’t I merely caress this troubled native lad and positively respond to his pleas for understanding?

“It’s cuz I hate fucking niggers.” (C. Eastwood-Alcatraz) Which is what happens when all my Eskimo town folk believe BET and hip-hop behavior is authentic, realistic and a sympathetic portrayal of African-American culture. I’m neck deep in slang from every culture on cable TV blended with a once lovely language of ancient origin.

Ingulish? InuFro? Hip-upiaq? EskiFro? I give up. It all tastes and smells like ass and rotten teeth.

I didn’t decipher every consonant this toothless suicide candidate spit back at me, but I deduced it wasn’t too far from Fuck You Asshole: versus Sorry dude, I’ll be happy to pay for any damages.

Where the fuck do I think I am?

My buddy Felton always reminds this ain’t Seattle nor Helsinki. "Yer livin' in Niggerville dude." "Even us natives fucking hate Barrow 90% of the time, the other 10% we're passed out drunk."

After Bun and I went next door to have a brief word with his mum, I thought this was put to bed and over with.

I was wrong.

Snigger punk #1 was pounding on my front door with 2 of his cousins: Snigger punk #2 and Snigger punk #3. As I opened the door I was greeted with hostilities verbal, nothing I couldn’t handle.

Until all 3 snigger thugs started pushing their way into the doorway and courteously advising me they were gonna kick my fucking ass.

This isn’t what I expected or tolerated, so I barked a ‘get the fuck outa here’ shoving 3 darky skin wasters back a skoatch and slamming the door. Then it was pigger time.

Meaning I don’t gotta sort out neighborly conflict, albeit of niggardly significance and consequence, I let piglet brown shirts play aboriginal retard paddy cake.

Last Fall, I was advised whilst in handcuffs that I can’t lay another hand on anybody in Barrow and let the bacon bits play queerleader and playground teacher.

Fun huh?

Shit no. I can’t shoot their runt leg femorals, chop carotids, nor spray pepper mace on minority kids for fun anymore. Fuck me running.

So after a brief pushing match I phoned the NS coppers requesting their questionably professional services.

Which is what I received.

Imagine arresting 3 kids for getting shoved off an icy porch by an old fart, white nigger no less.

After chatting with officers Fife and Griffith I agreed that bygones and apologies from the boys is best, not telling a soul I’m off for a long vacation in mere days.

Dropping off the Earth from family, relatives, village cohorts and hunting partners, but not kindred souls is impossible if I gotta stick around for court hearings up the ass forever. Remember, I’ve been through this shit a hunnert times. I married an Eskimo and conflict resolution is a no-brainer and a no-show on reservations packed with inner city examples of failed inbreeding.

I’ve been through this a hunnert times now. Still think shooting Snigger punks trio with either shotgun or pistol might’ve given me a woody.

Fuck I’m so much like my paps and grandpaps: meaner’n shit and just looking to butcher folks for any reason either trespass or ethnicity.

I even barked at the cops. But they understood me and after examining that no damage to the house was evident they advised I phone them if they return.

Big fucking whoopee, a trespass charge if they return. Grandiose visions of blowing away 2 armed robbers echoed through my veins, as did grandpa’s burying a truckload of shot to piss Induns in my childhood backyard.

All I had was a ‘snogo sled that bump my house’ and 3 high school aged sub-original wanna-be sniggers breathing foul breath on my porch threatening me with limp dicks, unarmed.

Ghetto is as a ghetto does, ghet it?

Funny, native communities don’t all have to suck muke and chew buttnug, but they do. My Siberian Mrs. shrugs her shoulders and says they’re all like that, and I’ll always defer to my world’s authority on cursed and dying cultures that once were beautiful now corrupted with overwhelming absorptions external and poisonous.

The gal made the mistake of achieving such an elevated state of enlightenment and spiritual freedom she’s shed all trace of her lineage and achieved Freud’s mythical Super Man Ego superceding her culture and family ties that bind and gag the shit outa me, her too.

Ironic and sobering: if all natives and minorities were as sub-par, ignorant and hostile as my neighbors, I wouldn’t have any friends, best mates nor wife. Whenever I recite my mantra cocktail chime, “I’m married to my best friend” my Siberian Mrs. clarifies that in this town full of ugly hostile no-teefers, “I’m married to my only friend.”

If Maslow were alive today he’d see most of you beloved soldiers existing far away and far beyond your root cultures blessing me with non-typical and Herculean levels of hierarchically well deserved achievement.

Blessed with all you gents, I may possibly be the luckiest man in the world. And all I ever need to do is remind myself that not all minorities are turd squeezers and Shinola gaped penis holsters.

Alas, guilt is the last remaining sign I give a shit about my fellow humans. As with all things, this too shall pass. Some things I just can’t seem to drink off my mind.

I like living in penal colonies: provided I'm carrying the biggest stick, or wallet. Like Kung Fu walking the Earth performing good deeds, this Viking dog merely pisses and shits all over everybody I sniff and lick with disdain.

In Dutch Harbor I sat and cheered for knife fights between gooks and ice niggers and fishermen. In Yakutsk we all ran out front with drinks and cigarettes in hand to watch two Rusky motherfuckers battle hand to knifed hand painting the snow covered parking lot bright red. Neither dude returned to the bar for free beer; it would've only leaked out the front of their necks, backs and guts.

All battles are won before they even start. Fights like these never have a winner, only losers doing what they do best: losing. And bleeding to death in the snow.

Violence is cultural and retards enlightenment and altruism. Hence my addiction to rural dumpsites like Barrow, Kotzebue and Galena is holding me back in my path towards understanding the unenlightened. Shit holes custom made for guys like me where respect for citizenry and human rights ain't applicable to Alaskan sub-humans of any skin hue and composite eye structure.

We choose our own placement on the totem pole of life. My job is to kick yer asses up a notch or two. You guys really oughta knock me DOWN a few pegs, or completely off.

As a human being, tribal bully warfare, aboriginal murder and intimidation is way cool provided these atrocious behaviors stay isolated and reserved to regional folks that don't believe they deserve any better. As long as my rural neighbors continually believe they’re far too native to reach for the stars, we’ll witness the same dismal existence for another 10,000 shit sucking years.

One reason advanced education beyond simple subsistence isn't rewarded in rural Alaska is because the majority still believes Heaven is an abstract notion, not a possibility for my neighbors, I mean niggers fearing cleanliness more than Godliness.

As long as rural Alaskans believe they're supposed to rape and be raped we'll never see declining Fetal Alcohol Syndrome rates decline. I used to laugh at my childhood pals whenever they fucked the ugly sheep. 4 and 40 years later I cackle at my thick and dull village folk. Come on, who could rape an ugly native kid unless yer really drunk, let alone a perty one.

Retarded dullards thinking they’re wise to the world are an integral part of the permanent epistemology allowing guys like me to grift, steal and batter lesser brown folks without impunity. The definition of a fool is someone that is unaware that they don’t know shit. Alaska is truly the land of the free and the home of the brave for lads like us that lack compunction.

Besides, don’t it require that only Alaskans with 3-digit IQ’s qualify for human rights? I’ve butchered smarter goats and shot smarter dogs and none of them sued me for violating their constitutional rights. If I went native on their asses and porked ‘em, I’d feel anular litigation.

Over the weekend I reviewed the 772 emails I’ve posted to you coppers. No shit, I’ve composed pert near a thousand pages of what I call treacherous litany and whispered words of compassion concealed in abrasive language indigenous to my world far north of you uniformed killers.

I’ve also been a little hard on you lads and harsh in my criticisms of yer backgrounds and humanly questionable lineages. But yer worth it.

We’re all so human it makes me sick. We’re so blessed; yet choose to muck about like pigs in reservation shit.

Alaskans; all of us.

Just like all of these fine folks.

---

Article Last Updated: Friday, October 14, 2005 - 11:53:34 AM AKST

Fairbanks man charged with murder

According to the Associated Press, Alaska State Troopers say Jason Fisher of Fairbanks has been charged with first-degree murder more than a year after a man's head was found in Fisher's car trunk.

The 20-year-old Fisher is suspected of killing and dismembering acquaintance David Mason, a Fairbanks resident and former US Army serviceman. Court records say Mason's head was found in June 2004 in an abandoned vehicle registered to Fisher. Troopers had been chasing the vehicle for missing a front license plate. The car's occupants had fled.

Fisher was arrested Wednesday and charged Thursday after two witnesses said he shot and killed Mason before dismembering his body. His bail is set at one million dollars. Court records did not mention a possible motive for the slaying and few details about the day Mason was killed.

---

Oct 15, 8:01 PM EDT

Palmer man cuts off ankle monitor, escapes

ANCHORAGE, Alaska (AP) -- A Palmer man serving time for robbery, kidnapping and car theft failed to return from a five-hour pass and is on the loose.

Alaska State Troopers are searching for John Pearl Smith, 19.

Smith received a pass to attend the funeral of his father near Butte. Butte is south of Palmer and about 42 miles north of Anchorage.

He was supposed to return to custody by 9 p.m.

However, Smith cut off an ankle monitor, a device designed to keep track of a prisoner's whereabouts, and fled the area, troopers said.

Smith should be considered armed and dangerous, troopers said. They warned that the public should not try to capture him, but instead call troopers or other law enforcement.

Smith is 5-feet-10-inches tall. He has blond hair and weighs about 170 pounds.

He was serving time for his conviction in an incident on Sept. 13th, 2004.

Troopers said Smith used a gun to rob someone at a home, then stole the person's car. The car was recovered the next day.

---

Article Published: Saturday, October 15, 2005

Toddler dies in crash

By AMANDA BOHMAN, Staff Writer

A toddler died in a one-vehicle crash about 155 miles southeast of Fairbanks Thursday night.

Alaska State Troopers suspect the child's 23-year-old mother had been drinking before crashing the vehicle.

Brandon Duncan, 22 months, of Fairbanks died on impact after his mother's pickup truck smashed into a utility pole on the Alaska Highway and the roof collapsed on him, according to a trooper report. The boy was buckled in a car seat.

The mother, Milissa A. Delia of Fairbanks, was thrown from the vehicle. Another passenger, Rachael L. Hayton, 19, of Fairbanks was also hurt, the report stated.

A U.S. Army rescue helicopter airlifted Delia to Fairbanks Memorial Hospital where she remains in stable condition, trooper spokesman Greg Wilkinson said.

Hayton was airlifted to the Alaska Native Medical Center, where she is also in stable condition, hospital spokeswoman Leatha Merculieff said.

The accident happened at 11:20 p.m. at 1349 Mile Alaska Highway near Dot Lake, the trooper report stated.

