I tend not to let the little things bother me, so don't let my rancid rhetorical shit bother you neither.

Top of the morning gents,

Glad to be above ground sucking hooch, not dirt. Some
days I forget the miracles bestowed upon us.

Me and the Mrs. rallied last night.

We snatched Deadly Sarin Gas from his hotel, strapped
on our seatbelts, and loaded up some Seattle Charlie
Daniels. Led Zep for you non-Finns with patience,
light loafers and short legs.

Meaning I drove like my old jerk self: the unmedicated
self toking on a number and grooving on the radio;
chinked above safe speeds.

Yup, I gave up the Ritalin the day we boarded Alaska
Airlines and bid Barrow farewell. I'm now balanced
with a natural blend of 17 herbs and spices, with
multivitamin ambers for dick rinse.

In simple lay terms, I returned to my manic self, sans
depression. Us hypers only get rage angry or mad
happy, hence this convulsive text muke spew: knuckles
or goose bumps.

Something magical and omnipotent-and addicting about
cycling sonic 24/7. Wish I could bottle up this
genetic component and share it with you, but I'd have
to reverse time and modify the A4 allele on every
single DNA molecule in yer anes.

Yup, I'd have to slap yer momma's WIDE LOAD ass and
douche yer mitochondrial soul kitchen with a few
million of my closest relatives, thus excluding anal
and oral sex between me and yer mum.

Ain't happening. God made us exactly the way we are
for good fucking reason. We'd abeen dead from the git
go if we all looked identically Swedish like the Sgt,
identically French like RichiE or identically Siberian
like 6Killer. We'd surely be dead if we were all
identical Niffs like Bull Hensley too.

Get it? Our disgusting differences in appearance,
build, butt stench and immunity saved our diversely
ugly skins.

The reason I'm delicately touching these thoughts
versus smashing the living shit outa yer inherent
sensitivities is cuz an old drug buddy shook my hand,
hugged me and acknowledged lingering sadness and guilt
about the day we drank big old Bull Hensley into his
grave. Even I can learn a lot from a dummy.

Bubba from Kotzebue sorted me out of a crowded native
bar, did a double take at me and bunnik, then plowed a
swath from his beer to mine. That big old sumo fuck
bastard was smiling from deaf ear to deaf ear (we're
both old now) and shoved 30 brown tard midgets aside
and hugged both bun and I simultaneously. He then gave
me the nod and said he sure missed Bull.

That was a day I broke a little bit more for the
better and accepted fractional responsibility for
every and all my drinking, smoking, hunting and raping
partners.

Me and Bubba, Albert Monroe, Pete and Billy Lambert
and some other stray pussy drank a case of pink cap,
packed our beeks with a half oz of Capone blow
simmering down with bong rips of some Cullik chronic
cured way down south in the basement of a Ballard
house packed full with PA gear stolen outa the
basement of the Eskimo Building and the Rec Center.

Life is contradictory. Y'all hire me for the weirdest
fucking narc jobs; yet I'm a drug dealer by trade.
Y'all hire me for communications in Central Dipatch;
yet I'm a goddamn congenital liar. Y'all hire me to
protect private property and bodily pubic safety; yet
I'm one violently domestic rat thief.

I guess it makes sense. But I ought'nt've pillaged so
many fucking buildings with so many mysterious
janitorial keys and window jims, and a school district
Fixed Assets Inventory Manifest. MicroDot and Capones:
why steal when I can embezzle entire inventories
without implicating myself aside from a fictional
diatribe that's as accurate as my memory isn't
impaired.

Oh, pink cap = jersey number 151 racing for team
Bacardi. The blow was bought on credit. Bull's credit,
and never paid for. Pity, cuz Bull died that night
while I floated home. Nothing's free.

This morning, I'm glad to be alive. Unless I did
actually die bare naked and burned gonads suffering in
inhuman detainment and un-American snow, and you guys
ain't got the guts to tell we're all croakers and I'm
too stupid to know.

Bullshitting about Bull with Bubba. Like that?

Me and a crew of natives stood out in the snow behind
GasLight last night and achieved one fine chemically
agreeable singularity.

We may've been a bunch of accomplished rapists, be we
ain't tough fucking native hoodlums, just agitated
hominids forever jumpy as Fiver the Rabbit in
Watership Down. We all sort of silenced our spastic
terrestrial fidgeting and gazed at the moon rising
above the mountains behind Eagle River. Real baked.

I don't know what all them other baked alaskan natives
were thinking between puffs of pine spice, but I was
dumbfounded why I'm forever locked in a bitter/sweet
world filled with the finest and the worst humans on
the fucking Earth. Present company included. As
wonderful each and every one of ye is, y'all is a
bunch of cruel buttfuckers too.

What? No argument? My money is on yer soul tag that
lists you lads at birth as violent, smelly, handsome
sexual predators.

I can't comprehend a lot of things all you uniformed
felons and graying gunslingers take for granted. I'm
smarter than most from congenital and selective
pruning and chemical enhancements, but at the expense
of any prayer of keepng friends and loved ones close
by while I hurt myself today.

No mercy. Nobody. Fuck I have a hard time keeping
friends.

That brings us to you lot. Why do you put up with my
overwhelming cruelty and pathetic skills of empathy
equal to glass chards.

I sure like hurting people when I'm cycling rapid-fire
within my fatter language centers while selfishly
sidestepping damaged frontal lobes of responsible
consequences. I don't care, cuz I can't.

