Sometimes, Kotzebue is the center of the universe.

Top of the morning gents,

I hate to admit it, but on rare occasions Kotzebue is the center of the universe. I was walking out of Walmart's in Kenai and an old guy that looked like Burl Ives turned towards me and bun and stated, "Hey, I know you guys." I couldn't place him, but he persisted and stated that he was friends with Eugene Monroe, Albert's uncle. This old white guy continued by explaining that he knew we were from Kotzebue and he sure missed that really good smoked salmon. I couldn't place him and assumed he was just another doofus-nobody scoring points and attention by accosting us. As a well-mannered gentleman, I asked him if he was referring to LaVonne Hendrix who ran that weird fish camp and sold smoked salmon down by Sadie Creek. He lit up and stated that he's never had better smoked salmon.

I refrained from telling him that her camp was on KIC land and that yer local native village-based corporation moved all those shacks off the beach bluff, and LaVonne Hendrix received an eviction notice. KIC also cleared out all the un-permitted shanties that used to litter South Tent City, better known as Little Kivilina and those shit camps all the way down the beach under the old Air Force Base.

Pissed off and full of righteous indignation, LaVonne Hendrix came into the Arctic Sounder office to submit a letter to the Editors claiming she had squatter's rights to continue her fish nets, fish smoking and selling her smoked salmon to citizens of Kotzebue and tourists in the summer: regardless of non-payment of rent and no legal permit. She further stated in her letter that she had the same rights to cater her wares to visitors aboard the Arctic Tour buses and vans.

I was tempted to bounce her ass downstairs and outa KOTZ Broadcasting where I'd moved and set up the Sounder. I held back, didn't give her the heave-ho, butt-kick and cunt-punch, but instead gave her a fax KIC sent me listing all the trespassers that set up camp illegally, without permits, without fishing licenses and lacking shareholder status. I also pointed across the road and indicated Danny Burnor's ghetto-mod castle-nigger-grovel KIC just hauled in pieces from South Tent City to the empty lot down 2nd avenue. She steamed and stated that was illegal, so I gave her the complete list of shacks, camps and squats, the laws KIC were enforcing, the consequences and fines. LaVonne folded up her letter, stomped downstairs and left town for good. What's tragic is that I never pried the recipe from her for turning dog-shit chum salmon into pretty darn good Eskimo candy. With her recipe I could've flavored and smoked all the dogs and FAS after-birth-defective Manillaq monsters you coppers blasted every year, then sold these nutritious delicacies to all the gooks. Yummy.

After Mrs. Hendrix left the Sounder office, I continued carrying tables and chairs upstairs and plugged in the Sounder's cool Mac computer: a fossil by today's standards. The local paper was originally located in Mick and Laurie Melton's house they were renting from John and Bessie Cross's: Milton Cross's parents. I moved the newspaper into the KOTZ building add-on extension and Mick and Laurie left town heading to Yakima, Washington: with creditors in pursuit. You boys remember Mick was the brother of Jeff Melton whom you coppers repeatedly intercepted his Noorvik-bound bootleg booze and even pinched Mike Carr enroute to Jeff's unnuk-shack to deal Ziploc sandwich bags packed full of shitty crank. I always wondered how you coppers had such good intel.

Back to my Kotzebue-centric assertions. On my weekly trips to the Soldotna library to access the Internet and post foul scribblings to dying cops, I found a cool book that you'll fucking dig. I've prattled on far too much about the Klondike Gold Rush and the following Nome Gold Rush. One gold rush I've overlooked is the Kotzebue Gold Rush. Yup, you heard me, there was a gold rush that piled upon the shores of Kotzebue with steamers and river boats hauling miners and mining supplies up all the rivers of the NANA Region. This massive invasion must've been an overwhelming calamity and steamroller for a small coastal village best described as a scant dozen fish camps and seasonal fur trading and rondy.

It's no secret that the north side of the Seward Peninsula was popular for panners, dredgers and sluice boxers who centered on Candle. Just a mere half-century ago, Wilford Lane and the Fields clan bulldozed pretty good color, nuggets and gold dust. When you fly from Nome to Kotzebue aboard small craft airplanes like Ravn, Bering or Baker, you'll see lots of roads from Nome, all the way north to the top side of the peninsula. Tin City is a long abandoned ghost town that was picked clean, and if you open Google Maps, telescope way deep down into the satellite imaging function, you'll see all the dirt roads like the Dexter Highway, plus Cape Blossom and Elephant Point, long dead villages and townsites just south of Kotzebue, at the bottom of the sound.