Delia was apparently headed toward Fairbanks when she lost control and skidded off the north side of the roadway, Wilkinson said.

The pickup traveled approximately 500 feet before it struck the utility pole.

"It completely crushed in the roof of the truck in the back seat where the child was seat-belted," Wilkinson said.

Paramedics drew Delia's blood at the scene of the crash to determine if she had been drinking alcohol, Wilkinson said.

"Empty beer cans were found in the vehicle and the mother smelled of alcohol," he said.

Charges against Delia are pending, Wilkinson said.

Though icy roads have been prevalent in the Interior this week, it's unlikely road conditions contributed to the crash, Wilkinson said.

If the blood test shows Delia had alcohol in her system, her son's death would mark the sixth confirmed alcohol-involved traffic death of an area resident since May.

---

Convicted felon still on the run
Saturday, October 15, 2005 - by Natasha Rasheed

Anchorage, Alaska - A Palmer man convicted of robbery, kidnapping and car theft is still on the run as of Saturday night.

Alaska State Troopers say 19-year-old John Pearl Smith cut off his ankle monitor and left the Butte area on Friday night. He had been given a five hour pass to attend his father's funeral and was supposed to return to the jail at 9 p.m. He is considered armed and dangerous.

Anyone with information should contact Alaska State Troopers.

---

Black Dog is more a Zep toon about the infamous Billy Blackbird, than this feral Finn.

Top of the morning gents,

I'm lying. It's actually pert near 3:00am and I'm here
sipping a cup of bravo sierra and smoking a few bong
rips of French Roast.

Some evenings are too enchanting to waste on sleeping.
Tonight, I'd rather write on questions existential and
ponder why every twist and turn in our random mutation
gives us a shit load of statistical outliers that are
simply smarter than I, more creative than I, but ain't
as good looking, nor foul mouthed.

At every level of our advancement we had a lot more
obnoxiously arrogant geniuses around but their numbers
were kept near zero because thicker dummies like me
clipped them all.

Don't get me wrong, we need lots of ultra-bright yet
mad geniuses, we just can't discern them from monkeys
with a microscope, DNA swab nor chainsaw.

Years back an alcoholic trailer whore had six kids all
suffering horrible birth defects. When she got
pregnant again her pimp and colleagues recommended she
seek services from the town Barber. He performed all
the bloodletting and leach/rat poison abortions for
girls of such dismal economic potential.

Town folk were surprised that she refused to evacuate
her soul kitchen at Dr. Squat Vac's Rape and Scrape
clinic with all the bloody rags spinning in the wind
and drying on the clothesline out front.

Thank God she refused his hemorrhagic help.

Cuz the runt bastard whore bait kid was Mozart.

Thank fucking God for cable access broadband cuz now
my Eskimo wife can indulge herself with mondo
gigabytes of this sickly gimpoid genius's wonderful
music.

With the help of this arctic computing station north
of 70 lat and kick ass subwoofer system she rotates
from online Baroque old fartin' dust toonage, to
Russian and Polish opera music streaming Internet
stations, capping her Siberian extra-cultural paradigm
musical interface cocktail with Joe Sat, SRV, Zep and
Motown.

Seems someone has been a bad influence on a lethal
native girl playing above mass graves haunted by those
that went before her more than 5 and 50 years ago.

Since when does pre-cathode subsistence blended with a
caveman's version of Nightmare on Front Street create
the statistical outlier that listens to 400 year old
music with 400 year old membranous tympanic of
Siberian origin?

Speaking of misusing tissue, I didn't protect my
hearing fer shit so I crank the shit outa everything I
need to listen to, even my dick.

This suits my Siberian Mrs. just fine.

Weird huh? Since when did short, retarded and backward
Eskimos ever hatch a sid that fully comprehended the
multi-dimensional field theory and poly-rhythmical and
poly-phonic sound pressure levels created from
hardwood and cat gut sound boxes pert near half a
millennia ago.

For centuries I drove everyone around me crazy with my
stupid shit music. Officer Jewell used to call my
space toonage fag music. All without revealing his IQ
nor sexual preference. Something called a tell.

If I slept off a hangover in Dispatch with Coyote
Oldman or Robert Tree Cody, Billy Blackbird would
chide me for my airhead reservation retarded fuckin'
music, and shit.

Hey ease up, for the record he told me to call him
spear chucker Jones, just to get old lady Helen
Barger's cooter biscuit hot for a back door backup
sloppy seconds stinky tap.

"Fuck You Lorin." "Only Karl call me Blackbird."

Ain't that a beautiful friendship? Same shit different
day and I’m still surrounded by minority butt fuckers
possessing extraordinarily violent capabilities: look
in the mirror then your neighbor.

Like us, Billy Blackbird made lots of mistakes. Just
he shot more pussy and fucked more stray dogs than
canine and Inupiaq DNA history depicts. Fuck there's a
lot of ugly mutts and mangy bitches in his wake, just
left all kinda ugly.

He's good people, if ye keep him away from open flame.
Fuck that boy could bust up whole packs of fanged rat
fucking stray dogs with his nugger shooter and smoke
all my cigarettes in one shift.

One day Blackbird went a little Nam on me.

He and I cruised up to the graveyard in the gray dog
catcher's truck, sparked a hooter and brew and set a
spell on municipal officers hourly pay, baked. On our
rally back to town we saw a really pretty black lab
jumping and chasing a bunch of kids right near the
lagoon.

Blackbird pulled over, ran down the gravel embankment
and out on to the grassy marsh under the water bridge.
He got between the kids and their pet, kneeled down
and blew off the dog's collar along with generous
amounts of its neck. Billy cycled a round, then
blasted fur off its face and front torso dropping the
mongrel quicker than a Chilean cleaner crew on loan
from Texas, Nixon rich.

He yelled at me to come down, which I did, and we
dragged that hog leg meat leaker up to the truck and
pitched it in the back.

Those poor kids never looked at me the same again.

If you saw the look of shock on their faces you too
would doubt they'll ever be able to form words either.


Blackbird chunked their pet into kibbles and bits
right before their eyes.

On another occasion, Billy and I were cruising South
Tent City (kvl camp) for pellet meat puppets, when we
seen a loose husky running a bit south of Burnor's
camp. Billy got out and ran the dog down whereupon it
whirled around and snapped at Mr. Bird.

So Billy blew its front leg off, then spun it around
with a hip shot. That fucking dog did a cooler’n shit
gimp boogie scrambling crippled in the dirt until
Billy put a charge into its face, full stop.

The screaming continued cuz the owners were in
two-thirds hysteria harmony now minus their howling
mutt mess. Fuck they were shrieking loudly. Made me
wanna encore their red wet faces with my chrome sissy
gun I bought from Garoutte.

These folks weren't at all happy to see their
poocher's blood and poop mixed, 'specially when a wild
eyed killer in uniform blasted it to bits one shot at
a time.

I also highly suspect some of their frustration with
our public services rendered was that the Kotzebue
Police Department unleashed such sick grinning fucks
who to this day cackle and howl like fucking hyenas
whilst performing our hobby killing before breakfast
serial.

I find it convenient to retell these tales without any
benefit of Blackbird plausibly refuting culpability.
Mighty white of me huh? Like the Chief commented just
last week, "There's always more to the story." I'm
human; to blame it on the other guy is even more
human.

Truth be told, but not likely, I never owned a gun,
nor fired one. I was never there and I didn't do it.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

It's always the butler that did it, or the black guy.

Like I said, every twist and turn in our random
mutation gives us a shit load of statistical outliers
that are simply smarter than I, more creative than I,
but ain't as good looking, nor foul mouthed.

Despite origins not healthy wealthy nor wise, Old
Billy Bird was gifted at some things. Telling true
stories from way back when, sure as fuck ain’t one of
'em. My savant forte lies in my memory for details,
his lies in his affliction for killing and raping.

As with all you killers in uniform, may God bless that
soldier and I pray you men live as long as I. Cuz I’ll
be writing about your lives long after your kids fart
dust and suck dirt, even if they look more like
Blackbird than you. And you thought you were only
eating yer own sperm.

Up yours truly,


Ben Dover.

Geographic and environmental upheavals abound, yet I got your boat ready and yer back covered.

Top of the morning gents,

Some days I ain't got a clue what to write about.

I just received an intriguing email from Richie Eunice WAY down South about the genetic history of the Mongols and Amazon women.

Amazon women with fair skin, fair hair and blue eyes. Hmmmm...makes you wonder how much taller us bastard cannibal Vikings have always been and how short continental Mongoloids would have been if they hadn't climbed ladders for sex with taller bimbos never reaching the bottom of the well with mortar along the walls fully intact.

Put yourself in the shoes of a runt fuck Mongoloid first seeing a tall blonde ScandiHo (vs. EskiHo) coming ashore with legs all the way up to here and an aromatic biscuit directly level with yer turd brown face.

I don't care which hole you slid out of, that's funny.

Bad English? You bet, and fuck you. Or better phrased by an old drinking and ice smoking buddy of mine Richard McCartney who used to always belch out in his best 'Sling Blade' impersonation, "Suck my dick."

Alas, he preferred to lynch the fro, spooge EskiHo, so he had to go. AC hires miscreants of all ethnicities, but Irish bumb fucks don't last long in damp villages filled with underage girls dying to trade cooter biscuit for drinks, gulp down yer rank scraling ball cheese and sour mushroom glue pecker snot for shots off yer bottle.

After little Inuit girls were seen staggering and leaking from his apartment, Burt Tiegen drove him to the airport and old lecherous McCartney was never seen again.

"I don't know but I've been told, Eskimo pussy's mighty cold," (Full Metal Jacket).

I'm in a position speak so foul. I'm the only fuckboy in this crew that has Eskimo grandchildren and an Eskimo drinking pal that don't pussy foot or fiddle fart and fuck around.

---
From: "Sarin Gas"
To: karl_ewing@yahoo.com
Subject: nigger boy.
Date: Wed, 12 Oct 2005 21:43:21 +0000

oochuk boy,

chur doin?

dude, an angel of mercy came and blessed me with 2 of the finest reefer doobies a man can smoke. it was good. anyways, waiting for the beer to wake up. i'll be over soon as it wakes up.

phone me groidal.

L8R B8R.
---

Ain't that a beautiful email? A dude arriving at my porch with cold beer in tow, chinked eyes and packed beak is worthy of a seat at my bar anytime.

That's me, the only Nordic Neegroid that has a fishhook lip drinking mate that's "not very dark, he's a high steppin' yeller." (Carl Perkins)

Funny aspect of Browerville existence, everybody gets tagged with an Eskimo nickname, never flattering, always funny shit. I'm called 'nigger boy', 'oochuk boy' and 'groidals'. Ironies abound, even in illiterate communities.