These fictional tales of completely fabricated
horse-puckey and shit ass poor character development
are absorbed and synthesized daily by Squish and
Columbo and they have learned to interpret this
digital text matrix as 3 dimensionally colorful
images. Rest of ye too I imagine.

As long as all of ye continue being ye, you can count
on me being me. Piece of shit ain't I?

We're doing the very best we can. This you've deduced
by my ignoring yer inumerable shittiest aspects and
desparately ennunciating your attributes wonderful and
benevolent. Look in the mirror dickheads, this is hard
work.

Word: I ain't full of shit, I merely overlook yer
poopy butt breath, binge drinking habits, poor taste
in pussy and the nicotine stains on yer fingers. Your
all handsome soldiers in my mind despite yer Eskimo
skulls, Nordic dicks and ice nigger lips too.

None of us need reminding of our failed redemptions,
revoked memberships with the human race, and complete
failures at re-inventing ourselves for the better.

We're getting older, but ain't none of us getting
better.

I won't be sucking dirt for while, so stick around and
set a spell. My village is yer village; have a drink
on me.

Besides, I desparately need the company.

Nothing good stands alone.


Karl.

Read 'em and weep.

Top of the morning gents,

Ever been to Mountain View?

Jesus fuck that's one dismal black and tan village:
lots of drunken niggers and natives meandering about
with untended crying kids all over.

No shit. Last night we popped into the RuralCrap
Apartments of Compounding Poverty to visit Gladys
Kagoona. What we came upon was a drunken Marvin
Kagoona in a 'low income' (low IQ) dump, passed out,
surrounded by a shitload of nana negro chitlens.

In the brief time we were there another dullard
village chick (Mary Ann Mendenhall/Touksak) walked in
with another half dozen kids asking where she could
find weed.

Here's the clincher. She simply dumped her 6 panty
lumps (vaginal discharges) on us and headed out on the
town to go party and 'git some'.

Ya see, when junky abby mommas fly into Anchoragua,
they use any welfare crack house as daycare, cuz
infants and children are lower on the totem pole than
drinking and whoring.

This is a syndrome. Me and bunnik see hundreds of
native and black kids crying and wanting their mommies
cuz we mostly only hang out with fellow village darky
ghetto spooks.

So what did we do? We honored their culture and left
all dozen babies and toddlers to feel the wrath
Marvins Kagoona's sexual appetite for beating elders
and porking chitlens. His generation of young native
men get more baby pussy than they deserve. A foreign
delicacy I fear trying.

Walking back to our car I was so upset my throat was
jacking and my eyes were seepy. It's hard to simply
walk away from inevitable diaper bleeding and sperm
fortified poop. Yup, I can walk away from impending
child rape without feeling too much guilt.

I'm lying.

In my last chat with Squish, he speculated that child
neglect and sexual abuse in rural Alaska is rapidly
increasing. Agent Octuck confirms this, but I'll chat
with Six Killer for his experiential genius and
insight.

You tell me: why do I get so upset? Am I out of line
to have such a emotional reaction to this emerging
culture of Inupiaq and African reservational and
inhumanly incapable quarantine zones of poverty and
misery? I'm clueless ain't I?

Bunnik also had some eye leakage whilst transforming
back into that mean vicious killer that I find so
handy in my weekly fisticuffs and semi-annual contract
narc jobs. Needless to say, the woman can shoot, cut
and kick unlike any of the Chinese descendants we
married.

She's like all native girls: mean as shit from a life
of funny uncles and darky brothers raping her. I'm
attracted to PTSD victims of torture. Birds of feather
fuck together.

We drove back home in silence. No need to cry for
those children, they already know their plight in
life: we just had a moment of no hope understanding
this indigenous reality. My duties are to continue to
raise my own grandkids free of any Eskimo cultural
archetypes.

I have no grounds for judgement, my only concern is
for the Eskimo children under my wing, not the kennel
runts not worthy of their parents love, affection and
sobriety.

Don't get me wrong, I've scrawged a few hundred
scraling, Finn and Russian life support systems for
cunts, but I'm still looking for any offspring as
tall, blonde and handsome as I. Gonadular structures
and obsolete sperm from Scandinavia simply won't take
inside a runt cunt. Besides, some soldiers never heal
from electrocution.

I don't know why I'm bitching so much this morning.
I'm used to seeing kids left out in the snow to cry
and freeze, even witnessed 2 Russian policemen club a
young lad to death only to see other street kids pick
his pockets as he froze to the sidewalk.

Only you boys can attest that some pain can never be
cried away.

For my anonymous readers on the North Slope and the
NANA region: pull yer head outa yer kids ass. This
shit is epidemic. Shoot, we might as well move all
them shit poor black folks left homeless in
Mississippi and Louisiana to rural Alaska. Nobody
would know the difference; save the temps and smell,
but not the neglect.

Fair is fair. All native Americans have free health
insurance, I firmly believe all Aficans should also be
covered under the BIA Health Care System.

"There is darkness all around you." (Theme: Dog Bounty
Hunter) But in the lives of my family: far too much
brightness. God don't fairly distribute brains and
cruelly spoils my vessel form in the shape of this
painfully bright and obnoxious human motherfucker of
inordinate arrogance.

Should we also insure European descendants along with
Asian and Africans too? That debate is up to you lads,
but I'll get truly hacked if my wealthy doctor
brothers (3) got free health coverage on top of the
third to a half mil they each pull down every year.

According to Lord Greenspan, if all the world's wealth
were redistributed evenly, we'd be right back to this
dismal poverty in 10 years. I ain't the money, it's
the thinking and decisions that reflect zero education
in my rural brethren.

