Friday, October 11, 2013

Despite tattered uniforms, broken bones. Growing old ain't fer pussies.

Top of the morning gents,

You can tell I'm old. My friends in uniform fart dust. Being old is better'n dead though. Suck it up and take it like a man, growing old ain't fer pussies. You uniforms need to start thinking and acting like the last fucking generation of American prosperity with decades of stagnation, decline and world wars to look forward to. My kind of universe. Fuck ye.

Listen up fucks. Before my forecasted civil war and we ship all Africans, Mexicans and Natives back home, take the time to floss, walk, eat metamucil, vitamins and of course yank yer crank. Daily. Besides, I just flossed and flicked out bits of Soviet tobacco, cully bud resin and silver mongoloid pubes. Call my Nordic loud mouth "Cuntsmoke."

Statistics show a significant increase in longevity if your gums and choppers are in primo shape, ye walk yer dick off and most important: ye crap big, smooth, shiny non-stick brown trout out yer ass, and pee lots of vitamin yellow beer foam. We ain't kids no more, you can stop eating from the garbage pile like gumby, drinking rot-gut liquor like Ham or Blanchard, smoking shitty nigarettes like Jewell, crapping runny brown water out yer fucking ass like Downing or week old cement blocks the size of Wallace loaf constipate. Taking a healthy shit is the 907th wonder of the world and oughta be SO smooth ye yield zero Eskimo evidence on yer TP. On a good day yer crap smear oughta come back negative.

You'll have to school yer rancid marsupial pussy spouses on our culturally pedestrian old fart lifestyle most healthy: lose the purses and handbags. If ye ain't got yer shit pocketed, then ye better keester her shit up her penis holster. 3 little kittens may have lost their mittens, but accessories are fer cunts (literally), not maturely frosted booty. When yer no-nut brown spouse misplaces wallets, purses and gloves due to old bitty drain-bramage, us men will have to carry the damn things. That's fag shit. If yer bitchy niffwich insists she tote so much crap, put it all in the backpack on the wheelchair in the foyer, then tie the old no-teefer salmon cruncher to Werneke's garbage truck. Ye ain't racist if ye married nugger. Real fucking dumb maybe.

Scorched Earth to Retard: Don't mess up yer schedule, daily routines are habit-forming, especially when they're healthy Charlie Daniels kinda habits. Get stoned in the morning, git drunk in the afternoon. Or as Sgt. Waller phrased it back in 1889, "wake and bake, strong coffee, shit shower shave, then gun up." Fucking around with yer sleep cycles is just retarded. Four percent of your cones and rods are dedicated to circadian cycles. Something we inherited from our reptilian and amphibian lineage akin to gills at 12 weeks. Prenatal OTZ bar hopping and rotating KPD shiftwerk will fuck yer shit up: great-grandchimps too.

Us old retarded folks do really well with good regular sleep, woof down vitamins and stay happily married. This part totally sucks: "happily married" as in a long term relationship...monogamous and healthy: sexually, physically and psychologically. Yup. me too. Strike three. I married a native.

In the year of our Lord 1980 I came to Alaska to run away from stupid shit. Even before the turn of the century I took work overseas to run away from stupid shit. You guys should've at least said something. You funny fuckers simply stood by and watched me fuck up and suffer. The stupid shit is right here. It was me. My brother Cully once said, "You'll never know who Karl's gonna care about." A whole culture of misfit scraling ice darkies north of mason-dixon. Fuck me.

Now hold on a second fuckface, I ski full-length mirrors with my big nose and snow board frosted snot peaks followed by a champion breakfast of Industrial Bong cocoa-puffs. I awoke one day in Krotchebue adopted by an army of cops and funny minded monkey talking Eskimos. In an epiphanic moment of clarity and dumber'n shit career move, I turned all my guns on my own kind.

