Thursday, October 13, 2005

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"
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.


--- 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.


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.


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