Maybe my expectations exceed my browner brother's
capabilities, but I doubt it. If we schooled all
Alaskans equally and privately, we may see an Eskimo
working at NASA or Boeing. I'll buy the round and
bring the cubano cigars to party with y'all that day.
Someday.

Ya see, health, wealth and wisdom is cultural, just
the reverse of the hellish existence I've witnessed
and now reporting loudly and brightly into the night.

"Okay Karl, take a breath and ease up." (D. Craig)

My rage and sorrow is waning, leaving a void of
depressional agony. I shouldn't witness such horrors,
but like Sore Throat once stated, "it's our lot in
life." Poor bastard has likely witnessed as much pain
and suffering as all you uniformed killers and graying
gunslingers.

Too bad he's forced to wear a gag and handcuffs cuz
the media can also serve as a repair and healing tool.

Provided his constituency would look straight into the
mirror and not blink.

That's me, the shitty mirror of nightmare reflections.


Don't blink or look away, look away, look away.

This ain't the land of Dixie and this shit ain't my
duty to repair.

If you gotta a uniform in your closet, it's yours.

May God bless you soldiers. Those poor kids too.

Karl.

I count my blessings daily. I'm surrounded by murderous bastards just like all of ye. Keep the phone calls coming mates. I got wood.

Top of the morning gents,

My oh my. I feel really good.

Nope, no chron tokes (coffee and bong hits), I chatted
with Sore Throat yesterday, Sarin Gas the day before,
and today I smoked up a stack of calling cards yacking
with Squish, Sore Throat, Columbo and Commander Craig.

Ain't that a diverse brood of bastards? Yes sir.

Medic One phoned in with well wishes and warm regards,
then we proceeded to share tales of great
accomplishments, long lost brain cells, and rejoiced
in our similar personalities indicative of our
asshole-ness.

Yup. Our Asshole-ness. Meaning we gotta go it alone be
it my narc jobs or medic 1's solo ascent of Denali,
with or without our last brain cell, fuck all.

A short dicked dwarf curmudgeon that runs a micro arms
dealership out of a shitty shack next to the old OTZ
Phone Co is upset I volunteer for non-paid narc jobs
rototilling bootlegger ops, drug houses and any other
filthy domicile I so choose to fuck up.

Where does this Kneal and Bob dick smoker get off? I
fear alcoholics, but not short gray haired faggots
that use little boys as a penis holster. I'm sure he's
reading this blog too, but I won't let gapers and
starfish fart hammers off the hook without a dose of
karmic medicine he so deserves. Come on, any stub dick
that can spooge inside any of the Hailstoner clan must
lack a sense of smell. And taste. I hear tossed salad
covers the taste of foul fish drippings.

As far as my ordered targets from the Chief or you
guys, my handlers: nothing gets in my way, not even
the United States Constitution. Just ask Dr. Logan how
smart his #1 pupil is: one standard deviation below
that smart ass genius from Elaudio, Dutch West Indies;
my brilliance ain't even close. I'm only clever and
cunning. Far cry from true geniuses like you honorable
gents in public service.

Remember, I'm the fuck up and dumbshit. Knowing this
makes me smarter than most.

Here's why I like fucking over drug dealers. Okay
besides the notion that it takes one to know one...

Ya see, poverty doesn't bring about drug abuse, drug
abuse begets poverty. If I clip drug use in my native
neighborhoods, you'll see a fuck load more old clothes
and soiled diapers in the dumpster, not worn by rural
Alaskan kids needlessly suffering from a dismally poor
choice of parents.

Columbo's timing of scheduled raids on the my places
of business right before PFD season meant that the
only good Christmas in Kotzebue was 1992. Carlos
Lederer was in place (up Hall/Ciringione ass) and
locked and loaded, Columbo and Nay are like my
childhood swim coaches and symphony conductors: smart
and lethal and their orders are to be followed, sir.

How can any colored minority kid grow up healthy,
wealthy and wise if his Indun/Ice nigger momma keeps
drinking, smoking, and snorting his swimming pool
fees, private music lessons and Sylvan Learning Center
tutorial expenses.

Ya see the choice our blessed brown brethren make?
Dope, not diapers. Hence why poor kids smell awful and
why my parents won't let any "dirty poor" folks in
their Volvos or on their farms: no health, wealth, nor
wisdom. Just shit poor folks whose parents were also
poor.

That's why I chose this crew of killers. Each and
every one of you know what public service means:
police, fire, medic, child advocacy and literacy
angels.

See?

Ya think I pick and choose the motherfuckers I write
to? Nope, we're drawn together by common interests.
Birds of feather fuck together, everyone of you chose
me. Amen?

I may be smart, but my idiot savant lies in my ability
to out write all you bastards, and be fucking arrogant
about too.

David Craig and I chat at a level slightly askew from
you lads: more existential Christian theory busting a
gut laughing about Catholic children and their really
big rectums. Wait, ain't Roy Mendenhall a Catholic?

Well shoot, then his childhood rapes and gapes are
just part of his religious and cultural upbringing.
Catholic and native: now that's a big twink.

How can a loose goose Niff Fluffer ever feel like a
real man equal to you lads when the poor half breed is
cursed with a lifetime of memories serving his step dad
as little girl butt pussy? Hence the resentment of you
guys that avoided boy rumping and tasting your
brother's pussy on your dad's dick.

A good Catholic need not make a Christian and may the
Catholic Church be buried face down in the dirt so all
them child buggers can see which direction they're
heading and follow all the other child gomers plaguing
rural Alaska.

