Only the good die young. What the hell is our excuse?

Top of the morning gents,

Fuck me in the goat ass, I'm now a no bike, walking
the dog armed motherfucker.

All summer since pert near break up, me and bun
rallied the shit outa our bikes hauling fucking ass
all over Kikiktagruk Spit like a Viagra sponsored race
car, except mine has wipers on the inside of the
windshield.

We pegged out the odometers tripping through mud, bugs
and drugs and all those killer little tundra trails
criss-crossing Eric Nelson’s camp and dog lot. I
almost shot my own knee cap off trying to shoot
fleeing scared rabbits and mice out of the grass,
whilst wagging a drunken baked ass pistol about.

When I unleash the neighbor's dog for fun and games,
our North Tent City tundra rally mish takes on a whole
different strategy. It's a bitch to play follow the
dog as best as a nulaammi oosik possibly could and in
defiance of legal BAC and gay politically erect
counter culture green teeth impairment, whilst I try
to keep up with the racing mutt whilst keeping an eye
out for speeding rabbits and mice to shoot.

Thank God for smooth pavement and gusts of wind at yer
back. We rode the damn wheels off our bikes pulling
speed runs up and down 5th avenue from my porch past
the senior center all the way down to the airport to
see what Columbo, Mutt and Jeff were up to. You can
learn a lot from a dummy you know, learning three
times more from three dummies.

My creativity mirrors my radical mood swings but my
sexual insanity swings quite the reverse. If I ain't
writing distemper to dying killers, drawing silly Don
Martin Mad Comic cartoons or tearing the shit outa my
beater wood guitar, I'm soggying the fuck outa
grandma's side of the bed creating sexual graffiti of
the most aboriginal mural.

I doubt you boys enjoy hearing bad words from folks
safe from mind failure, but the ravings of a rural
Alaskan lunatic living next door oughta be pretty
fucking kewl. Okay, back to why I gotta walk like a
Norwegian. I only curse like an Egyptian.

Friday afternoon Ernie Norton backed his truck up to
our steps and in zero seconds flat, I watched in
amazement as me and me bunnik's bikes were absconded
divinely to the Episcopal Church Christmas Rummage
Sale.

Didn't I just buy those fucking bikes?

Fuck all, I won't be able to ride until May or June of
2007. I'm whining like a bitch ain't I?

Columbo forecasted one season per mountain bike,
especially when the operator is a little too tall,
could'a used a few pounds of common sensemilla.

I'm fully aware of the rapid depreciation syndromatic
to toys and hobby craft. My wife's sewing machines
wear at predictable slopes, I replace a component to
this Arctic Computing Station every time I grease the
cat's butt, but just t'other day, I watched my
hunnerth bike get led away to the bone yard. Fuck you;
I get emotionally attached to my mountain bikes more
than any fucking dog or goat.

I'm such a pussy. No more BWI, biking whilst impaired:
high, stoned, ripped, and wasted on coffee, vitamins
and Ritalin. As my strength steadily improves and my
overall muscle mass hardens, my natural Rocky Mountain
High also becomes far more enjoyable.

I ain't got slug tracks behind me to coast and slide
on, just size 13 Sorrell footprints in the snow. I
long ago ditched my felony flier: a customized pair of
Sorrell boots with size 7 ladies winter boot soles
screwed, glued and silicone sealed to bottom of my old
fucked up boots. Why on Earth would I need to mislead
anybody into wrongly believing that a child or woman
had walked about a crime scene, when they dint. Just
the tall Finn better known as yer author on drugs.

The blues of bygone bikes ain't the primary reason
y'all better thank God yer still above ground instead
of sleeping dirt under my outhouse. Over the weekend
our blessed little village of unimaginable painful
remoteness suffered another arctic weather and alcohol
related death.

Sometime this weekend, rumors started buzzing 'round
town about some kid that was found frozen solid on the
playground near the school. Some kid named Joe Carter
Jr. I recall, partied too hard down at Ray Karmun's
place with my nephew Bryant Tikik Jr.

Them thugs went way too fucking native. We's cool with
partying till ye puke, but don't go all goddamned
Mongoloid on my ass and party till ye fucking die.

After chugging down R&R and StaggerMeister, wandering
home in blizzard conditions, this Buckland villager
ultimately laid down to rest, but on accident pulled
off a Rip Van Winkle 'skimosicle nap where lots of
little kids would most likely stumble upon his rock
hard frozen ass Monday morning.

Good thing you graying gunslingers fetched that poor
lad yesterday, cuz dead bodies tend to distract Inukun
midgets from the superior learning compulsory
education inevitably guarantees. I'm kidding, public
schools, like public housing and public toilets are
for working class proletariats, not bourgeois
motherfuckers.

Nup, not a pretty thing to discuss, but necessary.

Ya see, my evening walks normally steer me towards
disorderly driving, auto accidents yielding messy and
broken Eskimo dolls.

