Monday, February 06, 2017

Riding back up Highway 99 with Trooper Nay. To Brockett.

Top of the morning gents,

God fucking dammit. I now got the mean town blues. Anchorage is such a diverse, bug infested cesspool. "Fucking whitey." (Brockett 99 Canadian Native Radio).

Me and bun wrapped up another 2-month Alaska Native Services mish (ANS). We had the all the old lady saw-bone appointments done and fucking over with. We fondly call these mondo fucking medical circle jerks at the "natiff hoshpital" as bun's million mile tune-ups. Ya see, when yer hybrid-tard like us and married nugger ye gotta drag the old bag o' bones to the clinic. Just like my hillbilly limousine veterinarian mud farmer family: I gotta get bun's eyes and teeth done. Then we trim the hooves, check her cow pies and road apples fresh and steaming for cysts, worms and infectious mucous discharge, then we gotta soft-tish inspect the ankles and knees. I dun watched in horror as my other doctor brother Sober Tobus reached all the way up a horse's ass just to check shit out. Last time I did that to bun she convulsed real gimpy and shrieked her upper partials at me. Then she recommended I use both arms.

She's a lot happier now. For a more natural feel I super-glued a pair of tennis balls under each armpit. "Wristwatch, Crisco." "Fist fuck." Frank Zappa.

You see, she's a walking fossil record of kikiktag-runt childhood trauma, indun adult PTSD and tendencies toward excessive and chronic native stuff. You know, half you motherfuckers are cops and know the bullet list: concussions, contusions and compound fractures. My God, she can't even remember how many times she's been beaten and raped, run over and tossed in the rubbish bin like an Eskimo doll. Simply put: from pretty lips to pretty tail-pipe, one piece at a time, she's mostly droid.

Aliens and robots will fucking love her, she'll soon have all their same naughty bits. Airport scanners and martians will scope out her nylon-steel knees, titanium hips and sport fucking wood. The over inflated silicone dos yabbos flesh melons are merely ornamental and for display purposes only. Old tikiaq blue hair has been mechanically overhauled and is now full ten on the fucking peter meter.

Fucking miracle the old nugger bitch is even breathing: her dusty soiled old ans indun chart is an archeological blend of territorial viral devastation, synthetic devices moderno-medico and no-teefer old wives' tales. She ain't afraid of no UFO's, she's from the BIA. "Horse meat at the indun boarding school was pretty fucking good, but I don't like rat."

I'm closing in on my exit ramp with our visit here on Earth with all you coppers. My life is ending: sooner, not later and I've tried to not weep so much no more. My bunnik is so sagely in her advice as to why old men well up and shudder so easy. She says Jesus is best seen through weary soul, watery eyes and trembling lip and I'm so there every God damned day. I've lost all my best friends now and you guys are still hanging around to view me and my dying bed. I pray I can die easy.

I oft scoff her superstitions, but just this morning she sure saulk me that I'm such a fucking pussy, "Yer buddy Kim Nay always come visit. That's why you always hear Gordon Lightfoot on yer radio on the same day that beat up eagle comes by for your treat can." "And why you cry all the time." (You guys too?)

Another issue to discuss. Bun's fucking hacked at them reservation disposal CSP vans. You know, the Anchorage Community Service Patrol fleet of native pick 'em up mobile roach coach minority vacuum cleaner drunk tanks. NANA has the contract to operate that nigger shit. They rally all around Anchor-butt hook-ville searching for coma-nates, blue lip ice-niggers and drunk as shit-ass aborigines. These white vans are an important program to save these little inukun drunks from freezing solid and mistaken for large dog turds and eaten by Alaska's homeless and hungry frickin' black folks pissing and shitting all over Scareview.