Hey Ramboy54, all the people you told to visit this
site now have a key stroke logger on their machines
allowing me to read emails from Maniilaq all the way
to the ASRC server. I owe you a thanks for letting me
read half the NANA region's emails from child porn
jerkers, chicken chokers and wanna-be not so brown
bitch cunts.

With the increased traffic to my blogsite my bank
deposits from Google AdSense, Internet PayPal and
FastClick are huge. All you readers not addressed in
this daily am cop talk newsletter have made me a tidy
sum with your visits and clicking on my links. I get
one cent for each visit, a nickel for every link
visit. With 1-5,000 visits daily, my weekly take pays
for all my green beers and green tokes.

Remember. Ass, gas, or grass. Nobody rides for free.
You get to writhe in confusing aboriginal anger while
I pull yer strings, tell tales from your childhoods
and rag on the parents that buggered you.

You may get pissed, but my readers in Scandinavia
absolutely love "Chukchi Humor." And why not, if I
don't break out in tears, I'm gonna bust a gut and
cackle at whole classrooms filled with busted butts.
That's what you get when you name an elementary school
after an alcoholic drug addict that committed suicide
by OD. I carried her to the trunk of the patrol car
that you all saw backed up to the crematorium.

I got a chance to BS with deadly Sarin Gas too. He
shared with me great tales of hunting and shooting
from the boat he bought from me. Mr. Deadly Sarin Gas
bagged a few more walrus, seal and caribou so I
emplored with, "Details Biach!"

Sarin launched the boat from right in front of NAPA,
opened the throttle a full twist racing down near
Hollywood, the site where all those gay black and
white native documentaries are filmed cuz Barrow and
Kotz are such ghetto mod shitholes.

From a ways offshore, Sarin leveled his 243 on the
eyes and balls of a bull moose, rocked with the wave's
ebb and flow timing his trigger finger to auto-cycle
the instance his sites were a few inches above the
shoulders dropping the bullet directly into the
caribou's engine room.

Rumor has it, that the big walrus posted on our
blogsite was smoked, blasted and butchered by the
infamous deadly Sarin Gas.

God bless the last of a dying breed. Sarin is by far
the largest donor of whole seals sent to Helen
Kagoona, Agent Octuck, Tess, Ella and Sara Evak. 90%
of the caribou I brine soak and dry also comes from
Mr. Deadly. So if you've snacked on any of my caribou
corpse steaks or tunnik punniktuk: tip yer hat to the
Gas Man.

Only dead grubbage and munchies be in his wake.

Anchoragua is only good for cheap drugs and native
bars while Shitbanks is full of easy Indun whore
drunks, Barrow is blessed with one murderous
motherfucker from Unalakleet. I ain't kidding, when
you see Mr. Deadly Sarin Gas pulling 2 sleds towards
my front porch, you'll see me and my bunnik grinning
from ear to ear.

Or in my case: ear to deaf ear. All those years
shooting with Six Killer, Blanchard, Mack and my RA
unit in Willow pert near fucked my ears FUBAR.

But since I never owned a gun, touched a gun, nor
fired a gun the fictional aspect of our daily am cop
talk is meaningless and all bullshit to those
inquiring brown minds reading my blogsite with panties
abunched and puny brains astressed. Oh yeah, I also
never worked for any police departments and never
engaged in unsanctioned misdemeanants nor felonious
nefarious scheming, so fuck you.

My Viking grandfather once noted that Americans are
constantly seeking approval. Numb nut grabby abby
motherfuckers won't be gettin' none here. I'm married
to an Eskimo, got an Eskimo daughter and 2 Eskimo
grandchildren, it's time I call a Spade a Spade, or so
the commander scolded.

He's taken shit from resentful little brown people for
over 45 years; his wife too, bless her heart. He said
the ignorant racist hatred of us tall Europeans with
bigger dicks put up with only gets worse as we age, so
don't hold yer breath thinking Native love extends
beyond black eyes, hickeys, and sore butts. You likely
don't want any.

Aside from you lot, there are a few blessed angels
here on Earth also. My heart fills with warmth
recalling her rave reviews of my jerked meats.

"I didn't know our food tasted so awful, thank you
Karl." "All of David's buddies are angels." "Tell
Bunny I love you guys."

Which I do every day. Roight mates?

Aunt Rachel claims I'm a blessing to her. She's wrong:
she and David are blessings to all of us and none of
us will fucking forget it. Ya hear me?

David enjoys my $50.00 philosophical phone debates,
but not as much as I do. I learn more than he teaches.

That spook located me 22 hours after I re-entered the
US with a cheesy bogus passport I made in Inari,
Finland. He also deduced why I was out of reach for
such an extended period of time (some misunderstanding
about parallel importation or some shit).

For the record: all my passport/ID machines were
donated to the Ilisagvik College For the Retarded, so
don't ask me for any phony ID, ask the Sgt, he's
working the WANT division (western Alaska narc
taskforce), he'll punch you up a phony ID.

Damn I'm proud to be of your acquaintances. You guys are
angels AND assholes, bless your hearts.

For our readers legion and anonymous, it's time you
too stopped letting yer funny uncles doink yer babies.

Hell, if you want to eliminate further phone calls to
Ruthless Apgar, start loving yer kids instead of
injuring them.

They're natives, not dogs.

If any of you want to volunteer in ridding yer
communities of white trash king pin drug dealers,
contact KPD at 907-442-3351, the District Attorney's
Office at 907-442-3396 or your's truly at
1-800-eat-shit.