Which is odd, because early Sunday morning, all the
neighborhood dogs cried and howled something awful.
Not the aggressive barking ye hear like when natives
walk by, but a sorrowful howl that awoke bun and I to
altered states of irrational emotives.

Don't laugh, just cuz I've been bitten by dogs on all
continents don't mean I can understand what the fuck
they're yipping about, but my Siberian Mrs. sure can.

Since before birth that gal has haunted me. I used to
have dreams as a child of making love to older pretty
women of Mongolian Steppe heritage: pre-adolescent
sexuality being clue #1 of reincarnation: or
symptomatic of reading too much Jack London.

You know what the fuck I’m squacking about, else you
graying gunslingers woulda never fled nightmares of
serial murders arriving here to only dream about them.

Ya see, ya’ll have had strokes: code for catharsis,
epiphany and revelation. You’ve also learned why all
yer justifiably violent homicides are best left way
back in yer misspent youth. No grasshopper, those
nightmares of gore are real. These hellish sleep and
waking disturbances aren’t hellish if the life you
expired was of no consequence. Ye can’t kill the dead,
ye can’t rape the willing, so quit worrying, yer
secrets will die with us.

By the way, I smile at your histories of violence.
Hard nipples and drippy dick dudes.

I seen all of ye stressed out beyond fucking repair,
gulp a plug of chew and coffee, spark up a cigarette
and get back out on the road. That’s why I write to
only composite caricatures, not real healthy humans
thus allowing you boys to travel back and forth
between the smoking section of this cat box I cordoned
off in yer imaginations, then back to your family
lives I’ve taken special care to diplomatically avoid
at all cost.

I don’t even know the names of any of your kids,
better that way. A vampire requires permission to
enter your domicile. Best I beware of the moors and
stick to the roads.

I only demand your virtual attendance here. It’s
cheaper, safer and healthier. Had all of us suffered
the same disorder, we’d all be frozen meat just like
that poor lad you are currently defrosting at the
moment. Remember gents; we live on a fucking
reservation. No good deed goes unpunished.

You boys keep up the good work; God willing, I’ll see
you at my 85th birthday. Shit, half this region will
be long dead and forgotten when we reach Commander
Craig's age.

If you do perchance pass on before this date 40 years
into the future, I’m sure Joe Carter Jr. will be happy
to greet you. He’s indebted to you for picking up his
frozen corpse before a bunch of Inukun midgets found
him on the way to school.

Karl.

---

Middle Aged Men Can Live Long If They Want

If you are a middle-aged man and you want to live a
long time, all you need is a good lifestyle - some
good genes would also help. Make sure you don't become
obese, remember to exercise regularly, keep your blood
pressure down, avoid the boozy lifestyle and keep away
from foods high in refined sugars, say experts from
the Pacific Health Research Institute, Hawaii, USA.

You can read about this new study in the Journal of
the American Medical Association (JAMA).

If you look after yourself in this way your chances of
reaching 85, and being healthy at that age, are five
times greater than for men who stray off the beaten
track.

The researchers looked at data on 5,820
Japanese/American males - they had been monitored for
four decades. The men were initially monitored in 1965
- at that time they had an average age of 54 and were
all healthy.

They were followed up in 2005. The scientists found
that the following, either in isolation, or in
combination, significantly influenced whether the men
lived a long life, and also whether their extra years
were healthy ones:

-- obesity
-- alcohol consumption (3+ drinks a day is too much)
-- high blood sugar
-- hypertension (high blood pressure)
-- high level of triglycerides

All the factors listed here contributed towards a
reduced lifespan and a higher chance of being
unhealthy during old age.

They found that a man who had drunk a lot, was fat,
had high blood pressure, smoked and had high levels of
sugar and triglycerides in his blood would have a 78%
chance of never living till the age of 85. His chances
of reaching 90 were just 6%.

However, a man who had drunk either nothing or
moderately, had not been overweight, exercised
regularly, did not smoke, had normal blood pressure,
normal blood sugar levels and normal levels of
triglycerides, had a 69% chance of reaching 85 - and
also being healthy at that age.

Dr. Bradley Willcox, study leader, was surprised at
how starkly the different lifestyles influenced
longevity and health. He said that smoking is the
major factor here, closely followed by high blood
sugar during middle age. The scientists also found
that a middle-aged man's grip strength was closely
linked to his lifespan - the stronger his grip, the
longer he is likely to live. As grip strength is
linked to physical fitness, middle-aged men should
make sure they do regular physical exercise, they
said.

Other factors influence how healthy men are likely to
be when they are old - the higher the academic level
of a man, the healthier he is likely to be when he is
old. Married men live longer than single men, but do
not enjoy better health during old age (perhaps they
live longer because their wives help them remember to
go to their doctors, get their medications, and take
them. Also, spouses can become carers).

The study covered the mid sixties to the turn of the
century, before many drugs came onto the market.