Whose uniform am I wearing? Why are all these fucking cops in my phone book and email contact list? What happened during the years of empty space on my resume? Figure it out nigger head. Extreme rendition, frequent beatings and lots of drug abuse makes for a really unstable graying gunslinger. I suffered more shell shock from my years of triplicate passport shredded narcwerk, than my years of narcommerce.

Yes, my mother was also retarded (that's pretty funny) and God could have made me bright, but I fail to grasp the humor. So fuck, alas, I laugh at my own dumbass and the silly notion that I could ever make a difference in villages AK run by nigger mob rule.

Fuck! A life of community service working with you cops preceded by a life of really good Mountlake Terrace drugs and Edmonds venereal disease. Yup, the community service decision was real fucking dumb. When I served the Lincoln Administration, I was the biological Dept of War agent that delivered all them rail-car loads of poopy diseased blankets to all them pockmarked Induns. Then in later iterative reincarnations, I'm testi-lying in court against coke head drunkbake assholes just like me. Hell, stupid me. I do narc jobs pro-bono. Free. Volunteer of America. And Apartheid Alaska.

We need another Lincoln, or someone just like him: Hitler. My narc work is close enough: a war on human rights. My kind of war. Civil war never ended: just our uniforms. We ain't from Alaska, but Alaska loves fleeing war criminals, exiled soldiers, confederate cowboys and lynched lawmen.

Enough about serving in the wars on drugs, colored folk, natives, liberal midgets and lesbian buttfuckers, I'm bitchin' at y'all uniforms to age like professionals. No shit, floss fuckheads, drink lots of metamucil or fiber caplets with yer fucking vitamins. And walk yer dick off.

One thing I've not told any of ye. Most restaurant food is low in fiber and vitamins but on the plus side high in fat, salt and sweets. When we retarded, we had only 2 people to cook for. But I ate for 6. Big servings and all the leftovers. One day I ran out of weed and that was the last day I grazed on shit ass leftovers. Stale moldy dried out foods taste yucky without pot.

Say goodbye to the kitchen ye wrinkled coonass neegroids. Eat out, drink out. Save money. No dishes, no native food smells. Cooking is so weird with no kids, no pets nor dumber nugger grand kids to dump gross food on and send 'em home sick. Fuck leftovers. If bun don't got a whole 907 niggerhood to cook for, I handcuff her to the sewing machine. I'm learning to enjoy cafeteria food at the senior center. If I'm way-baked I'll woof down frozen microwave dinners with a side order litre of Finnish White Wine. Vodka niggers.

Also, get a couple pairs of good hiking boots. Aside from the Sorrel winter boots, invest a small bundle in combat tenny runners or extra tuff walking shoes too. Pavement don't need monster boots even down to 10-20 below. But I mean it, get some good traction and sole between you and 'crete dude. AssPhault cruisers or geriatric felony fliers are for fucking dork-ass blue-haired gomers: those huge bright white shoes old granny crusted tourists wear are gay as shit.

We burn up fucking shoes. We always inspect our footwear for blow outs, worn heels and defects and pick native butt-nuggies out the tread, then we flee the senior center and book it to Walmarts or Fred Meyer, grab a new set of skins and ditch the toasted nasty shoes in or next to the shopping mall garbage bin. I like wearing my new shoes on the walk home: feels good and I get to show them off to the older residents in the native wing. "Neener-neener nana neeger."

And another thing: ain't nobody got dick rot here at the senior center. We only wear condoms fer blow jobs cuz diane henry down the hall once told me I haven't lived till a native gal takes her teeth out for me and she keeps a condom under her upper dentures. She's a real professional there dudes. Deepthroat yer donkey, eat yer load. Rubber and all with only alligator gums. Felt like she keeps a condom up her ass cuz when I pulled out she farted prophylactic bubbles filled with retarded Octuck sperm all over her wheelchair.

Yup, I laugh at stupid shit too. She don't fart dust like all us, but like yer wives.

