Thursday, September 14, 2006

Mud, Bugs and Drugs. Memories and photos ya'll might recall.

Top of the morning gents,

Remember our state motto? Come to Alaska, huff gas,
split some retard biscuit and hatch lots of FAS babies
that'll grow up to look and smell just like Lulu
Wright and Byrd Uhl Carter. Sorry, that's just too
awful for so early in the morning. It's okay, you can
go heave, then come back here to read my stupid shit.

Up here in this wonderful little drinking village with
a terrible fishing problem, we ain't just happy, we're
herpe. Don't believe me? Just do a core sample on
Skeeter Jepson, Twiggy or Trudy. When yer scrawgging
really shrivelled up bag ladies and trying in vein to
find the wet spot, let yer fingers do the walking
through the folds and wrinkles: when ye smell shit,
just back up a few folds. Fuck I'm a funny faggot.

I must say, the AST PIO website had Sgt Bastard's and
Lt Squish's constabulary handiwork posted on the
Internet before his 'clients' were booked, porked and


AK Bureau of Alcohol & Drug Enforcement

Location: Kotzebue
Case number: 06-81429
Text: On 9-10-06 the Alaska Bureau of Alcohol and Drug
Enforcement and Kotzebue Police Department contacted
three males near a Kotzebue residence after receiving
a tip that drug use was taking place.

Incident to the contact, approximately 10 grams of
marijuana was seized from one of the males. Charges
of Misconduct Involving a Controlled Substance VI will
be forwarded to the District Attorney's Office for
Author: JMB1
Received and posted Sunday, September 10, 2006 1:57 PM

--- You go dudes. Hats off to Roy Harper and Rory
Gallager AKA mUtt and jEff, sQuish and wAller---

Since our news services absolutely blow ass, I gotta
check all the usual sites such as the Kotzebue Trial
Courts Calender, Google News for Alaskan bullshit,
horse puckey and malarkey. Since the Troopers make
numerous entries every day, I sneak a peek on them
every time I get a chance.

Did you killers also have a good weekend? I sure as
fuck did.

Sunday, me and the Mrs. biked all over town in search
of treasures, lost wallets and purses and stray
dollars stuck in mud or blowing in the disentary
breeze. What the fuck? It gets me out humping me bike
and pumping blood beyond more than my dick and balls.

On our second loop back around the airport, we spied
Columbo taking a blessed break in a covert vantage
point outside Alaska Airlines to pack a pinch o'
'bacco between his cheek and gums and cooly observe
incoming drug dealers, drug addicts and miscreant
Inu-packed neighbors staggering off the jet.

The Chief was awaiting to travel on to Anchoragua for
more training and lectures. Like his big fucking brain
needs to absorb any more data: big gorilla is already
pegging out his overstuffed goddamned brain.

Any smarter and he'll either explode or vanish.

Saturday evening we seen the return of the pale rider.
Yup, when Death arrives, Hell follows.

Me and Jeff, Bun and Ethel and all the kids were
gathered in front of the Fire Hall to gossip who got
beer, what guns were up for sale, and when the hell
Westlake was fucking gonna git back to town.

No sooner did Waller mention an old La Cosa Nostra
mantra did 6Killer come rallying around the corner
spying us fat bastards and skidding abreast this
blessed group of killers greeting all of us with
scarred knuckle handshakes, cigarettes and lots of
evil shitty laughter.

If my math is right, the last time we all pissed and
shit in Kikiktagruk spit together was...over 15 years
ago. Don't that make yer make yer shit feel so old yer
fartin' dust.

I've bumped into each of ye individually over the last
few decades, but I ain't witnessed the foul
synergistic murderous tendencies and sick humor all in
one pile since Fat Eddie was Chief, Wallace was
Captain and Christ was a Corporal.

Now I recall why it worked so well. I also now know
why OR Jones and SIS Erlich discourages known felons
consorting. Despite uniforms smelling of baked Alaskan
pussy, badges smeared with lynch poop and piss, and
boots soiled from impaired bottom and penis stomping,
gittin' all you violent motherfuckers within the same
zip code is a kick!

It sucks to drink by myself or in polite company, but
it sure feels really fucking good to drink amongst
armed society. Me and Patchuk chowed mucho burgers and
brew in and around Fairbanks in the fall time, and I
also downed a small ocean of beer with 6Killer
downtown Los Anchorage. I also quaffed a small
pharmacy with Alaskan amber whilst working with 1D25's
Quick Draw kid at, around or near the UAF campus
working on a rather contentious on-and-off campus GHB
date-rape drug case.

Now multiply those blessed moments. Fuck that, more
than linear, geometric synergism at the most vile and
humorous level.

After greets all around, we made plans to meet up
later in the evening.

Yup, we was fixin' to git drank.

Me and Bunnik went over to 6Killer's new digs and
according to my obsolete Nordic DNA genome code, I put
a big ass dent in a half gallon of whiskey, with the
help of a gray eyed psychopath.

We bullshitted about firearms and dead dogs, firearms
and soon to be dead Inu-sloth, firearms and
fictitiously dead humans that in popular Alaskan
nomenclature are merely termed 'gone missing' or done
kilt their own asses for no apparent reason...

Ain't none of us was ever there, that's my story and
I'm sticking to it.

We also put into motion plans to expedite the dead
pool list. We chatted about snuffing lesser life forms
haunting Camp Sivunivik, the Inu-gomer residence for
chronic child poachers collecting tiny mashed up
assholes as trophies around their dicks. You can tell
this unique community filled with chesters and
molesters cuz they all live in Nigloos.

For the uninitiated, Camp Siv is where we shipped out
all the baby rapists and infantile biscuit splitters
as a means of further coddling these folks I call the
Joule of the Pile.

Like that eh?

I owe a round of thanks to the bar tender, and thanks
to big guy upstairs that has chosen to keep us all
above ground instead of 6 feet under suckin' dirt:
despite high blood sugar, cholesterol, and blood
pressure in our goddamned dicks and balls.

Now that this magnificent batch of motherfuckers is
drifting back to Kotzebue, we'll almost have enough
keg chuggin' gunslingers and whiskey drinking women to
populate our very own voting precinct. Ye see? Shit
slides downhill, yet north to spit kikiktagruk.

Smoke 'em is ye got 'em, right mates? Who says I gotta
go back to fucking Finland to drink like a Finn. Fuck
it, I can restore function to me liver by just
staggering two blocks over to another off-site KPD bar
somewhere in the 600 block. Just wake me before Sunday
services, that'll give me time to whiz, pull my pants
up and stagger back home.



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