Anybody can become a spook, spy, narc or undercover
agent, ye just gotta step up to the bat and sprout
larger gonads and buy drugs or jugs for the Sgt or
Lt. Columbo.

As the years go by, you'll likely never figure out
who all these concealed identities are, we're your
neighbors that serve and protect yer sorry thankless
infected asses.

Save a windshield from poop, eat a foul smelling pussy
attached to your local bird cart.

Ick that's nasty, but not as nasty as Roy's new
T-shirt.

L8TR B8TR's

Karl.

PS. If you don't want to read about this crap on the
Internet, don't let it happen to your community's
children. Amen?

Life. If it was easy, everybody would be doing it.

Top of the morning gents,

I’m plagued with volunteer requests. Again.

Since Operation Muktuk is up in smoke due to Ape
Smythe being absorbed by Front and Rear (Frontier),
I'm shit outa luck on the free freight service. All
good things have to come to an end and the same with
the wild wood weed.

I pegged out this free freight deal last year to the
tune of 2.5 tons of donated primo fucking muktuk from
Little Kukpiq, Itta and Aikin whale crews all the way
to the our dude Cyrus at the Kotzebue Senior Center.

Yup, I'm a very sexy man.

At least I’d like to think so. But then again, I tend
to only believe in the positive aspects of murderous
behaviors. Hence my fondness for you lot. Ye bastards
of ill repute. More Eskimo than any of you spectral
Nigerians of diverse pussy odor, or so Super Dad from
Unalakleet declared.

In rural Alaska, no good deed goes unpunished and all
deeds of philanthropy have a hidden agenda devised by
a crouching Viking.

My smarter friends from Mt. Vernon, Washington fled my
demonic infectious charm when my sick fuck business
partners started stinking up the joint. Since shutting
down Lem's mortuary and crack house, I've been feeling
a fuck load better about myself. Something I finally
communicated over the phone last week and again this
morning.

Even in a hunnert fucking years, I won't live long
enough to reverse my overflowing bin of sin.

“Ain’t no living with a killer” (Shane).

My redemption is as fleeting as a wet rum fart in a
Kikiktagruk blizzard. But as long I as serve causes
more noble than pussy or beer, I'm cool.

Helping set up the Inupiaq Craft Fair every month
don't offset dick in the balance scales of good and
bad and doing taxes for dirt poor elderly natives only
gets me half way into some cooter biscuit that farts
dust every time I come a load and drive it home.

See? I’m almost as nasty as the Sgt.

My number has been called and I gotta backpedal faster
than waking up with a short little circus
hermaphrodite with a beard, permanently glued solid
half-way down my totem pole. I'll never tire of
Downing jokes.

Ya see, I ain’t as noble nor benevolent as I wish I
could lie about: I’m feral as you lads and my shitty
humor inescapably depicts this.

A tall Finn, a pretty Eskimo woman and huge boxes of
frozen muktuk, blubber and meat were a very common
site in the lobbies, hangars and loading ramps in
Barrow’s bush air services, what I concealed in select
shipments was hidden in plain site.

Nope, no acid, meth or gooner bud, just Jim Beam to a
select few of our best mates that live in dry
villages. I’ll give you three guesses and Marvin
Ramoth and Rick Mashburn are automatic wrecked ‘em
game winners.

Clause. Santa Claus. Licensed to kill brain cells and
thwart local option law; able to leap tall fines and
sentences from dishonorable behavior and checks with a
single bounce. Like Al Sanders inquired, “What do you
think I am?” “Super Nigger?”

Can a person truly spend their life volunteering for
drug interdiction and early childhood education? Fuck
you, don’t answer that.

Chatting with a lad from this brood of scarred
servants this weekend reminded me what public service
truly means. And I’m afraid I ain’t reached my full
quid neither.

One of our am cop dudes is still donating his time
repairing broken children: after pert near 10 fucking
years this abbreviated Dante is still pulling net and
shoveling coal for AmeriCorp and Vista. What a
selfless gomer.

God blesses those that shield the innocent from evil.

This chemically distorted grunt from heaven is still
busting his fucking balls serving the greater good.
Good being a paradigm derivative of the Danish Gud and
some Finnish boat builder’s wish of Godspeed.

The boats the Russians used to rape Alaska were made
in Finland and Vitus Bering was a sea captain and dock
drunk recruited from Helsinki. Every cruise ship
bigger than 4 Titanics are built with Nordic hands and
minds too.

I married smart to a wife not of Nordic stock. Meaning
I’m the dumb ass and she is the brains ‘round here. I
would’ve never volunteered to help any of you sons of
fucks had not me Mrs. lectured and financed me into
narcotic subordination.

Come on: 2 years of service core-sampling the large
intestines of 2 little girls named Kenny and Chris. No
charge; save my margins and fees skimmed off the top
of every drug transaction, with or without state
monies.

6 months fucking around up at SAC (Student Apartment
Complex) chasing a GHB, coke and meth vendor trying to
schedule sizable purchases with the coordination of
UAF, Statewide Drug Enforcement and AST coppers. Most
honorable mention goes to 1D25’s quick draw kid.
Fucking genius at chameleon shape-shifting and village
smuggling.

I’d never have learned the laundry soap/shampoo/candle
smuggling techniques if not for taking shit from
uniformed killers. The covert blubber and muktuk
smuggling gig was ad-libbed, the LSD in the pit bull
airport kennel was Harley’s brilliant idea while
Cullikmun disassembled electronic gadgetry and left
your author on drugs to find the shit, then put the
synthesizer or amp system back together.