Besides Candle offering pretty good pay dirt, some strikes were discovered upriver near Ambler, Kobuk and Shungnak. Of course this was decades before the Army Corps of Engineers and United States Geological Survey created what we now know as the Ambler Mining District. If you pull DNA from all them upriver villagers, you'll find a majority DNA reflecting the deceased miners that worked and perished on those gold claims. It was common practice and popular legend for pretty native woman to warm the shelters of visiting miners and trappers. I remember hearing this delightful myth of sexy bed-warming Eskimo women, but arrived a century too late. Besides, bun will predictably "knock me down and hit me in the head with a rock." I could post my own obituary and headline in the Sounder: "Dumb white motherfucker killed with a nigger knocker."

A century later, and on ANCSA land, the NANA Regional Corporation has been pursuing permits with AIDEA (Alaska Industrial Development and Export Authority) to build a road from near Manley Hot Springs, just north of Fairbanks, all the way to the gold, silver and rare metal seams and ore veins near Ambler. NANA has created a joint venture with mining concerns to develop the sub-surface metal ores and haul them back East for refining, similar to the 52 mile Haul Road from the Red Dog Mine Site to the Port Site. This ore haul road will be more than 200 miles long and the permits are in-hand to start construction. With forecasts of a gold deposit larger than any in Africa, Kotzebue may become the center of the world. Again. And according to prophetic Manillaq's predictions, Ambler will become Alaska's largest city.

Here comes all them white motherfuckers. There goes the neighborhood. Gold Rushes invariably attract bullies, thugs and mobsters. You all know that Wyatt Earp was the mayor of Nome from 1890 to 1905 and Soapy Smith was the mob boss of Skagway. Both these murderous characters were shrewd, smart and ruthless brothel keepers, claims jumpers and both the Klondike and Nome Gold Rushes had 5-6 unsolved homicides every week. The residents of Ambler better grab their dicks, cuz with booze, drugs, gambling, extortion and prostitution, the mobs will rain hell on that entire region.

Speaking of unsolved murders, Kotzebue suffered one such homicide of note: Putumi Norton, who is Ingalook's husband, James, Lena, Frank and Cyrus Norton's father, was found roped to a tree, beat to shit, and left frozen solid. He'd been working a gold strike up the Noatak River and was ambushed, tortured and beaten out of his pouch of gold. His surviving family found no evidence of trespass, tampering or mining by adverse parties at his secret honey hole. It seems he was robbed of his gold pouch enroute to town and didn't reveal the whereabouts of his gold strike. Testimony from family and descendants state that he panned the river near his family's fish-camp and did some digging in the hills nearby. Imagine the Reality TV show "Bering Sea Gold" showing the real prostitution and violence that comes with gold rushes, gold claims and the deadly hazards enroute to the assay office. Gold rushes, like blood diamonds, guarantee delivery of serious fucking body counts and the colored folks always lose.

On our year-long stay in Anchorage, me and the Mrs. visited her aunt and she regaled us with tales of watching her father panning for gold and shooting a boat-load of caribou and moose. Bun's aunt, Elizabeth Foster, wanted us to travel with her upstream out of Selawik to pick around her father's (Harry Foster) family camp and gold strike. He never got rich, but he'd taken his family out to camp, did a bit of panning and sluice boxing while Elizabeth, her mom and sisters picked berries, trapped rabbits and squirrels, caught bags of birds and collected any and all subsistence foods necessary to eat in the 1920's. Alaska was a way different fucking place back then: zero welfare and subsistence was more than an enjoyable hobby and vacation. A century ago, Alaska was a zero cash territory, so a pouch of gold was money for all the extra household items not attainable through subsistence hunting and gathering, trade and barter. Needful things like guns, bullets, knives, hatchets, shovels, gold pans, sluice boxes and boats top the list.