If I hadn't shit and pissed all over rural circumpolar Egypt, I wouldn't appreciate the love and kindness behind the violence that lands upon my ears, nose and throat.

Fuck me in the goat ass.

I want to thank you all for yer refreshing and invigorating comments, retorts and insults. God bless all of ye.

As I'm pondering my next full auto canvas attack via improper English, aboriginal slang and damaged language centers deep inside the diseased brain of a idiot savant on drugs, I worry about you lads now migrated all over Alaska and the world.

I ain't related to any of ye. I also never fucked any of yer wives nor girlfriends, sons nor daughters, so my conscience is clear. But I still worry about you bastards as if you're all my darker brothers from dumber mothers.

Last night I couldn't sleep fer shit, kept kicking the sheets and punching my pillow. Tormented nights like these are worthy of analysis; cuz mornings such as today find me uncoordinated and disoriented, mystical and thick. Failing to sleep yet meditating behind closed eyes I also put in a prayer for all you sons of fucks too.

Ya see, there ain't a single shred of reasoning for me to constantly lecture you bastards nor submit recitations rectal on your behalf. But I'm compelled to, so fuck you.

I have visions of you boys in the line of fire, taking hits, eating shit, fighting valiantly, yet alone. What's up with that?

As stated before, little boys are always the last to know they're dead.

I ain't yer fucking family, yer kin, nor relative, but I treat y'all the same way I used to treat my own brothers many years ago. Moving way up north to Alaska with junkets overseas to do crimes, leaves me alone for years at a time, yet not lonely. I got you guys.

I can't abuse my wife with treacherous litany nor masculine sensitive comrade teasing, she's far too much of a classy fucking broad and good looking dame.

But I can rail away at all you killers in uniform, cuz it's my divine duty to remind you daily how awful a human can be, and how wonderful all you gents serve as infantry support and warring mates.

Not once did I ever doubt yer support.

I also never doubted that after any of you lads pass on, I'm gonna miss the shit outa you. Some days I just gotta remind myself how much of a devastatingly positive impact all you rapists and killers had on me. Ain't that a bitch?

I got no control over my life. Fate kicks my rudder like a motherfucker so I gave up worrying about the mysterious big guy manning the helm and just continue pulling net, shoveling coal and busting nuts over mutual experiences in hell you rusty haloed angels survived with me.

If I'm to die from my life, it's best to be surrounded by murderous friends with a penchant for violence and a history of caring. Besides, the tide always washes my shit ashore over and over and I'm growing accustomed to awake puking sea water and seeing all you drunken sailors weeping around a beach bonfire. Make sense?

I visualize each of your battered faces in unspeakable ordeals surrounded by visible light, with this demon 10 paces behind you fully armed covering your 6.

Some realms I excel, hence my duties to decorate your boat, tuck you in and give you a good push out to sea. The hereafter is your ultimate destination and I'm tasked with reminding you that y'all are heaven sent for duty in the care and oversight by a forever Earthbound misfit insuring your safe departure returning you back to where you came from.

Valhalla, Heaven, whatever: give it a name. It's just an image I create in me head so soothing to edit out all injury and mortality as I stand on the beach, watching to make sure your canoe never returns.

I'm supposed to be the random bullet dump, knife sheath, punching bag and spittle magnet, not you guys, you ain't nearly ungodly enough as this Norseman.

If you think you feel someone or something's following you. No worries mates, that's me keeping an eye on ye. You're cursed with persistent harassment and blessed with continual prayers and well wishes.

Ain't nothing, just my endless rotating duties cycling through crews of soldiers assisting me in understanding that a Finn’s Heaven is here on Earth and it ain't a sin to forever stay behind.

Shit gents, someone's gotta launch all yer one-man water craft towards open seas.

Best it be a goddamned Viking: literally.


Karl.

---

KTUU.com-Aleutians borough approves offshore oil leasing
Tuesday, October 11, 2005 - by Lee Bullington

Anchorage, Alaska - The six-village Aleutians East Borough Assembly has voted unanimously to allow offshore oil and gas leasing in Bristol Bay -- but only if fish are protected, exploration is environmentally safe and oil and gas companies provide jobs to local residents.

The borough is the closest local government to an offshore area that may contain trillions of cubic feet of natural gas.

The state is planning to lease onshore acreage along the Alaska Peninsula, on Oct. 26.

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Alaska's Deep Impact on the North Slope
By Ned Rozell

October 11, 2005 Tuesday PM

In the early 1950s, workers for the U.S. Navy drilled test wells in an area of the North Slope known as the Naval Petroleum Reserve. The drillers sent core samples of rock to Fairbanks, where Florence Weber and Florence Collins, both geologists with the U.S. Geological Survey, noticed something odd. The samples, taken from an area where the surrounding rock was lying flat, were tilted upright. Some of the rocks were shattered.

The strange rocks seemed vaguely familiar to Weber and Collins, two of the first women geologists in Alaska. Both recently had attended a field trip to Indiana to see an impact crater, the massive divot left behind after a meteorite hit the ground. Looking at the pulverized rocks from the petroleum reserve, they thought the Navy diggers may have tapped into an impact crater on the North Slope. Weber and Collins followed their hunch and wrote a USGS paper on what has become known as Avak, the only impact crater confirmed in Alaska.

The Avak impact crater, located east of Barrow, measures about six miles from rim to rim. Don't look for it from an airplane window, though. Several hundred feet of sediment covered Avak in the last million years, hiding the crater from view. Geologists know the crater exists because it's revealed in the core samples and seismic and other geophysical surveys.

Avak was born when a meteorite or comet the diameter of downtown Fairbanks crashed into northern Alaska millions of years ago. Buck Sharpton, a University of Alaska professor who studies impact craters, said the speeding celestial body struck the shallow ocean that covered the North Slope with a shock 10,000 times as powerful as an atomic bomb.

The jolt triggered earthquakes, a tsunami, and sent earth flying in all directions. Animals unfortunate enough to be grazing near ground zero were vaporized. Sharpton said Avak was "extremely energetic," but it didn't have anywhere near the effect of the impact in Chicxulub, Mexico that probably caused the extinction of dinosaurs.

Avak provided a bit of energy for the people of Barrow. The concussion that made the crater created folds in nearby rock that trapped natural gas beneath a ceiling of impermeable rock. The Navy tapped one of the gas traps to provide natural gas to heat buildings in Barrow.

Avak is one of just 139 discovered impact craters in the world. Despite the rarity of known craters, Sharpton says Earth has absorbed thousands of meteorites and comets over the millennia.

He estimates Alaska should be pocked with the indentations of about 250 meteorites and comets. Some may show themselves as circular lakes, or chains of lakes that make a circle. Most have been disguised by erosion, protruding mountains, or the movement of Earth's plates. But the craters are out there, waiting to be found by curious people like Florence Weber and Florence Collins.

Happy PFD day. Ya better save that check for your next stove oil fill up.

Top of the morning gents,

"Yowza, yowza, yowza." "I got it all together now, with my very own disco clothes." "My shirts half open to show you my chain and the spoon for up my nose." (F. Zappa-Dancing Fool)

I'm sorry to report your bootleg liquor, meth, weed and cocaine budgets will all be going towards heating and power this winter. Instead of wasting native money on overpriced ghetto junky vitamins (drugs) all our browner brethren will be forced to sober up in order to pay through their nose and afford their utility bills.

If you buy that, I'll split yer rectum from stem to stern. That is, if you weren't already born and raised in rural Alaska, then yer punked starfish has already been gaped by yer funny uncles' fart hammers and older brothers stink fists.

Have ever seen a native child's ass deformed by an in-law’s bread boffer? That's what yer ass will look like after you pay your utility bills this winter.

I just finished watching the US Farm Report, then switched channels to catch CNBC interview our Natural Gas and Heating Oil industry leaders warn us that energy bills will likely increase by 50% this winter: maybe even double.

-These devastating price hikes will be above the already historic and high prices we're experiencing today. This is gonna hurt men, really hurt. Since none of us is poor, we shant give one shite for our miserably deprived fellow native brethren whom have to burn stove oil diesel for electricity and heat.

Conservation is only actualized when crude based energy prices soar way up near alternative, exotic and expensive energy sources like wind and solar garbage. All alternative energy sources are far too expensive for poor folks and I refuse to subsidize anybody's power costs with tax dollars. Alaska's PCE (power cost equalization) subsidies are being stripped each and every year, so get used to paying your fair share you maggots.

Most of you coppers and emergency responder dudes working in rural Alaska are paying outlandish prices for electricity, heating oil and gasoline. Barrow's sole gas station owned by Eskimos Inc. just raised our gasoline price to $4.00 a gallon.

Try operating multi-cylinder motors above 2.0 liter (121 cid) displacement with fuel prices off the fucking hook. Most Jap motors range in displacement from 1.8 liters (1800 cc) to 2.6 liters (2600 cc) while American trucks and SUV's are all more than twice this size and even less efficient in ratios plethora.

Now try to keep your boat fuel tanks topped off.

You may recall the loser days of our youth when our peanut farming and lefty liberal disappointment Jimmy Carter refused to bribe the Saudi Government with more jets and OTH missile tracking technology. So, they stopped selling America fuel at below market prices and embargoed our sorry adolescent auto maniacal American fat asses.

Whenever you gripe about the US greasing the palms of Saudi Royals with defense tech goodies, the pay back to us is crude oil prices cheaper than the rest of the world. No other country has the killing machines we make, so their crude oil delivery contracts are roughly double what we pay.

I had to shell out $7.00 a gallon for petrol in Finland and even more in the UK while most of the rural Russian villages I eat and drank, shit and pissed in simply had zero fuel nor electricity all throughout the winter months.

Vladivostok, Yakutsk and Magadan all burned sulfur and salt rich coal for heat, candles for light and all cars and trucks stayed parked and frozen. That was one of many occasions I missed living in the country that is the largest manufacturer of military equipment in the world.

Yes, I too wish international foreign policy was dictated by the league of women voters, but it ain't, it's cruel, greedy and hardball. As long as most of the world is uneducated and overly religious democracy is only a myth legitimized by us folks blessed with the God given right of free speech and citizen choices of governors and consumer spending decisions.

Due Process doesn't equal Due Product.

Energy policies always dovetail with issues of sovereignty and our American belief that we deserve the highest standard of living outside of the Nordic countries AND the world's cheapest energy prices.

Now India and China believe they too deserve American sized cars and American sized houses with energy consumption levels accordingly. Bet you didn't know that your house consumes more energy and emits more pollution than all your cars combined.