These fat white ASP driver fucks got cool as shit job. They must have fun profiling Galena-coons, shungnak shit-snackers, kobuk butt-fuckers, noatak penis holsters and noorvik numb-nut suckers. I don't think any homeless drunks in Anchoragua are from outside Northwest Alaska. Alcoholism is unique and specific to eskimo scralings and visited our adopted families long before our first boner. Seems the whole world of homeless Alaska midgets is our world. Mental retardation is like crap smears and fecal overspray: tag, yer it. Don't feel bad, my kids are choke and puke drunken zombie NANA-tards too. "After we hang a rat behind June Nelson Elementary, we drank down a case a Lysol. It was ral gud." (google brockett 99)

Back to our 8-week shit-ass trip to the white man town. I was lounging in the glorious sun on a park bench in Scareview scouting for jigaboos to shoot and an ASP van drove right up to us. Two big gumby and barny faggots heaved out and instructed bun she had to blow into some device. We both asked why and were advised of a report of a non-responsive intoxicated native female and bun fit the description. Then they lectured us about Jaclyn Goodwin finding her own private Idaho. She was a homeless drunk lost to family and friends, also not locatable in time for the NANA mobile drunk tank choke and puke van and found mutilated in a house full of gross drugs. My sober wife could be next.

I sure felt heavily armed, and angry but I told bun to go ahead and give a breath sample to these fine NANA negroes. It would've been hard to legally shoot these fat fucks and walk away, but I sure felt the need to make lots of noise and kill these goons. Bun blew a zero point zero and then informed these bloated jokers that we don't drink and that she hasn't consumed injun juice in 40 years. These two fat-fucks apologized for the inconvenience, then left me there all alone with an old sober native woman. Moreover a very pissed off and duly hacked old sober native woman.

Knowing me, my really great timing, I told bun that she'd just been profiled.

"Fucking whitey."

Living years in the Fairview-downtown corridor ye gotta be fucking smart, ye also gotta be tough too. I've tried various self-defense tools like big canisters of pepper mace, stun guns and every sort of pop-guns. Nothing works when I got three brothers on my ass or three homeless nates mobbing me like fucking zombies. Once everybody is within handshake, doobie and jug passage distance, self-defense is reduced to hand to hand and I'm 30 years past that fucking bullshit. So bun always got her nigger shooter. Ya-jay, bun sure like guns.

Wells Fargo bank and Alaska USA credit union were robbed on both sides of us and 3 darkies were murdered next door and the worst of the worstess: bed bugs. All the hotels in Anchorotten are infested with swollen ticks and mites that pop when ye smash 'em. Kind of like dead people, and the babies inside 'em. Me and bun phoned all around and couldn't find vacancies in nicer hotels and the bedbug website that lists all of Alaska's infested hotels, B&B's, roadhouses, hostels were packed with losers like us Kikiknig-runts.

Funny, to avoid blight, disease, drug violence and black on black homicides, me and bun gotta retreat back to the Quanna House. Me and bun will be stylin'. Medicaid travel on an 11 minute flight from Kenai to Anchorage, Medicaid voucher for cab fare from the airport to ANMC. Oh yeah, I gotta fill out all that Medicaid paperwork at the hospital...if I could just fucking find my Medicaid glasses.
Sounds absurd don't it? You all expect better out of me don't ye? Life ain't fair. And now you know, the rest of the story. I've just been profiled cuz Finns always pay. "Fucking whitey."

Despite her suffering seasonal arctic moods of murder cruel as fucking nativity, she also likes helping some of the sickest NW native mukes dig all around their homeless encampments for lost years, children's wings, husbands' halos, and even helped locate and refresh long lost memories. She tells me she resets their innate eskimo compass and find their back to NW Alaska to die and catch a ride-along with you guys all the way to the great Hereafter.

Bun's been helping non-natives find their way home too. Bun says Trooper Nay will be there in full regalia with all his guns and ribbons to hold my hand and to assist me through the cunnichuck that go out to front street and an awaiting procession of coppers and soldiers to steady me back up to boot hill and not be so scared. I still cry a lot, and I do my best crying when nobody ain't looking. 'Cept my very best mates: you guys.

And Trooper Nay. He's driving me back up Highway 99. To Brockett.

Karl.


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