Thursday, June 15, 2006

The Anti-Christ wears a rag on his bleeding Muslim head.

Top of the morning gents,

Good to be back on the chain gang, walking about Kikiktagruk muddy bucket drippings and partying hard with folks that ought to know better.

I got me a slew of Eskimo domiciles that I hit whence me and my Siberian Mrs. 'go visit.' A Russian Pribiloff motherfucker who absolutely adores my forked tongue and scarred knuckles, a family man with golden children I enjoy spoiling with a new Play Station II and a shit load of games, and an elderly Inuit gal that can take a beating, raping and strangling and still not fucking die.

Nup, not one of these village citizens is cops or crooks: just salt of the Earth folks that welcome my knock on the front door and my lips upon their shot and crystal liquor glasses.

What I find most enjoyable about Spit Kikiktagruk is the Nordic posturing, Viking denial of pain, and drinking habits that mimic good Irish and Scotsmen. Kotzebue has wonderfully high monthly individual liquor allotments, allocations that fit nicely with my gramps and pops drinking habits. Mine too.

One difference as defined by my Siberian Mrs. though, in the land of extremely pale and northern immigrants she witnessed folks drinking to their health: partying till they puke. Upon this narrow spit of soil that's gone bad, folks party till they die. Pity.

We shant be surprised. Here on the Spit we have an Elementary school named after a drug addict and alcoholic matriarch, a baseball playfield named after a native lad I last seen snarfing down a pile of Capone cocaine and quaffing 2 bottles of high proof 151 pink cap rum: the true personality of a community is exemplified by its monuments and titular remembrances.

Hell boys, when in Rome do as the Romans. But I stop a few meters short of porking little girls and boys yet contribute in my unique fashion to increase the FAS, rape, STD, murder and suicide statistics. Fair is fair, right coppers?

As you all know, I spent the last two weeks up in Barrow to cycle out old tenants and audition new ones. That doesn't just happen overnight. I had to run lots of free ads on KBRW before I departed so I could start collecting a database of folks affluent enough to phone me at the 442 prefix, then I ran ads requesting interested parties show in person at house #7488 for a walk through house showing.

Nice place, far nicer than the ramshackle dumps you'll find my Arctic Computing Station now set up. I chose two working girls with children, they deserve to pay high rent and live in a nice classy apartment instead of the low IQ housing the North Slope Borough built all over God’s creation.

Landlord duties are called Bitch Work, but the twice-monthly rental deposits come in handy and under the radar of the IRS. Alas, I’m happy with the moniker of Oochuk Boy.

It requires great aquatic skills to swim up and down class systems. I imagine there are intel pictures with a lad similar to me drinking and smoking with peers worth more than my dad, and you've witnessed a tall man drinking and smoking with short brown aborigines having an identically good time but truncated life spans nonetheless.

Folks are folks; I'm cool with anyone. All I ask is that the bar be open.

Since my gramps and grams died in their 90's and my pop's father is still living in his 100's, my upcoming 45th birthday ought to spell my midpoint in my existence here on this planet. It also spells my midpoint working, chatting, smoking and drinking with you lot: my blessed graying gunslingers.

Fuck, I don't know if I could stand another 45 years knocking about with you killers. Fuck me in the goat ass.

Had I not been lured back stateside to finally marry my Siberian Mrs. I'd not be here today to offend and irritate y'all with daily harassments vitriolic and bitchy. I'd be sucking dirt.

For perverse reasons and shameless curiosity I pay attention to the criminal activities amongst you merciless angels of death. From foreign countries plethora, I checked up on you lads for news, court databases, and any arctic web page with photos, news clippings and stories about your goings on.

I don’t envy your jobs, your side arms, nor do I lust after your wives. And for that you all shall be quite thankful. I don’t know why, but best zip my fly.

It’s not for their lack of attractive qualities, nor their appreciation for handsome men. It’s the mere fact that they are married to men I admire, little else. Bun says I make a lousy Muslim, if you can buy that. Examining my value structure, it may seem I do adhere to commandments and prohibitions. Imagine that?

Okay, I adhere to the 6 commandments; the other 4 don’t apply to lads with altered A-4 alleles on every DNA molecule in their fucking body. Make sense?

I’ve never failed to sack a gal I found disturbingly desirable. When I weave romantic webs of fatalistic design, most Norwegian, Swedish and Russian women resign and redress my elderly and gentlemanly charm ex-post facto. As I age and mature, I see a distinguished gentleman emerging: a man of elderly charm that cannot escape the inevitable peeling skin and exoskeleton of previous personality and filthy disposition.

It’s amazing to see all of you doing the same.

From punk ass combat motherfuckers to patient, refined and properly behaving gentlemen of vastly improved disposition and refinement whilst all of your wives and ex-wives rapidly deteriorating in the opposite direction.

God blesses elderly gentlemen, yet curses and cripples elderly old women. Someone tell me what the hell is going on?

From previous pals prior to the turn of the century, I see men of improving good looks wed to gals resisting and fighting your emerging handsomeness, kindness and caring: qualities we attribute to distinguished and sophisticated, handsome elderly gentlemen.

Devastatingly handsome and gorgeous men with lots of healthy silver hair: silver hair that enhances your intimidating sexually prowess, yet concealing the fading scars on your knuckles and nuts.

The next time you’re ignoring tirades of the most painful and feminine nature, explain to your wives they no longer deserve such fine lads and to go out and fetch a mate more suitable to they’re rapid aging and shrill voice.

Trust me. When an Eskimo wife understands that the world is filled with bitchy women and very few handsome elderly gentlemen, you’ll have to shoo them out from under the front porch. As aging men, you are entering your most valuable trade-in years; with aging women a commodity of groping and whining hags trying to get a nut from a pile of wrinkled fat dikes.

Yup, my blessed Siberian Mrs. is right you know. I’d make a lousy Muslim. I don’t desire 72 virgins, nor do I desire even one. Talk about a fucking pain in the ass and a real nasty headache. Young women piss and moan when I much prefer they’d be moaning, then pissing. Difficulties only understood by men.

Upon self-examination, I appear to be one hell of a specimen of a Christian: albeit a Christian of the Old Testament kind.

Rags are for the heads of Muslim bleeders, not wise Christian thinkers. Let the games begin, and wars continue. Furthermore, monotheism is the perfect antidote to all epistemologies polytheistic, ancient and aboriginal.

Rad dude that guy called Christ, he got his own ass lynched by his own people merely for cutting out all the middlemen and bureaucratic layers between you graying gunslingers and your very own creator.

Is that cool or twat?



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