I'm still stumped where in hell China and India are gonna get all the lumber to build all these 2nd world homes. When blow job Bill Clinton signed the executive order limiting logging on federal lands, the world lumber purchasing agents and brokers simply went south and bought 600% more lumber from the Rain Forests of South America and the Amazon Basin.

The ultimate human demise will occur the day we create 3 more problems by trying to solve just one contrived problem.

This is a perfect example of trying to save our harvestable and renewable old growth timber reserves only to see massive logging increases in more sensitive areas worldwide. Logging increases lacking EPA oversight and re-seeding policies yielding horrific erosion and washouts the season after the Rain Forest and Amazon Basin are clear cut and stripped clean.

In our resource hoarding endeavors, we've reached a point of perfection and homeostasis. Allowing prices to skyrocket as supplies shrink and demand explodes may force more shit ass poor people to shiver in cold ghetto grottos, but these same extraordinarily high energy prices also serve to promote energy conservation. These ever more frequent energy crises make horribly expensive and wasteful alternatives like solar, wind and homosexual fart power barely more affordable.

What the fuck? If the shit is cheap, no need to conserve.

So smile at high energy and building resource prices, cuz all the chinks and Induns (dots not feathers) gotta pay the same commodity prices.

Actually, they gotta pay even more. They ain't got a few thousand extra fighter jets to trade in exchange for energy and resource delivery contracts far below cost.

They also won't look the other way like us Americans do, cuz most other countries find the massive Arab slave trade throughout Sudan and northern Africa offensive and disgusting, but not us Americans.

We built this country on cheap labor and serve as a model for China and India which is where we outsourced and relocated our manual labor industries effectively bringing parity to world wages; ours dropping, theirs rising.

Kewl huh?

As China and India trade their bicycles in for SUV's they're getting fucked on gasoline and manufacturing costs. As America trades in their silly and childish addiction for automobiles for sidewalk shoe tread and electric trams we'll be able to survive $100.00 a barrel oil without blinking.

But then again, you're talking to a guy that loves mass transit happily junking his car to ride on trolleys, trams and subways. That's cuz I'm a Finn and you ain't. A Finn that enjoys riding in the Koff Stout trolley car: dark brew in one hand, French or Danish cigarette in the other.

As Alaskans, our energy needs won't answer my prayers to pipe all the natural gas and crude oil under my arctic computing station north of 70 lat all the way across Canada to Chicago. It'll be the rest of America screaming for relief at the gas pump and on their electricity bills that'll open up ANWR and pipe natural gas outa state.

Which still doesn't spell relief for you maggots.

Sorry, the only way you'll ever be able to enhance your revenues and control your costs is to move up here to Barrow where we have the cheapest natural gas prices in the country and the cheapest electricity prices in the state of Alaska.

I may have failed to inform you lads that our version of a KEA power plant is actually 3 large jet turbine engine generators running on cheap and forever plentiful natural gas, not stove oil like you rural maggots or coal like Agent Octuck in Shitbanks.

I'm all for a suitcase nuke in Galena. Not for power but for demolition, that poor little white devil village may likely see overwhelming disagreement when debating free electricity from Toshiba nukes.

That debate will rage long after we die, but it's an ancient Alaskan pastime to spit on fellow native scumbags and their Fort Yukon luggage: trash bags filled with old clothes and really smelly food.

In context of selfishness, I pray we never siphon off all the wonderfully clean natural gas under my butt.

In the theory of enlightened self-interest, meaning I get a dividend for this underground fuel depot below me, then I'm cool with sharing.

Like every other indigent browntard, you'll also see this distinguished well dressed gentleman screaming for my benefits, entitlements, and dividend check.

Despite owning a fortune in marital, property and haberdashery assets, I'm so native.

Have gun (concealed in Hugo Boss and Armani attire), will travel.

Karl.

PS. I attached an article I wrote for my MBA thesis. You mite be a crew of illiterate graying gunslingers, but take a quick scan at it anyway.

---

Article Published: Sunday, October 09, 2005


Homer utility eyes Healy Clean Coal Plant

Fairbanks Daily News Miner-By Staff Writer

A Homer electric cooperative has tentatively agreed to resurrect the Healy Clean Coal Plant, a small state-owned power plant that lies dormant about 78 miles southwest of Fairbanks.

The $300 million facility was built in 1998 to tap the Usibelli Coal Mine and demonstrate earth-friendly coal-burning technology.

After testing the plant, the Golden Valley Electric Association refused to operate or buy it, saying the plant was "fatally flawed." The state mothballed the facility.

Homer Electric Association Inc. is hoping the Fairbanks-based electric cooperative's conclusions are wrong.

The utility, a 20,000-member cooperative that powers western Kenai Peninsula, agreed to manage the power plant if it passes an engineering review and facility inspection.

Homer Electric already manages a state-owned hydroelectric station at Bradley Lake near Homer.

The investigation into the idle Healy plant will be conducted over the next four months at the state's expense, said Joe Gallagher, spokesman for the Homer cooperative, which announced its plans Friday.

"It's a first step," Gallagher said. "There's a long way to go. Everyone is excited about getting started with this review."

The Homer utility signed an agreement with the Alaska Industrial Development and Export Authority after negotiations started in the spring, Gallagher said. The Alaska Industrial Development and Export Authority is the economic development arm of state government and the agency responsible for the Healy plant.

"(Homer Electric) has been through the plant," said Ron Miller, executive director of AIDEA. "The conclusion is the plant should be up and running.

"Of course, we hope it leads to local jobs and that it provides reliable, reasonably priced energy to the Railbelt," Miller added.

The Homer utility is interested in selling the power to other utilities, but would use the power for its own members if needed, Gallagher said.

A spokesman for the Usibelli Coal Mine said the Homer utility's interest in the power plant is good news.

"We are ready to start delivering coal tomorrow," said Steve Denton.

A GVEA spokeswoman said the Fairbanks utility would assist Homer Electric in its investigation.

GVEA backed out of negotiations with the state to buy the plant last year after its offer of $70 million was turned down.

The Fairbanks utility maintains the power plant's design is faulty and its experimental technology unproven.

If the state had accepted GVEA's offer, the utility planned to retrofit the plant with traditional burners using about $60 million in hoped-for federal funds.

"We're going to open our books and let (Homer Electric) look at everything," said GVEA spokeswoman Corinne Bradish. "We've always wanted nothing more than to see this plant up and running."

The Healy Clean Coal Plant is set up to produce 50 megawatts of power per year, which is twice what is needed for a town the size of Healy but a fraction of the more than 200 megawatts a year needed to power Fairbanks.

The Healy plant was built in part by grants from the U.S. Department of Energy, the Alaska Legislature, AIDEA, GVEA and Usibelli Coal Mine.

Local Siberian gal assists scientists in quantum leap forward in Viral DNA research, after a hunnert years in Arctic deep freeze.

My Dear Dr. Watson,

I'm intrigued with your theoretical assertions, this
shit is way cool.

These spook genetic docs fetched a sample of the 1918
Flu from a frozen dead woman from remote Alaska and
have duplicated its modus operandi documenting how
vicious poultry viruses leap into my big Finnish
snotter and do a major fubar rip shit tear ass job on
my lungs etc.

No shit, the 1918 Flu killed more humans than the
Bubonic Black Plague, but slightly smaller percentage
of all mankind. We're talking some lethal herpHepAIDS
dudes. This shit kills most folks in under 5 days.

My thickheaded lineage survived the Black Plague with
only minor organic disfigurement and minimal brain
dysfunction.

Meaning a recessive trait like sickle cell anemia,
without malarial ass paint, went from being a blonde
haired blue eyed genetic weakness to a powerful
protection against plague, AIDS and a bonus package
of common flu viruses.

Cuz we blow goats.

Hooah! Where in God's Green River did I hear the
phrase, "Well fuck me in the goat ass?"

Actually, the recessive traits that distinguish us
Nordic Neegros, are also our exterminative downfall:
all us blue eyed Jews are goner dudes.

Professor Lou Tarrant speculated us fair skinned
fairies got only 2 hunnert years remaining afore we're
absorbed and vanish into the greater brown populace.

The meek shall inherit the Earth, as soon as I'm
assimilated. Resistance is futile.

The devil convinced this moron he's a fairy tale just
like aliens descending and breeding with our sexiest
monkey sisters hookin' at the Olduvai Gorge servicing
Neanderthals and silver johns with REAL big eyes.

Ain't prions in the brain, its all us ScandiNeegros
doing the Anastazi up in smoke disappearing act
leaving the planet in all your good, yet dick skinning
hands.

Go home immediately and hump yourself some bare back
pale rider. You'll be doing your community a service
by eliminating white trash, boosting your kid's immune
system and improving his good looks.

Bonus deal mates: better smellin' butt pussy and
manipulating future genetic events, all done with only
yer brown dicks.

After the extinction of us blonde jokes, I'm sure
you'll find some other physical attribute and
ethnicity to poke fun at.

Good fun. Wish I could be there. Extinction is only
funny when OTHER folks suck cold air, snort dirt and
fart dust.

Laugh it up faggots, the entire planet will be
overcrowded by brown people slugging through another
ice age led by tribal leaders no brighter than our
current aboriginal electorate.

Kewl aspect of ice ages, Alaska is always ice free.

Heck, you could to cool your boat drinks with a few
shavings from my frozen relatives.

Now that's a party.

Karl.

---

Posted on Wed, Oct. 05, 2005

Researchers remake 1918 flu, look for answers to avian
flu

BY JEREMY MANIER

Chicago Tribune


CHICAGO - (KRT) - Government researchers have remade
the deadly "Spanish flu" virus responsible for the
1918 global outbreak that killed up to 50 million
people, a resurrection they hope will reveal
weaknesses of the modern bird flu strains that
threaten a new pandemic.

Although the work carries some risk if the virus were
to escape from the lab, many experts believe the bug
would be less devastating now because people have
acquired natural immunity to related strains.

Working under high security at the federal Centers for
Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta, scientists
identified many of the genes and proteins that made
the old strain lethal, and rebuilt the virus. Mice
infected with it died within five days.

The team also concluded that the virus leaped directly
to humans from a source in birds - unlike lesser
pandemics in 1957 and 1968 in which viruses from
animals and humans swapped genes.

Reports on their work Wednesday in the journals
Science and Nature come amid signs of increased
concern in the Bush administration and among public
health experts that avian flu could spawn a new
pandemic.

A strain of bird flu that bears similarities to the
1918 virus has killed dozens of people and infected
millions of birds across Asia in recent years. The
strain cannot yet spread widely among people, though
experts fear it will acquire that ability.