Hard shit when yer baked, using Kotzebue tools:
serious case of nigger rigor mortis.


If you look at the bottom of this list you’ll see the
bitch of the batch. One whole fucking year of suicide
prevention after school activities will likely kill my
sorry ass. The Mrs. backs this play, but I’m scared. I
ain’t fucking native and these duties angelic require
I move back into another scumbag village all over
again. Fuck!

I may just nibble at some cake jobs here in
Anchoragua, I’m sick of paying Eskimo prices for my
drugs.

“Nobody told me there’d be days like these. Strange
days indeed.” (1 of 2 dead silver insects.)

Karluk.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Posted: 11/30/05

AmeriCorps/Vista Position Title: Adult Basic
Education

Location: Anchorage - Nine Star Enterprises

Requirements: High School or GED diploma required.
Good oral , written and organizational skills.

Basic Computer Skills

Assist in the Plato Lab (online computer aided
instruction)

Assessment testing (TABE, BEST- ESL) and orientation

Able to work some evenings

Fax Application to BH 279-3299

---------------------------------------------------------------


AmeriCorps/VISTA Position Title: Refugee Case Manager
Assistant

Location: Anchorage – Catholic Social Services

Requirements: High school or GED diploma required. One
year’s work in human services preferred. Demonstrated
dependability, maturity, and initiative. Good
inter-personal, oral, and written communications
skills. Flexibility to deal effectively with a variety
of people, situations, problems, and challenges.
Ability to maintain client confidentiality and treat
each individual with respect. Knowledge of Alaska area
social services agencies is highly desirable. Ability
to gather and organize information regarding community
resources. Familiarity with the Internet and use of
e-mail required. Bilingual (written and verbal) in
language used by refugee clients preferred. Ability to
climb stairs and lift up to 50 pounds (small children,
boxes of supplies, etc.)

Duties: Assists with client case management for the
Refugee Assistance Project (RAP) focusing on
supplementing work of RAP Case Managers promoting
clients’ employment readiness skills. Coordinates with
several case managers to assist in managing their
caseloads. All duties must be performed in accordance
with all stipulations of the project grant.

Application: Fax resume to BH at (907) 279-3299

Comments: Must have a valid Alaska Driver’s License,
reliable transportation, a good driving record, and
proof of insurance for any private vehicle used for
transport of clients or staff. Must hold current
Infant/Child/Adult CPR and First Aid certification.


-----------------------------------------------------------------

Posted: 11/30/05

AmeriCorps/VISTA Position Title: Elementary Bilingual
Tutor

Location: Anchorage – Creekside Elementary School

Requirements: Basic knowledge of reading and writing.
Ability to communicate effectively, both orally and in
writing. Ability to work with individuals from diverse
cultural and economic backgrounds. Basic computer
skills in the more common software application
programs. Fluency in Hmong.

Duties: Tutors Hmong students lacking proficiency in
the English in English language skills. Provides
students with practice in speaking and understanding
the language. Prepares materials and translates key
concepts for their use. Offers students support and
encouragement. Serves as liaison to Hmong parents
encouraging them to come to school for special
meetings and conferences regarding their children.
Interprets during these meetings.

Application: Fax resume to BH at (907) 279-3299

Comments: Must pass federal, state, and local
background investigations.

AmeriCorps/VISTA Position


-----------------------------------------------------------------

Posted: 11/30/05

AmeriCorps/VISTA Position Title: Youth Case Worker

Location: Anchorage – Covenant House Alaska

Requirements: Excellent oral and written communication
skills. Good judgment and common sense with the
ability to prioritize multiple tasks. Excellent
organizational skills and the ability to work with a
minimum of supervision. Good customer service skills.
Ability to lift up to 50 pounds.

Duties: Assists Covenant House Alaska staff in helping
youth acquire job related skills and the tools and
skills necessary go gain full-time employment. Assists
in the design and delivery of job development classes.
Develops working relationships with employers
throughout the community. Provides direct intervention
and employment referral services for youth. Provides
youth with educational information and opportunities.
Attends and participates in youth case reviews as
required. Performs other duties as assigned.

Application: Fax resume to BH at (907) 279-3299

Comments: Must possess a current valid Alaska Driver’s
License and a clean driving record. Must pass federal,
state, and local background investigations.


-----------------------------------------------------------------

Posted: 11/30/05

Job Title: Case Manager (full time staff position
only) NOT AMERICORPS

Location: Anchorage

Requirements: Requires Bachelor’s degree (experience
may be substituted for degree). One year of
experience. Proficiency in Microsoft Office and
FileMaker Pro.

Duties: Assess clients to identify barriers to
employment. Develop client plans leading to
self-sufficiency. Monitor client progress. Conduct
client follow-up and determine need for supportive
services. Prepare for and attend case review hearings
for clients. Develop employment and training
opportunities and make appropriate job matches and
referrals for clients.

Salary: Depending on Experience

Application: Fax resume to TD at (907) 279-3299


-----------------------------------------------------------------

CAREER DEVELOPMENT CENTER ASSISTANT (Nine Star)

Assist clients who are unemployed or under employed
through job search, resume writing, work related
presentations, data entry

Knowledge of community resources helpful

Fax resumes to BH (907) 279-3299

_________________________________________________________________

COMPUTER INSTRUCTOR ASSISTANT

Location: Anchorage

Working with children, youth and adults in our "Tech
Centers"

Basic computer skills including Microsoft Word,
Outlook and one of the Internet Programs

Fax resume to BH (907) 279-3299

_________________________________________________________________

WORK SERVICES ASSISTANT

Location: Anchorage
Assist Case Managers with intake interviews and post
TA (Temporary Assistance) services.