Mind you. Good for the goose, better for the gander. Adding up the infidelity of yer nugger wives, you guys all got truckloads of savory sweet white pussy coming yer way. When ye get back home to the senior center smelling peachy and snatchy and hangin' WAY low, simply remind her of the times she was screaming, grunting, farting and sweating underneath our coworkers and her in-laws both before and after you got married.

Hell, just look at yer nugger runtlet chimps: some look like mudrace halfbreed buttfucker clans strangely similar to Erlich, Westlake, Schaeffer, Baker and Tom Peters. Hence epidemic OTZ/FAS AKA Kiana Herpes and Noatak HIV AKA butt-ugly child syndrome with their wandering Inutard infant eyes (and asscheeks ikriq) so far apart. GIGO...garbage in (the pussy)...garbage out. Them guys dick everything that stinks. Even little boy butt-pussy. Go native ah?

See? Fair is fair. As heavily armed round eye gwylo nazis: we got about 17 sets of heaven sent biscuit to catch up to the number of lovers and rapists our nugger wives have scored compared to the surprisingly small number you white cops have sacked. Call it your bucket list that may soon be overflowing: as soon as Cathy Trr and Nurse Medicate (catheter chemicals up her pisser, poo cavern and clooch) make their floor rounds: douche and wash colonic and narcotic.

As yer wife nods off and returns to coma status, just whisper "sleep tighter sweetheart" and come join me. I always spit out my pills and stuff them in old man John Ward's colostomy bag, then squeeze the contents back into his abdomen. Hell, I'm already climbing out the facility window to sneak a toke with squish. Fuck, senior homicidal moment, I forgot I was gonna suffocate someone with my pillow.

Or my diaper.

After yer wives' first stroke simply tell them these big-boobed young ladies are assisted living attendants that double duty as angelic Florence Nightengales for our overgrown fart hammers. After menopause, she'll thank you from the bottom of her deep throat. Contrary to modern anglicized myths about elderly eskimo women: you can pack way more meat in her mouth-than her cooter.

Good is bad, right is wrong. But you cops decided which is right, I'm your very own warrant-less assault on sub-human rights. I cake this universe of text with rendered bucket honey I call the crossroads of the occidental and the oriental. Analogous to the genetic intersection between Europe and fucking China. More simply: where you'll find white donkey bags slapping brown slagger biscuit and shitloads of cross-eyed retarded brown chimplets. Rapeville dudes, taint of the universe, land of the anus colored folk: Cuntfart County, NWAK.

Ya see, growing old ain't fer fucking pussies. Neither is my shitty writing. Ye gotta have a HUGE sense of humor, lots of KY, BIG heart, gentler half of your penis and even bigger understanding of the care and feeding of elderly Eskimo women. Thou wives shall smoke bone or smash their windpipes and burn 'em up at 7-Lakes.

Watching all ye soldiers fer the last 300 or so years, we sure struggled with issues regarding faith. The money comes and goes, then it sticks around and attracts even more. But I see divorce, desertion, depression and anti-cyclical death 'round ya'll and yet you're still reading my stupid shit so that means you all got hope. Also means a lot to your author on drugs, liar in uniform and long dead gunslinger.

My side of the mountain and our side of the state has always been a magnet for dying uniforms, racially and culturally confluential and ground zero for stampeding people in fucking tidal waves upon the shores here at the wrong end of the North American continent where the worst civil aspects of colliding cultural masses are adopted and retained.

Hope is good. Unless yer a fucking soldier. Ye got wars to fight. Chimplet AK will forever be an extraordinarily violent epoch moment of no hope. That's why ye coppers are here: dead-ended ghosts in tattered uniforms follow migratory wars tectonic, exterminations wholesale, extinction a compli and nativistic subduction.

I absolutely love writing y'all, but brevity is the soul of wit, so I best floss fangs, take my vitamins and shut the fuck up.

aBorIgiNaLly yOuRs,

chArLey gOrdoN itO






































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