By studying how the old virus adapted to people,
scientists hope to develop a checklist of key genetic
changes and track them as they arise in the new bird
flu.

"The point is to understand the implications of what
happened in 1918," study leader Dr. Jeffery
Taubenberger of the Armed Forces Institute of
Pathology said in an interview. "Are there any
parallels between 1918 and what's happening now?"

It took Taubenberger's team 10 years to reconstruct
the virus by piecing together genetic fragments taken
from the frozen remains of an Inuit woman who died in
Alaska in 1918. The flu killed 85 percent of the
residents of her hometown within five days,
Taubenberger said.

As it blazed around the globe, the influenza pandemic
exacted a greater death toll in a few months than AIDS
has in 24 years - a fearsome history that inspires
healthy respect of the virus.

The full genetic code of the 1918 virus will be
publicly available to scientists through the GenBank
database. That means a knowledgeable virologist in
theory could re-assemble the flu bug using the same
techniques as Taubenberg's group.

"The concern is that a terrorist group or a careless
investigator could convert this new knowledge into
another pandemic," Philip A. Sharp, a molecular
biologist at the Massachusetts Institute of
Technology, wrote in an editorial in Science.

CDC director Julie Gerberding said several
governmental review boards had assessed the risks of
bringing the virus back from the dead and weighed them
against the scientific benefits. One of the review
bodies was the new U.S. National Science Advisory
Board for Biosecurity, formed last year to guard
against terrorist misuses of such research.

The board unanimously "voted that in fact the
scientific benefit for this far outweighed the risk of
this being used in a nefarious manner," said Dr.
Anthony Fauci, director of the National Institute on
Allergies and Infectious Disease.

Gerberding said the agency has treated the virus like
other "select agents" capable of posing a severe
threat to public health. The virus does not warrant
the highest level of laboratory containment because
antiviral drugs and normal flu vaccines are somewhat
effective against it. Gerberding said the CDC has no
plans to share the flu virus with other labs.

"We have erred on the side of caution," she said.

Merely sequencing the virus' genes would not have been
enough, many experts said. That's because the genes
interacted in the live virus in ways no one predicted,
resulting in protein changes that help the flu enter
cells. It also was able to take hold deep in the lungs
and cause deadly pneumonia.

"What's interesting is that this virus really is more
pathogenic than the sum of its parts," said Robert
Lamb, a virologist and influenza expert at
Northwestern University.

To make live viruses from the complete genetic
sequence, the team enlisted help from researchers at
Mt. Sinai School of Medicine in New York. They placed
loops of genes called plasmids in animal tissue
cultures, where the loops could churn out copies of
the viral components.

"What you get at the other end is an infectious flu
virus," Taubenberger said.

When researchers modified the 1918 virus by swapping
in a key protein from an ordinary flu strain, infected
mice no longer developed a virulent form of flu. That
suggests a weakness in avian flu that researchers
could exploit, said study leader Terrence Tumpey of
the CDC.

"It represents an exciting finding where we can pursue
potential therapeutic and antiviral measures to target
this particular protein," Tumpey said.

In all, the researchers found 10 key amino acid
changes that allowed the 1918 flu to make copies of
itself and spread among human hosts. The recent strain
of avian flu, called H5N1, already has acquired some
of those changes.

And although experts had thought bird flu would have
to combine with another variety in order to spread
among people, the 1918 example shows it's possible for
avian flu to adapt directly to a human host. Such an
unmixed virus might be more lethal to people,
Taubenberger said.

Now that the government team has finished the arduous
work of deciphering the old, fragmentary viral code,
the step of creating a live virus would be relatively
easy for anyone with a decent Ph.D. in virology, Lamb
said.

Yet Lamb, who served on one of the government safety
committees that cleared Taubenberger's work, said he's
convinced the viral work is safe.

One reason is that the ordinary flu strain called H1N1
is a descendant of the deadly 1918 version,
Taubenberger said. So modern vaccines and antiviral
drugs like Tamiflu still offer some protection against
the old virus.

"It did not actually disappear," Taubenberger said.
"Practically everyone on Earth was exposed to this
virus. For it to survive in humans it had to rapidly
change."

Those essential changes probably also made the modern
flu less lethal. But it still carries an echo of the
great killer.

"In that sense," Taubenberger said, "it never went
away."

Subsistence is modern nomenclature for robbing and killing gooks for meth money.

Top of the morning gents,

Rude awakenings are best, and I had a doozy this morning.

I had a real long chat with Sara Magnum last night about mom's retirement, the holidays and reducing debt load. We also chatted about her experiences living in Seattle and how weird it is that both my father and grandfather are still alive at 72 and pert near a hunnert, respectively.

She also griped of their frugality and thrift despite net worths exceeding that of most small Alaskan villages.

This triggered traumatic slumber and nightmares from my violent childhood awakening to the phone ringing at O'dark hunnert with a mumbling toothless neighbor asking 'who got jugs, apun, or boocs' (bootleg liquor, meth or bags).

My reply was simply "Fuck you asshole" and hanging up. We're warming up to Maximum Overdrive in Barrow's overwhelming illegal drug and alcohol season triggered by the direct deposits of PFD checks next week.

I slept like dog crap until it was time for me to make my good coffee and psyche my pretty Siberian wife to put up with another day at the office surrounded by shitty nigger Eskimo bitches. Shitty nigger ice bitches so full of hatred and stirred unnuk that the corporate culture throughout all of rural Alaska is best described as whiney whiney bitch cunts only happy when everybody is sick and miserable.

I know this. So do you. My poor wife has to put up with the same sick dyke fuming snatches you all have to tolerate.

We leave the house at 7:30am, arriving at the AC store around quarter to 8 allowing bunnik to catch the man-haul van service carrying students and faculty out to the Ilisagvik College. The institute for the mentally retarded yet normal natives located further out of town than the bowling lanes, theater and bar at the old Air Force base outside of Kotzebue.

While awaiting for the van, me and bunnik carried on our normal discourse pertaining to relationship theory, child abuse and why American women are such filthy cunts refusing to honor nor obey the value of a family structure.

It's a husband's duty to speak in such terms so that his wife understands his commitment, faith and fidelity absolutely necessary for a marriage expected to outlive typically brief Alaskan marriages we see all around. Even within this group of poorly wedded boys saddled with a man's spousal responsibilities.

As we chatted ever so esoteric, Super Dad from Unalakleet yelled a 'Barrow Hello' from the open window of his taxi he rode to work.

I'm lying, he yelled so loud his voice boomed all throughout the frozen quiet morning. All the crowd out front of AC heard was "Hey Neegroid!", which is my current Niger nom de plume. An evolved version of 'nigger' and 'negro', both former nicknames I was titled my first winter here in niggerville, I mean Barrow. Nobody understands the plight us rich Vikings must suffer.

"Ye don't lose your wife, ye just lose yer turn."

Shoot, some of the ex-wives and ex-girlfriends discarded from this gang of graying gunslingers don't add up to more than inadequate life support systems for their own cunts, let alone spawning and nurturing your broken offspring all the way to maturation.


Don't feel bad, nobody fucks up as good as me. Full stop.

You can't turn a whore into a housewife. This rule applies to men also.

Sidney Portier once stated that "a man is measure by how he cares for his family, nothing else." Smart fucker never lived in Alaska where it's perfectly okay to abandon numerous mixed blood aboriginal spouses only to see them staggering around the city and village streets everywhere in Alaska sucking dick for alcohol and crack hits.

Yup, we all seen that one. I blinked twice, and then realized this nasty whore from Kotzebue was drunkenly approaching me, so I fled. I never give money to street miscreants, native bums or whores. Shoot, this ripe scab deserved a few blows to the head with the same motorcycle helmet that crushed her scumbag boyfriend's face and skull.

We also know of ex-spouses that've killed subsequent suitors and have seen homeless kids roaming about looking an awful lot like some of my best friends.

What the fuck am I saying? You guys are my ONLY friends.

As you pudgy and slouching old cops stroll yer way to your graves far sooner than I'd like, we all could use a little help shouldering our burdensome sins.

Forgive and forget: yourselves and the skanks you've soiled and discarded. Guilt and neurosis are fertile material for alcoholism, and a fate a compli when examining all the members of this crew.

Free your mind from the past and dedicate the entire rest of your lives to the spouse your with. Or kill the bitch and get a good one. Good wives make for long and healthy lives.

This oughta scare you monkey fuckers.

I'm preparing you boys for the inevitable death of one of us. Take a look at the list of email recipients above and guess which of us will soon be worm bait. Then we'll blame it on yer nasty wife and lynch her the way we all wished you would've.

The heaviest of us may vapor lock, our nicotine addicts may die standing in their shoes like two of our blessed fathers who died from Acute Coronary Syndrome. Both non-sentient before dashing their abdomen and skulls onto the tiled floor at an airport counter or upstairs overlooking his dog lot.

The hardest drinking gunslingers in this lot will likely leak out on the highway or have an accident cleaning our pistols.

I need friends like you guys. For another 40+ years if it's possible.

Our unique and varying ethnicities put us at higher risks of death for plethora causes. Adding the four horsemen of the apocalypse: stress, rotating shifts, poor diet, and nicotine addiction to this picture only illustrates that we die from our life.

Like you killers, I have a hard time maintaining friendships. Usually from "a failure to communicate" (Cool Hand Luke).

This ain't happening, cuz you bastards get an extraordinary peek into the mind of a dumbass loser wigger retard that may very likely be as smart as you.

Nothing I spew is original nor revelatory, just insightful, aboriginal and non-relevant. And it's all free. You could learn a lot from a dummy.

All of us old killers and rapists may not be the very best candidate as husbands for our wives, but our wives are the best we'll ever wed. From here to eternity, remind your wives we're not worthy of their affection, but we'll both kill and die protecting them from men just like us.

Shit, I could've been born bright.

Karl.


Take a look. My village is inhabited by meth addicts and alcoholics. It ain't morally objectionable for ice niggers to rob and kill gooks: it's Barrow.

I'm changing my "go native" slogan to "go nigger." That's all I see here in rural Alaska.

---

Paul Carr, Chief of Police

PRESS RELEASE #05-19


Submitted: Lt. Kelly Alzaharna
Date Submitted: 10/05/05
Unit Location: Barrow, Alaska
Reviewed By: Capt. Greg Venable
Date Reviewed: 10/05/05
Approved By: Capt. Greg Venable
Date Released: 10/05/05


Contact Person: Lt. Kelly Alzaharna

Phone Number (907) 852-0311

On October 4, 2005, at about 10:15 pm, Narong Siangdee, 37-years old, a Barrow Cab driver, reported being robbed behind H-building, 5230 Karluk Street.

