Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Don't count yer enemas, ye ain't got enough fingers even with your fly undone. Count yer blessings.

Top of the morning gents,

Count yer blessings, not yer enemies. That's my motto.

I'm grateful for all the insight and guidance in my
quest to convert bun's allotment from a large plot of
land into a revenue stream.

One of our angels was especially helpful yesterday
clarifying a PILE of misinformation commonly held by
non-members of continental aboriginal obsolescence.

Blessings come in subtle and manifold ways. Sometimes
it's good friends from long ago that possess same old
fondness despite our wickedness, cruelty and complete
disregard for the civil and constitutional rights of
others not related to us.

Other times it's as simple as awakening every morning
with all our body parts working and a lovely spouse
soundly sleeping next to us.

Besides one handsome kickstand, I've got eye for the

Everyday upon awakening, thank your wife for marrying
you. Showing appreciation for the readily apparent is
really good for a spouse hoping your inevitably
selfish and masculine awareness has matured beyond
cultural piss ant narcissism.

Ya see, marriage is more than just a security blanket,
it's another womb of health, wealth and beauty
enveloping yer scarred knuckles and tarnished halos.
In a convoluted context and in regards to our inherent
reptilian, amphibian and mammalian natures we gain
purchase of something seldom available to humans:

Plato contradicted Socrates in the debate over the
notion that virtue was inborn versus acquired through
learning and acculturation. I am clueless in that
debate. All I know is that I write to a crew of
ruthless motherfuckers that somehow now qualify as
virtuous: every fucking morning.

You may ask, "What's this bullshit yer spewing there
Karlukmun?" Allow me to elaborate.

In an advanced biology lecture and lab we mapped the
development of prenatal human fetuses. I was
absolutely astonished at the different phases a human
embryo goes through on its path towards birth. With
sheer amazement we viewed color plate slides of humans
displaying traits reflecting the miracle of congenital

We viewed phases of human development where all the
traits of our divine evolution were mapped out with
the coolest fucking photographic documentation of our
spiritual goals: physical attribute development.

These developments painted an exciting picture of our
ancient genetic past indicated by reptilian traits
such as patterned exo-skeletal similarities and
prehistoric analogies in the development of our
Central Nervous System. The amphibious traits were
exemplified by varietal atmospheric intake
similarities such as functioning gills that disappear
when our lungs sprout and take hold. The mammalian
traits occur during the final trimester with the
growth of breasts, sexual organs and vastly
accelerated brain development.

The most important thing in a man's life is his
family, something easily verified by the much longer
lifespan of married humans compared to unattached

In selfish refute, I used to believe being single was
beneficial to my health and longevity.


If you any of you doubt this, just spend a protracted
vacation in prison. Something I'm qualified to speak
about. I suspect a few more of you blessed graying
gunslingers have more than merely conceptual notions
of jail. But hell, if you were perfect, we’d be
forced to affix yer sorry ass to lumber and lynch you
too. Human nature.

Even if there were no God, we’d be forced to create
one. That’s how cool humans are. We can both derive
wisdom and contentment from our physical world by
viewing the seen and the known, and we can also derive
wisdom and contentment from the spiritual world by
believing in the unseen and unknown. Like that?

Ye reap what ye sew, and chance favors the prepared
mind. So drink in the beauty all around you. The best
way to raise your children is to simply love your
wife. You won’t know what I’m talking about until
they’re all gone. Just ask Commander Craig, he’ll tell
ye as he does your author on drugs every fucking time
I phone him for sagely advice and council. He’s buried
his wife and only son, yet still cheers me up with our
long distance philosophical phone debates: twice

In periods of isolationistic incarceration, I missed
my bunnik and Sara Magnum more than anything. Most of
you have already been apprised, so check your class
lecture notes from a few years ago.

Some of you have come mighty close to death and feel
the catharsis I'm speaking to. Near death experiences
refresh your asshole attitude and remind a foul
smelling corpse what's truly important.

Some of you blessed graying gunslingers have sucked up
stray bullets, some have taken nasty cuts in
constabulary combat while others of you have tempted
fate with suicidal levels of cigarettes and alcohol.
Some of us have been beaten to shit and we don’t even
appreciate the lessons handed us.

Ye goddamned graying gunslingers ought not take life
for granted. We’ve cut down hangers, bagged up buckets
of meat for the Troxell and Shackles cutting team and
with pick and shovel we've scraped ice covered roads
for every last chunk of neighborly mortal remains.

Now phone yer wives and tell them you love them. Ye
never know when Mr. Grimm Reaper will snatch yer
gnarly ass from this planet, so pick up the phone and
do as you're told.

Just to illustrate how Death is permanent and
impossible to escape, take a look at these 2 complex
accidents that yielded 3 corpses.

One corpse is the same age as my Siberian Mrs. and the
other cold ones exemplify how youth is wasted on the
young. Alas, now all 3 are free of Earthly want.

PS. Don't ever examine yer own heel. You'll find your
expiration stamp and discover you're long past yer
pull date. So in the days preceding your deaths, I’ll
write daily affirmations of how ya’ll are loved and
appreciated. Albeit by a crew of violent
motherfuckers, uniformed felons and sick, twisted
saving angels at yer disposal.

As stated before: if yer at Death's door, we’ll pull
ye through.



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