Data entry, record keeping, basic computer skills -
Word, Excel and Outlook

Excellent customer service skills

Fax resume to BH (907) 279-3299

________________________________________________________________


STUDENT ASSISTANT TECHNICIAN (Lower Yukon School
District - Villages of Nunum Iqua and Alakanuk)

This is an excellent opportunity to help create a
healthy positive atmosphere for the youth of these two
villages.

Administer after school and out of school tutoring,
activities and literacy programs.

Attend training workshops, work with school personnel
in planning and coordinating long term strategies to
address identified needs

Knowledge and understanding of the Yupik Culture.

Fax resume to BH (907)279-3299

Philanthropy or Constabulary Duties.

Shoot Lem, them jungle drums is beating out an angry
beat.

Folks I assumed to be illiterate are finally reading
some of our daily diatribal muke pitching via
www.northof70lat.blogspot.com (After 20 years of your
honest copwerks and my silly narc foibles)

Seems your author on drugs has pissed off some grabby
abbies and got thousands of pairs of unholy soiled
village underwear in a bunch.

You boys are my intelligence network, if you continue
to hear hostile opines and resentfully elevated Ire,
let me know and I'll shutdown our weblog site.

Unless yer enjoying the controversy, then we'll let
piss simmer and shit steam.

One thing about any creative endeavor be it music,
artwerks or literature, you'll always have detractors
throwing rocks at yer shit from the bleachers and
sidelines.

Funny, the only folks angry with our course discourse
are nana negroes. Folks outside and overseas dig my
shit. Pity.

Y'all keep me posted, your my colorful characters in
this daily am cop talk and gossip du jour. If ye gotta
take shit, we'll shut the whole fucker down in a NY
minute.

Imagine, us lot the center of attention. Kinda gives
me boner-and a smile on my face.


I'm in Anchorage for the short run, with a likely Kotz
hurl and dump mish. A volunteer org wants to ship me
and me bunnik out to Nunam Iqua (sheldon pt) for a
year of suicide prevention after school programs.

More requests for volunteer work since the free
elderly tax prep last season. Instead of looking for
refunds, I'll be looking for rope burns, rusty gas can
rings on native youth mouths etc, etc, ad nauseum.

Bet I'm called to cut a few down too. Sounds a bit
like VPSO duties: downriver triangle, Selawik,
Noorvik, Kiana. Didn't one of you graying gunslingers
tell me to stay far away from a uniform for as long as
I live?

I'm worried Paul's gonna bitch slap me or the sgt will
love-tap me with his magic wand or smoke me with his
firebreathing dragon of 45-70 displacement.

I don't wanna look like Edward Wayne Henry, Kevin
Zabrisky, Tilmer Black or WienerKey. Them floaters and
leakers best stay in their respective dumpsters.

I also don't wanna be found hanging in a conex
container with my hands bound behind my dumbass.
Hooah! Good job there mates.

Yup, another deed of overwhelming philanthropy. Me
gramps woulda just let all them diseased Induns hang
themseffs. I wish I could express in no uncertain
terms my existential conflict: exterminate or educate
them darling little brown people.


This generation of murderous Viking puts me as the
only white dude in my whole fam damily.

The Natives outvote me 4 to 1

(bun,magnum,gwendo,tayleentikiq vs. Scandinegro1).

I always lose, hence why Squish always scolded me, "Shit
Ewing!" "Two words; Loser!"

Sincerely,

Yer unfriendly and foul author on drugs.

Karl.

Snorting whiskey, drinking cocaine.

--- Special Agent Octuck wrote:

> Hiya Karl,
> Did you all move out of Barrow already? How are
> things
> going?
> Did you take an APD Metro narc contract?

---

Howdy there Patchuck and crew,

Yup, Bunnik's last day was October 21. Flew down here
to Anchoragua: Boniface and Camelot, few blocks from
the Glenn. Shoulda brought a fucking pistol with me.

Much adoo with chef and personal bartender
indulgences. Steady diet of Alka-holic-Seltzer might
be a tell.

I'm still in impudent denial about the good Doctor
Carroll's advice about eliminating alcohol to further
improve my fat to moron ratio. 44 year old mountain
bike riders cut a finer physique if they simply drop
the billion calorie malt, mash, and grape pipeline to
their Nordic snouts.

"Moderation is for monks. Life was meant for
indulgences." 1700's Author Unknown.

We cleaned out our side of the duplex like a fully
furnished bed and breakfast, with phone, tv/cable,
broadband cable modem docking station, all the
ammenities just the way a lad prefers his remote safe
house.

I've put a rotating lodging offer on the table for
Arctic Sounder bread boffers and intelligent yet
stinky cheese loaf predators. (Imagine Jim Paulin on
top of you gettin' ready to cum.)

It appears I haven't lost my touch eh?

If ANI, Alaska Newspapers Inc -AKA- "Sphincter ANI"
doesn't require a turn-key gig, I'll leave the place
prepped but vacant.

Hey, wake up fucks. That means we're doing another
Willow hideout gig, just way north of 70 lat.

If any of ye need to eat a few disappearing pills and
vanish to Barrow parts unknown send me an email, our
tenants already expect shady motherfuckers, they have
keys and airport pickup service awaiting my marching
orders and your commands. Sir!

Just thought I'd run that by ye.