Two juvenile males got in his cab, one held a rope around his neck, and the other held a knife to his head. They demanded money and were given an undisclosed amount, then left the cab.

North Slope Borough Police officers responded and based on the victim’s recognition of one of the juveniles, a 17-year old male, made an arrest. The juvenile is being held at the North Slope Borough Police Department pending a petition with the court. The case is still under investigation.

Global warming is a 'good thing.' Arctic + 10 degrees = Karlukmun's very own pot plantation. Slaves included.

Top of the morning gents,

Dust bowls, heat waves and melting ice packs.

I don't think humans will be able to do anything to stop our cursed 100 year and 1,000 year weather cycles.

Mother Nature is a bitch. She nukes Africa with desertification with the Sahara Dessert expanding 100 miles every year. She ruins Alaska with tundrafication with most of our state slogged and clogged in nigger-heads, muskeg, hillocks, tussocks, and well basically useless mosquito infested sloppy tundra.

I live here. I hate the shit. I do arctic warming dances every fucking day.

Here's a bit of trivia that'll take a lot of hot air and steam outa yer global warming causality malarkey: Mt. St. Helens released more carbon dioxide and carbon monoxide into the atmosphere than the entire industrial history of mankind.

You and I know that smog and soot levels in Los Angeles, London and New York are a result of extraordinary traffic, congestion and sheer numbers of exhaust sources, but insignificant to Earth's massive greenhouse gas production enhancing or restricting vegetative activity worldwide.

More carbon dioxide means more vegetation further towards the poles, more desertification in Africa and less tundrafication in Alaska, Canada and Russia. Everything in the natural sciences is a trade off or a compromise. Upside or downside depends on your ability to flex with the changes, roll with the punches.

Don't get me wrong, I hate air pollution just as much as the next guy and honk and make gagging gestures whenever I'm stuck behind any oil burning and oil smoking junker cars driven by Valley Trash PONTIAC Wiggers.

I ain't talking about that, I'm talking about the advantages of warming Alaska enough so we can grow our own produce forever freeing us from liquid lettuce, rotten squash and veggies that look like they were used as dildos by fat pear shaped white dyke bitches piling into Alaska by the thousands.

Alaska is filling up with broken divorcees and lesbos that fled the lesser 48 to escape sexual inadequacy, ridicule and stink finger loneliness hoping to hide amongst all us similarly smelling Alaskans with problem body odor.

Ain't no problem hiding yer yeast cheese discharge, chronic bull dike buddy viruses and bacteria infested penis gloppage all over yer forearm from us arctic dwellers, our babysitters and stepmoms already taught us to suck pig tits, lick dog butt and earned our red badges of courage. At the age of 5.

If we raise temps in the lesser 48 just 3 degrees we can increase agricultural output by almost 50%, if we raise Alaska's temps by 10 degrees we'll be set to kick some farmer butt with truly awesome squash, tobacco, and Matanuska Thunderfuck.

Looking out the back of my window I see whale crews hoisting and dragging bloody whales with the help of heavy equipment operators in bucket loaders and fork lifts.

The Fall hunt is the commercial whaling season so my Eskimo neighbors can use Scandinavian whale cannons, diesel tractors and some really cool fishing vessels armed with powerful engines and trick rigging.

Spring whaling takes place miles out on the ice shelf, so no tractors, no giant fishing vessels, just kayaks, harpoons and man-powered winch systems of pulleys and fat rope action.

I'm just one moron drunk with spirit that walks in hundreds of worlds.

If we warm up Alaska say another 5 degrees, I'll no longer enjoy a view of a bright red ice pack painted with sea mammal ass paint, but I will enjoy a view of hundreds of darkies working the fields picking my tobacco, barley, hops and gooner bud, fruits and vegetables.

I wonder what kind of new musical genres that'll inevitably come out of Alaskan Natives singing gospel drinking songs whilst picking my "weed, whites and wine" (Little Feat).

Missouri plantations in Alaska: my very own private Idaho. Analogous to them dope smoking maggot infested environmentalist whackos, flora-indigenous plant life is a dangerous entity, once you give them veggies a foot hold, they'll convert all yer shitty and mucky tundra into a veritable garden of Eden.

Us Ukpeagvik child pumpers will no longer be carnivorous meat shittin' mongoloids, we'll be vegetarian homosexual retards. (Can I possibly mix up more epitaphs and slurs?)

How do you convert millions of square miles of tundra peat into marijuana? Add a little warmth and tenderness and voila: we all got green thumbs, green teeth and red eyes.

Hunting cultures party and dance to migratory frequency modulation, agrarian cultures party and pillage to planting seasons and harvest time festivals of abundant amplitude.

Farmers are champs at green energy policy: all stalks, leaves, hulls and husks are fed to livestock with all the expected mondo manure roto-tilled back into their gardens.

Another spin-off byproduct is the recycling of moldy grain yields into white lightening and LSD rich ergot wheat rust into Microdot vitamin caplets.

Our progeny more than children of the corn, quite possibly children of the cron.

Global warming will make farmers out some of us, slaves out of the rest of us.

Is that kewl or twat?

Karl.

---

Is shrub growth adding to climate change in the Arctic?

By Richard A. Lovett
UNION-TRIBUNE
October 5, 2005

In 1999, Matthew Sturm of the U.S. Army Cold Regions Research and Engineering Laboratory in Alaska discovered a stack of Cold War-era reconnaissance photos of Alaska's North Slope, about to be discarded by his agency's Anchorage office.

Sturm had them shipped to Fairbanks and gave them to Kenneth Tape, a graduate student at the University of Alaska. The photos were eye-catching partly because they were huge: 9-by-18-inch prints taken with a 100-pound camera. But they were also keys to understanding how the Arctic landscape has changed in the years since they were made.

U.S. Navy

This Cold War-era photo from the late 1940s shows tundra with typical low-growing mosses and lichen near the Noatak River in northwest Alaska.
On the North Slope, there are no hurricanes, fires, glacial advances and retreats, or other disturbances that might cause plant communities to shift over time. That meant that any changes in the vegetation couldn't simply be due to regrowth on previously disturbed land. They had to be due to something else operating on a large scale, presumably climate.

To determine just what had changed, Tape's team equipped an airplane and set out to duplicate 200 of the 5,000 old prints. What they found was stunning: More than 185 of the locations had become noticeably brushier. The North Slope was still largely ground-hugging tundra, but shrubs such as willow, alder and dwarf birch had, on average, expanded their range by 39 percent.

The same area by the late 1990s had been transformed into a brushier landscape of alder, willow and birch shrubs. Increased shrubbery appears to be contributing even more to Arctic warming, by altering snow cover and melting permafrost.
"As the shrubs increase, lichens and herbs are losing out," Tape said, at last fall's meeting of the American Geophysical Union in San Francisco.

That's significant because caribou eat the smaller plants, while shrubs draw moose. The change appears to be happening so quickly that the local languages have barely had time to adapt. "The word for moose in the Inuit language is essentially 'big caribou,' " Tape says.

But the spread of shrubs may be doing a lot more than simply shifting wildlife habitat. It may also be helping to speed the process of Arctic warming by altering snow cover and changing the region's albedo. Albedo is simply a scientific measure of the terrain's brightness: Technically, it is the fraction of sunlight that is reflected back into space. "People go to ski areas and put on sunglasses for the very fact that the albedo is high," says Sturm. "But typically you don't see them reaching for sunglasses in a grassy field." But albedo does more than simply affect brightness. Low-albedo surfaces get warm faster in the sun than high albedo ones. That's why dark pavement gets hot on summer days. Previous studies have found that taller, leafier plants tend to be darker, reducing albedo by about 25 percent, and significantly increasing the amount of solar heating. But the most recent research shows that shrubs have an even larger effect in the winter.

In the Sierra Nevada, shrubs are too deeply buried under the snow to affect the albedo. But Arctic snow rarely piles more than waist deep and is often shallower. Thus, while short tundra plants spend most of the long Arctic winter buried in a white blanket, the upper branches of shrubs rise above the snow. And because these branches are dark, they can reduce the albedo by as much as 75 percent, Sturm said.

Sturm's team rigged trolleylike cables to carry an albedo meter across plots of natural vegetation near Nome, Alaska. The research site was in a transition zone between forest and tundra, where all types of vegetation lay close enough together for all the plots to experience the same winter weather.

Small shrubs didn't affect the albedo, Sturm discovered, because, like tundra, they were buried by snow. "But at some point, they get stiff and tall enough that instead of a beautiful, white snowfield, you get branches sticking up," he says.

When the study first came out in the Sept. 7 issue of the Journal of Geophysical Research-Biogeosciences, it was criticized by people who pointed out that during the heart of the Arctic winter, there's not enough daylight for the albedo to matter. But Sturm's only oversight was in not reminding people that the Arctic winter isn't limited to the 24-hour darkness of December and January.

"I've spent much of my life in the winter working with a headlamp," he laughs. "If anyone would know it's dark in the high north, it's me!"

What matters, he says, are the "swing" seasons of fall and spring. "They are very sunny."

In fact, during the course of taking albedo measurements, Sturm discovered that in the spring, melting began several weeks earlier in shrubby regions than in unbroken tundra. "And you notice things like warm branches breaking out of the snow on a hot day," he says.

On the other hand, the same sun-warmed branches shaded the last remnants of the snow beneath them. The result was that while melting started earlier in shrubby areas, the last of the snow melted at the same time as in open terrain. Another surprise was that the dark branches of shrubs reduce the albedo by nearly two-thirds as much as the dark boughs of trees.

That's an important discovery, Sturm says, because shrubs can invade large tracts of land in the course of a few decades, while forests take much longer to expand their range. "So, through a simple growth of shrubs, we can have a profound impact on Arctic climate, just by darkening the landscape," he says.

Feedback effect

It also appears to be a self-perpetuating effect because, by warming the winter climate, the shrubs appear to be creating conditions conducive for even more explosive growth in the future. Sturm's study did not measure the amount by which the albedo effect elevates local temperatures, but he estimates that it is probably on the order of a couple of degrees centigrade.

In addition, shrubs trap snowdrifts that insulate their roots from the bitterest cold of the dark midwinter months.

Other researchers applaud the study for providing increased understanding of how global warming is affecting the Arctic. "It's really valuable information for the modelers," says Steve Hastings, an ecologist at San Diego State University. Real-life field data, he says, makes it possible to fine-tune climate models, allowing what were once little more than guesses to better zero in more precisely on what the future may hold.

The biggest concern among climate modelers is how changes in the Arctic are affecting the amount of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere.

