Thursday, September 14, 2006

How Kewl! Furs are gaining popularity again. To Hell with Political Correctness and the Leftist Gay Agenda.

Top of the morning gents,

I'm so psyched.

I've now seen a bunch of pop stars wearing furs. Pop
stars from all media genre are fucking off lefty lib
leaning anti-fur faggots, in droves, and dressing so
Siberian chic or Euro pimp gnarley.

Fur is so cool. So cool I purchased my blessed
Siberian Mrs. a full length fur coat.

After I brokered the sale of the Bush Pilot Bar to the
NANA natiff corpse I deposited $10,000 in her bank
account, coerced Judge Jeffreys into assisting me in
marrying the lass, bought airline tickets from Barrow
to Anchoragua, then marched her fine rear-end in to
David Green's "Half-Price Sale."

Eat the rich? Fuck no, I'm a cannibis cannibal so I
eat the poor, they're much fatter.

Fuck me in the goat ass, serendipity is my ally and
chance favors the impaired mind. After tossing half a
million in inventory I found a killer coat that ya'll
will be seeing her proudly wearing every morning and
evening enroute to her work.

Did I ever tell you boys that I'm an avid shopper? I
call myself the purchasing agent for Tikiq Mgt: Jew
Shopper extraordinaire. I had bunnik try on a shit
load of heavy ass fur coats finally settling on a
bitchin' head-to-toe ensemble the included a matching
hood. Way Pimp you maggots.

Does a well dressed man's ego good to walk aside such
overt wealth and beauty. Fuck it, her new cat walk
mantra oughta be "I'm too sexy for his dick."

Seeing so many pop stars returning to the stunning
beauty of fur coats is giving me a boner. Why a boner
you ask? Well I'll tell ye.

Yer reading dumbass insights from the mind of a
farmboy, so needless to say, I like butchering and
smoking both cannibis flora and canus fauna. All of
it: the stalking of prey, the sighting in and trigger
pull and field dressing, but most of all I like the
butchering, brining and drying. Spicy dried
asswhooping Tunnik Punniktuk is the fucking bomb. That
is if I ain't aging, brining and barbequeing the
goddamned beast.

Fuck it, if it was possible, I'd omit all the hunting
bullshit and focus solely on the cutting, slicing,
seasoning, brining and drying aspects if I could: and
often do. Since my marital relationship family tree is
as convoluted as a brier wreath, I am often blessed
with Brower, Itta and River Rat drop offs of plethora
dead carcasses.

I also rather enjoy settin' trap lines, even with dim
bulbs of Kramer descent.

Whenever Blanchard, Black Bird and Garoutte invited me
to partake in the massive euthanasia and suppressed
rifle assassinations of stray dogs all over town, we
intentionally dumped truckloads of dead shot to piss
pooches all around the outside of Kotzebue K-Mart as
fox and wolf bait for Mike Kramer's traps. Good stuff
Maynard, a rolling stone gathers no moss, but a
Scandinavian turd gathers bloody dog shit and
gunsmoke.

Me and Mike pulled many a thrashing fur mongrels from
his traps, slashed around the noses and ripped the
hides off peeling the bright red fetus-like specimens
yielding us a hunnert inside-out skins, then shipping
the most valuable off to Shishmaref for tanning. The
plain red fox we soaked in soapy piss enrichened bath
wather filled barrels. Fun, fun.

All of my personally owned dogs were smoked to
decimated bits by the Nolton and Nay Cleaner Crew
because I was either in the emergency room or hobbled
with a fucking cast or sling. I ain't much good in a
draw, but even worse when my own dogs crush my limbs
instead of eating nutritious dog food.

Bite my dick. You try gittin' yer gun drawn and
discharged in mere milliseconds when you're red six is
wrapped in bandages. So go fuck yerself, I'm a gimp
around domesticated fangs and Waller now owns my old
45-70 hand cannon. Ever see what happens to a neighbor
hound when the Sgt unleashes his fire breathing scoped
dragon on a pooch's pooper? Blows the fur and dog shit
all over the patrol car, but it's a beautiful site
mates.

Don't get me wrong, I know a little bit about plant
genetics, lighting cycles and soluble plant food
chemistry, but putting the drop on canus lupus,
familiaris and vulpes brings sheer joy: and right
fucking firm and fat boners.

When I see fur, I see sex, money and sex.

Which makes me one sick bastard, cuz Madonna brings me
not one millimeter of rise in my Levis, but hard work
killing and stripping furs and a really pretty
Siberian gal wearing my wedding ring does. I think I'm
turning Japanese.

Nup, just completion of my conversion from felonious
political convictions into another goddamned cruelly
selfish Alaskimo. Like Charlie Daniels states, "I git
stoned in the morning, I git drunk in the afternoon."
"Ye juss leave this long-haired country boy alone."

Holy Fuck! Now I know why I get a drippy dick and hard
nipples when I'm around all ye graying gunslingers.
Birds of feather, fuck together.

I'd git up to shake yer hand, but I got wood. Yup,
like minded-politics makes for strange bedwetters.

Karluk.

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