Keep it in mind.

You never know when a pukebag like any of us mignt get
invited to butcher whales or perform community
service. Got Wood?

As far as the Mrs. and I, we're just rallying around
Los Anchorage in a cool little 4-by SUV in deep shit
snow playing grandpa and grandma but in a slightly
more Arctic slant: impaired. "appa kye and gwam-ma"
from 1 and 3 year old infant-tyrants and
micro-dictators.

Ain't that shit cute? Fuck ye, they only eat to fill
diapers and muke all over my drinking slacks and
smoking jackets. Sara's 2 little angels are blessings
indeed, the doodoo, drool and spittle-chew kisses is
the bonus package.

The insane driving merely stimulates the diaper
inflation and potent baby butt paint window blow out.

My Bessie Ootoyuk is thinking a few months in Kotzebue
next, visit with our goldern girls.

keep you posted.

907-852-6825

ye bastards. it's dark in Barrow until Jan 23.

Spring whaling starts up shortly thereafter.

Bring all yer black bag equipment, Barrow drug dealers
are thick as thieves in Bagdad and much easier to flush
out than a gypsy out of a funeral pyre or cutting souveniers.

After a lynching.

Only graying gunslingers, uniformed felons, and spies,
spooks and shooters need apply.

Karl.

Swapped out picture and weblog sites. Now we're cooking with gas!

Top of the morning gents,

No author ever had to put up with these bright
hyperactive little shitting machines. I'll never get a
page off as long as I got little Inukun monkeys
climbing all over my ass. Who'd a thunk that 2 little
Eskimo grandchildren would find my busted carcass more
fun than 6-Flags Theme Park?

Pied Piper my ass, I'm a bong man myself. Kids still
follow me outa the parking lots, malls and parks
wandering away from parents in droves.

Judas Goat or some shit. I don't kill children, I ship
'em out to the villages. That's worse.

Most of you bastards have extensive experience with
infants and toddlers: My hat is off to ye. I sure as
fuck don't, at least this fucking century.

Those of you that ever hatched any similarly appearing
turdlings in the last hunnert fucking years hear my
pleas for a return to isolation inside my arctic
computing station.

Babies are for real. Novel concept for a monster from
the vil.

My back is fucked from stooping to pick up hailing
babies. Part of our beloved mom's sufferings that we
all owe an infinite debt of gratitude to. So call yer
moms and tell 'em ye love 'em.

You too Sarge, the Goulsbie Conspiracy is real, just
ask Commander Craig. Old dude could fuck all our shit
up. Sober and honest cops scare me, good thing only
Craig is privvy to my dubiously professional shite.

When I phoned my dad for remedies to constant stress
headaches and extreme vulnerability to loud screeches
from 100 mph habitual quadrapedal micro-chimps in
diapers, he simply said, "Son, now you know why I
drink in the morning."


OK, finished my mile long list of chores, now I get to
indulge in writing, my absurd hobby perfectly suited
to upset most baked Alaskans, our blessed rural
rodentry impaired from mud, bugs, and drugs.

No shit, I'm betting 2 miles of to-do's, cursed duties
and wallet depleting grandpa obligations that most of
my diatribal dysentary and comment reeks of wet farts.
Abrasive, yes. The wet fart notion arises from my
crude sounds and gestures that sound like I got a
little water in the mouth piece.

Since I'm unwittingly accessing other people's emails,
I get to examine thoughts and opinions of many of our
neighbors.

Some respondents on the old blog set up weren't very
nice nor accurate in describing me. Foul, yes, but
lacking depth or tricky irony, I don't think so.

It's time I share with the world my most recent dozen
rolls of film I just got processed.

I disabled the now obsolete key_stroke_logger.exe
program so it's now safe to visit extremenortheskimo
again. Take a peek, I swapped out the abrasive
communications between all of us uniformed killers and
graying gunslingers with really fucking awesome photos
of my lysergic distorted existence on the wrong end of
the North American continent.

I got pics of all kind of shit, including you lot.
Hooah!

http://extremenortheskimo.blogspot.com

The abrasively intelligent discourse archive is stored
at

http://northof70lat.blogspot.com

Smile, yer on spastic spotlight.

Apologies around fer my ignorance. I ain't ignoring
ye, just got both arms squirming full of Eskimo babies
with diapers full of baby poop worth a small fortune
since I started paying for all the groceries, gas and
drugs.

I've smoked Labrador weed, haven't toked any Inupiaq
bud cuz the dope or diapers paradigm precludes much
fun and games with our mutual chemical brothers down
here.

For the record: No, I won't take any metro narc
contracts. So pound sand.

"I'd never hurt a friend" (Ronin).

The only job I'm gonna backdoor is near a missile
silo.

Provided I got 1D25's quick draw kid covering my 6.


I'll get my spook back on and into my party mode:
after I wash this stinky funny mustard outa my beard,
hair and clothes.

Wait, this stuff smells like diaper paint.

Karl. AKA stink man.

PS. Call yer mom's and thank 'em. This tending to baby
shit sucks poopy butt, but not nuvuk. If I was yer
mums, Ida pitched you into Unnuk Lake. This diaper
business sucks really fucking bad.

And to think you wayward sons are drifting further
into remote nowhereville and further away from the
lady that sniffed yer shit and didn't bust yer skull
with yer appa's nugger knocker.

I can detect yer Eskimo-ness can't I? Like reading tea
leaves, I can read your rural Alaskan futures by
reading asspaint spray and spatter marks.

Yer mums really shoulda kilt yer asses.