For thousands of years, plants have been growing and dying in the Arctic, with their remains settling into the soil. Instead of decomposing and releasing carbon dioxide back into the air, these remains have accumulated as a huge store of peat, locked in the Arctic permafrost.

Were it not for the albedo effect, the jury would still be out on whether shrubs contribute to permafrost melting. Their tendency to create snowdrifts insulates the ground from the deepest cold and prevents it from freezing as deeply as might otherwise be the case. But they also shade the ground in the summer, reducing the impact of solar heating.

It is unclear which of these two factors is stronger, says Frederick Nelson, a geographer at the University of Delaware. But the albedo effect alters the balance by warming large tracts of lands. That contributes to the ongoing warming of the Arctic, speeding the rate at which the permafrost is melting. Permafrost melting is a problem to Arctic residents because it causes land subsidence, ruining roads and buildings. But, in a disturbingly self-perpetuating process, permafrost melting may also contribute to further warming. That's because it exposes increasing quantities of that stored peat to bacterial decomposition that might release huge quantities of carbon dioxide to the atmosphere.

"Historically, the Arctic has been a carbon sink, taking in more carbon than it's releasing and storing it in the deep freeze for 7,000 years," says Hastings. The present warming trend is akin to "pulling the plug" on the freezer. "All of that stuff is melting and decomposing," Hastings says.

CO2 threshold

Of course, it's not quite that simple. The summers of 1995 and 1996 were two of the warmest on record, but instead of releasing carbon dioxide, the Arctic temporarily went back to storing it. The reason, Hastings hypothesizes, is that the decomposition of plant matter from melted permafrost releases more than carbon dioxide: It also releases nutrients such as nitrogen and phosphorous. Temporarily, a spike in these nutrients fuels rampant plant growth, which pulls more carbon dioxide out of the air than decomposition is putting into it.

But, while this might repeat again in the future, it appears to be a temporary phenomenon. For the next few decades, most researchers expect that the Arctic will release more carbon dioxide than plant growth absorbs.

Meanwhile, human releases of carbon dioxide could also increase. "It's not going to be long before China is going to start producing every bit as much carbon dioxide per person as we do," Hastings says. "We need to look at this as a scientific question and try the best we can to put political viewpoints aside."

What the recent findings about shrubs contribute to the "scientific question" is a demonstration that, at least in the Arctic, changes can occur quickly, with self-perpetuating feedbacks that can quickly accelerate. "You shouldn't think of systems as moving on trajectories that are nice and smooth," Sturm says. "These systems almost always have thresholds."

In the case of his study, he notes, "As soon as shrubs get big enough to poke above the snow, they begin to change the winter environment in ways that change it even more."

The real question is whether these changes will be slow or explosive. "Our study indicates the latter," Sturm says.

Native Alaskan Biscuit is a Natural Resource we should try to save.

Top of the morning gents,

Sad day for our prettiest asset: Alaska Native Women.

I ain't shitting, I may rail away at issues
inflammatory such as rural Alaskan health care, safe
child rearing in light of horrific rural domestic
violence, assaults and murder.

Issues that have no upside for any political party
hence the syndromatic ignoring, buck passing and
basically looking the other way. Besides, they're just
a bunch of fucking natives, who gives a shit?

Seems I do.

That's our lot in life: Quixotic uphill battles
against overwhelming tides of contrary yet poorly
thought out native opinions crushing this crowd of
iconoclastic rural Alaskan gunslingers. What's good
for the goose is good for the gander, remote Alaska is
better off selling lower proof beers, ales and wines
leaving nitro methane Bacardi drag race fuels with our
beloved urban municipal tribesmen malingering in Los
Anchorage, Shitbanks and JewNo.

Hard liquor may not be a suitable beverage for arctic
dwellers like me that chug and gulp down refreshments
at the same pace regardless of alcoholic strength.
Fuck, since moving from Helsinki to Barrow, I now down
whole glasses of bourbon at the same pace I chug cold
beer and decanted wines. Houston, we have a problem.

The Mat-Su Borough and the City of Anchorage both
jacked cigarette taxes unfairly high while fearing to
raise liquor taxes to pay for our typically alcohol
related violence and incarceration. Violence I see all
around me: violence I contribute to without shame.

I'll never vote for damp or dry communities because
the opposite consequences seem to result from our
genuine efforts to rid native communities of Eskimo
Heroin: booze. Put this way, I have to move from
Barrow to Anchorage just to sober up.

I drink vastly more frequently and more heavily
whenever I live in damp or dry villages in Alaska,
Russia AND Finland too. Go figure.

Besides, I shoulder great shame every time I recall my
blessed Siberian wife's scolding, "You don't gotta
drink Native."

My name is Imiktuq, "but I have a good time. Life's
been good to me so far." (J. Walsh) Ya like my
bastardized Inupiaq?

Chatting with Lt. Columbo, David Craig and Agent
Octuck last week took me aback and reminded me that
those gentlemen are nothing like me. They are kind and
considerate, not violent, racist combat dicks like yer
punch happy author on drugs. I gotta learn to keep my
fucking crippled hands to myself and stop striking or
shooting everything that pisses me off. Killing
everything that moves or makes an annoying sound may
not be qualities a Viking grandparent should possess
if he yearns to be loved and trusted by Eskimo
grandchildren I've yet to beat.

Like all native women that drink alcoholic beverages,
I tend to binge drink more heavily between periods of
disorienting sobriety whilst performing stressful
subsistence, thus earning and deserving my next power
drinking sesh. I'm much like the rest of my Finnish
lineage, we do fairly well if we drink in moderation,
yet frequently, only suffering severe hangovers when I
tie one on and over serve my own ass along with my
blessed Eskimo brethren.

Am I the only pussy blonde wigger that gets hangovers?
Fuck, nobody I know here on Eskimo Territory keeps a
stash of Alka (holic) Seltzer on hand for old Inupiaq
lady arthritis and old Suomen geezer headaches and
queaze.

Before a culture can safely absorb customary and
celebratory imbibement, ya gotta create a shit load
more holidays where a lad gets more opportunities to
over-indulge in both really good cultural foods and
delicious yet culturally diverse and potent nogs,
champs and vinos. Holidays that cheer us up, not lend
to arctic suicide, beatings and freezings.

Food and Bar Tabs should compliment each other.
Aperitifs and Digestives like Jaggermeister with
appetizers, red wines with red meats, white wines with
fish, poultry and swine, coffee and brandy with
deserts, cognacs and cigars with the tall Finn on the
porch or in my research laboratory north of 70 lat.

Gentlemen never discuss religion nor politics in the
presence of company (women) and are real particular
with whom they drink with. Politeness will preclude
displaying and brandishing firearms, and good manners
may just save yer fucking life if you're drinking in
my castle.

I ain't fucking native, so I don't have to put up with
belligerence at my dining table, bar and library. My
smoking jacket conceals a customized soft cloth
holster, behave or suck air through a new bubbling
blow hole in yer numb skull.

I like to sit with smarter humans for chats. I also
like to eat and drink with smarter folks and nibble on
sweet biscuits, sip European coffees and if I'm lucky
and nobody's watching I enjoy a few puffs on a Danish
cigarette if I got a pack of fags in me pocket.

My other brother Tim flew with Korean and Japanese
culinary conglomerate delegates to Anchorage for
meetings and drinkings. He also invited me and my
Siberian Mrs. for dinner and drinks at a downtown
Anchorage Asian eatery and watering hole.

We're talking 6 hours of tasty snacks constituting
half a day of continually renewed courses of foods and
beverages. One of the older and wealthier guests
ordered whole bottles of smoky spirits authentically
distilled by Highland Scotsmen: on top of the
complimentary amber beers and gourmet table wines.

If I had any misgivings how my Eskimo brethren
inherited such a massive thirst for liquors, they
vanished when observing your Asian forefathers washing
down sushi platters and steak trays with unimaginable
volumes of alcoholic beverages from every country and
culture on the planet.

Them fucking Asians have fiberglass livers far
superior to my obsolete Viking fuel filter. Like
Russian festivities and Asian continental fermentation
orgies, I can't hang, us Finns pussy out early.

Besides, I hate hangovers almost as much as I hate
heaving, wretching, choking and puking on stomach
contents I paid half a grand for.

What's up with that?

Enough preamble. ALS-Alaska Legal Services stopped
short of complete elimination of free lawyer services
for the indigenously indigent. Our bootlegger and
village meth wholesaler buddies no longer receive free
advocacy, but ALS will continue to represent domestic
violence victims for at least one more year.

The rapidly evolving cultures throughout the
circumpolar regions are shying away from making tough
policy decisions in regards to the sale or prohibition
of alcoholic beverages. Policies that still fail to
diplomatically handle the plague of illegal drugs,
huffing and the consumption of industrial alcohols
found in Lysol, hair sprays and colognes, cleaners and
disinfectants.

If you think I'll wrap up this lecture with a simple
solution: yer fucked cuz I ain't got one.

Allowing the sale of strictly beers and wines will
satisfy Native villager thirst sufficiently to almost
eliminate bootlegger hard liquor and native children
squishing my goddamned pit stick through cheesecloth
just to sip the scented fluids.

Pot heads will always prefer weed over harder drugs
and booze, meth heads can simply fuck off and die in a
dumpster holding hands and dicks with their crack
whore sisters and mothers.

Show 'em my motto. "Green beer and green toke."

Cuz "I get stoned in the morning, I get drunk in the
afternoon." (Charlie Daniels)

Developing policy around human nature may be
difficult, but not impossible like ideologically
driven public policy.

Go figure, we may never find a solution that curbs the
epidemic FAS and violence against women and children.
So it seems we'll all just muck about and fiddle, fart
and fuck around with full jails, emergency rooms and
courtroom benches.

The world is perfect as we find it. I can't deduce how
my tenderizing and seasoning will make one wit of
difference.

Are native women and children forever cursed to create
more broken women and children?

Proof of the pudding is in the tasting.

10,000 year old pudding that is.


Karl.

---

Police release name of woman found dead near City Hall
Monday, October 3, 2005 - by Maria Downey

Anchorage, Alaska - The Anchorage Police Department
has released the name of the woman found dead Sept. 23
near of City Hall.

Police have identified the woman as 49-year-old Della
Katchatag of Anchorage. The Native woman’s body was
discovered by a City Hall security officer around 7:30
a.m. that day.

APD Lt. Paul Honeman said that, according to the
coroner, no foul play was involved. It appears the
woman died of natural causes associated with alcohol
abuse.

---

Domestic violence statistics high for Alaska
Monday, October 03, 2005 - by Rebecca Palsha

Anchorage, Alaska - It's a frightening statistic:
Alaska ranks No. 1 in the country for women killed by
men. Today was the kickoff for Domestic Violence
Awareness Month.

Public health officials came together to discuss the
problem. According to the Anchorage Department of
Health and Human Services, Alaska Native and African
American women are most often the victims of abuse.

“In general, violence against women is a huge problem
everywhere. So, I don’t know if the numbers are
different here because of geographic isolation. Maybe
because we have such a melting pot of cultures and so
that can play into it,” said Melissa Emmal, AWAIC
shelter.

According to a recent study, guns are used most often
to kill a female partner.

Next reincarNation, I'm ordering new ears and hands.

Top of the morning gents,

I'm being careful. For once.

The last time I cut my self a real doozy while butchering caribou for my tunnik punniktuk (blue eyed Jew dried meat) I couldn't type nor play my old acoustic guitar fer shit.

When will I learn that every hole in the ground ain't my ass and don't require constant wiping? Fuck me running.

I can count the number of times I've injured myself on one hand: cuz I amputated the other one.

Kidding. I can count the number of times I hurt myself on two hands, two feet. And my fly open.

I ain't too good at Blackjack without my dick airing the in the breeze.

When communicating with Edmonds, Lynnwood and Mountlake Terrace Police, I gained free lodging by merely displaying how a fucking retarded witch (White Bitch) counts 21 years of illegal insobriety.

Did you know pepper mace feels like fire on yer dick? It do.

I really got to save my hands, ears too.

I just wish I could cut fish and meat with my dick utilizing it beyond causing re-injury to a wound that will likely never heal.

Me bunnik's burned her hands and arms fetching loaves of bread outa the oven, I've delivered chemical burns to my hands whilst stirring meat and caustic spicy brine sauce. No shit, both ovens and industrial strength marinade seasonings will fry yer shit.

Despite eating and drinking to a state of staotopighea (med term for fat butt) and lordosis I was able to slice up buckets of gamy meat without adding any vampire blood to the batch.

Your safe, I got over that AIDS thing years ago. Hooah!

I can afford to binge bourbon and purge toxic brain cell memory banks and gain a few pounds too. I've dropped from pert near 300 pounds down to 15 stone 5.

218 = 15.5 X 14 14 pounds per British Stone ye stinking wet fanny fart (cunt fart).

My penchant for debauchery and butchery ain't nothing new. Me and Charlie (bun's wlk bro) cut up shit loads of dead animals in our time. He and I cut up millions of fish at the Whitney Foods building: side-by-side with David and Clifford Melton, David and Danny Burnor.

Charlie and I also butchered up a piles of caribou in front of Kenny and Annie's house on Front Street faster than a spic with a Mexican speed wrench. Be careful around tall farm boys, they'll have ye disassembled, digested with bovine and swine fodder and churned into pig shit and cow pies decades before grand jury empanelment, if ever.

Good ol' Charlie Tikik, an Eskimo version of Mr. Fling Poo Chinaman Sumo motherfucker that can shoot perty fucking good despite congenital Siberian eye structure with chemical enhancements compliments of your author on drugs creating an appearance of a fat chief laughing through chinked eyes.

This sumo chub fuck could drop wolves at a full out run from a wobbling airplane driven be crooked man. Gene Starkweather and Charlie drilled hundreds of high speed wolves and varmints: Gene piloting between trees, Charlie discharging thunderous cannon fire from the side of the plane.

How cool is that?

Way cool is the word.

The only savage fauna I ever smoked were hiding under houses, chained out front, or cornered into playing 'chase the bullet' with a blond haired arctic Muslim motherfucker whose political opinions are buried in time far to the right of Adolph and Hannibal.

I never got to shoot any fleeing wolf at top speed. I only got to shoot lotsa fox bounding around at the end of my chain mail on 3 limbs. I had to learn to shoot, and I mean everything the hard way, cuz I got my parka shredded when I tried to strip the hide off a comatose, yet very alive and kicking fox. Them fuckers shriek like small minority humans on a popcicle stick.

Me and Mike Kramer set pert near 2 dozen traps all around Kotzebue K-Mart (city dump). I then proceeded to empty all the dead dogs me and Joe and BlackBird shot in the kennels behind the old jail no longer hungry for Gayle's kitchen leftovers.

Columbo also called me in for overtime to lug out a stack of frozen dogs inside the old fire hall across from the Sgt's secret pussy stash on third avenue. I think I lugged a half dozen from the kennels, a bit more inside the old fire hall.

I always knew when it was time for Sgt. to git a nut and offload a million of his closest relatives inside cranky old lady cooter biscuit, she always called me at KPD to curse me, scold me and then drunkenly ask me to send the cops over for a fermented pheromone cologne spray discharge and ripe rank booty call.

When you remember that old bag, you'll bust a gut fer sure. She was real perty, almost as perty as Edith.

Way to go boss, come a load and drive it home, count the rings and take a core sample.

Most of the dogs never made it inside the fencing around the dump. If yer wondering why so many dozens of dogs were mysteriously found outside the dump, it was cuz me and Kramer used those piles of dead dogs as fox, wolf and bear bate for our traps. Kewl huh?

We placed dead dogs all around the dump as air fresheners and flavor cell attractants. Fuck we trapped, shot and killed a lot of fur animals. Mike showed me how to strip the hide off in reverse by slashing around the mouth and using the lips to peel hundreds of gorgeous fox and wolf hides off warm bloody flinchers allowing us to tan the skin from the inside out.

After the skin is salted and Boraxed, dried, scraped and softened, we simply turned the bitch inside out again yielding fucking awesome fox and wolf hides.

We left all the fur on most of the dogs.

On my late night winter shifts at KPD I sometimes got radio checks on the citizen's band (CB) radio from Wallace way upriver or Mack, Blanchard or Jewell lost in their own front yards.

Sometimes I got radio communications from coworkers asking where the on-duty cops were before they drunkenly drove home.

Ken Jewell was a clever soldier. He and I worked out a secret code that wouldn't seem interesting amidst all the other clandestine police, fire, FAA, AST and medic chatter on primary and back channels. The only noise you'd ever hear on the tactical channel was yours truly selling drugs to local wholesalers and good village citizens of interest.

Officer Jewell wouldn't ever phone from the off-site merc bar somewhere in the 400 block, he'd just radio check me. If the cops were 10-8 and in-service road bound, I'd reply with professional certainty that there was considerable distortion risk and inevitable interception between his location and mine in Central Dispatch.

If you guys were in the jail drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes with me or upstairs in the squad room, my reply was "10-2 loud and clear." Then Ken would bid farewell to his drinking compatriots in uniform and covertly and discreetly drive home VERY drunk.

He who controls communication, controls thought.

One dark and stormy fucking night Kramer radioed me and asked when I was off duty 10-100. I replied I came in at 2000 hours working that dumb ass rotating shift overlapping and doubling staff for violent teeth loosening Fridays and Saturday nights when we filled the jail beyond capacity just to give Gumby and Ward heart attacks, ulcers and the runs.

He replied that he'd pick me up at 400 hours.

He drove me home so I could boot and jacket up, grab some guns and ammo, then drive his Toyota Forerunner out on the ice up the coast a bit further past Ivik.

When Kramer stopped the truck, I couldn't believe my eyes.

Illuminated in front of us was a huge circular section of ice about a hunnert yards across completely free of snow with dozens of caribou heads sticking above the frozen ocean.

No shit it was spooky.

Sometime back, a whole section of ice broke and sank under the weight of a herd of caribou. I bet none were able to climb out cuz many caribou had only their front hooves up on the edge of the ice propping their heads above the water. Water now frozen 4 inches thick locking in caribou frozen in time.

Imagine: pre-washed and frozen lunch meat just waiting for us to axe and chainsaw as much food as we wanted?

Which is what we did. We left the truck on the thicker snow covered ice and tested our way to inspect our lunch box fodder.

We smacked and hacked around the tastiest corpses for ourselves. We sawed off all the heads and legs to compress and compact them then loaded them in the back of Mike's truck. We must've packed in almost 8 frozen abdomens nice and tight. All without a single drop of blood anywhere.

So kewl.

While Mikey was chopping and chain sawing to free our bounty of aboriginal grubbage, I stayed far away and clear for obvious reasons relevant to hunting easy meat with a man named Kramer.

I left my 300 mag rifle in the truck but lugged a holstered 44 stainless: you know that big Hollywood sissy gun I bought from Joe? That long barrel monster now archived in my pops collection, once served it's purpose scaring the living shit outa my simpleton hunting, trapping but not raping partner.

I yelled, "Holy Shit, one of 'ems alive!"

Then I proceeded to cycle off a few magnum rounds into the head of a frozen and antlered steer barely above the ground level frozen ice.

Kramer spun around in time to trip over his arctic meat treat and fall on his keaster while I detonated ear shattering and echoing gun fire removing most of the frozen horns and bones flush level with the sea ice. MagSafes and Hydroshock ammunition were all I had in Pim's last care package, so that's what I loaded. Their performances in frozen beings were explosive.

Dumbass ain't I?

I was bored and completely surrounded by darkness and severe nut crunching cold. So like a good bitch Eskimo I made lots of noise and histrionic upset. Meaning I destroyed that quiet desolate moment north of 70 lat and a few miles out on the sea ice by unleashing skull disintegrating and ear shattering explosions.

I also gave Kramer a heart attack and record level pucker factor, in the pitch dark and 30 below cold. Despite a killer northern lights show overhead it would've been a bitch walking home alone.

What am I saying? I'm just like all you maggots: homeless everywhere South of circumpolar Eskimo Territory.

Now you understand my most recent 'pusri unnuk' slang shingle: cuz that's what Super Dad newly dubbed me.

Eskimo nicknames usually depict horrible violence, this new one simply means 'nigger shit.' If I'm gonna sling nicknames, I gotta take 'em as they come too.

These days and 2 decades later my hearing is failing quickly. Like your deaf grandparents, I too crank the TV louder'n shit and demand people speak clearly and loudly to me.

Sara used to complain that she could hear my twangy Hindu shit music (Ravi Shankar) all the way down the road from her bus stop on the Parks Highway mile 71 in Willow. A life full of far too much gunfire kills more than lunch and nemesis detractor trespassers.

In my old age, I've noticed that I now fail to hear women and children at all. There lies my secret to the smile on my face and the bounce in my step. As my senses fail and my IQ drops steadily towards two digits, I'm finding peace and happiness here north of 70 lat.

Since my hands are hammered and my hearing is fucked, I now no longer require hearing protection and gloves.

Ye can't rape the willing, ye can't kill the dead. Cheers mates, I'm saving my last brain cell for my next binge, this last one lasted over 30 years.

Fuck all, right mates.

Karl.