Bun's mom and aunties all were separated and adopted out after the 1918 Avian (H1N1) influenza outbreak and the 1930 scourge of tuberculosis (TB). Influenza was originally blamed on the invading godless missionaries, but after exhuming a 100 year old grave containing a frozen native lady in Nulato and doing a DNA analysis, virologists found H1N1 Avian Virus on board. The sores and flu-like symptomatic damage on this long buried woman from 1918 further validated this medical diagnosis. The massive outbreak of Influenza has been determined to be a result of exposure to subsistence bird harvests such as geese, ducks, ptarmigan and seagull eggs.

All these harvests covered entire families with bird dander, bird koomuks (lice) and a shit load of feathers, facilitating the species-to-species viral leap from birds to lice and then Eskimos. This viral species leap is similar to the original source of the HIV/AIDS virus, estimated in the 1920's, that was originally a Simian (monkey) Immune Virus and COVD which was a MERS/SARS bat virus transmitted from harvest and consumption. I eat lots of birds, but haven't acquired the cultural taste eating bush (monkey) meats popular in Africa and bat buffet common in authentic Chinese restaurants. The bubonic plague leapt from fleas on mice, rats, otters, marmots and valuable fur species in Siberia and Central Asia, then hitched a ride and latched upon us 2-legged hominids hiking the Silk Road to Europe. I'm feeling itchy now, scratching sores from money pox on my dick.

TB in Alaska likely came from visiting ocean-going explorers chasing the Finland (Vinland) Map of the mythical Northwest Passage and sea-faring traders. TB then exploded amongst Native Alaskans due to super tight living quarters, poor indoor air quality, soot compromised lungs and immune systems from indoor heating by burning seal oil lamps. Breaks a man's heart to read about native children a hunnert years ago with teeth like ours and lungs looking and sounding like life-long smokers. After the flu and TB outbreak, most rural Alaska villages lost all their elders and small infants and toddlers, leaving only teenagers and young adults alive. Now you understand what's called the Big Sleep amongst Alaskan Native elders and the complete loss of languages and family histories. Parallel to the Black (bubonic) Plague of the Europe in 1332, Alaska suffered nearly a 50% death-rate killing all the small children and mature adults.

Upon discovering thousands of nearly empty villages inhabited by only youngsters, territorial sheriffs, marshals and constables notified the appropriate lower 48 governmental agencies and a huge relocation was undertaken and young native teens and children were sent to orphanages and boarding schools. The Federal Government hired and sent untold thousands of dorm, orphanage and school staff, construction crews to build numerous facilities statewide and the requisite building materials to achieve this Herculean undertaking. Besides Velma Wallis (author of Two Old Women), my wife believes this medical intervention, relocation and schooling saved Alaska Natives from extinction. A sad footnote of this massive relocation and billeting of native youngsters is thousands of villages have been abandoned, grown over and forgotten from Native collective memories and Alaska's history books.

One point in Alaska's history that I've been ignorant of is the Kotzebue Air Force Base and it's importance to our effort in containing the Soviet Union during the Cold War. The United States led the world in secret fly-over photography of the Soviet Union with the SR-71 Blackhawk and the U2 spy planes. Both designed at Area 51 in Nevada and both ultra-high speed and high-altitude aircraft had zero military defensive equipment. No shit, our super-secret spy planes were completely un-armed, naked and possessed no guns, missiles nor decoy discharge mechanisms like flack and flares. These planes, in all practicality, were flying cameras with the undersides loaded with dozens of lens of varying telescopic magnification backed by dozens of single frame and moving picture cameras.

Do your history, these fly-overs occurred during daylight hours because we hadn't achieved infrared night-vision capabilities. All flights were scheduled on clear days to track the sun and also attain clear images free of cloud cover. This allowed us to see miles downward, but also allowed the enemy to see upwards. And on rare occassions, try to shoot at us.

The altitude we flew our spy planes is still classified, but estimates put them at the outer edges of the atmosphere in air that was so thin it was free of moisture to fog our lenses and also greatly reduced wind resistance. The speeds the U2 and SR-71 Blackhawk flew was many multiples of the speed of sound and made trajectory and tracking with missiles impossible. Okay, almost impossible. One flight in the 1960's was nearly struck with a Soviet missile and suffered minor damage and fuel loss.

Kotzebue Air Base scrambled numerous fighter jets, bombers and re-fueling tankers to either escort our spy plane back home, or destroy it. Here's the scary part. Fairbanks author Dermot Cole detailed that our bombers and fighter jets, parked and hangared at Galena, Barrow, Kotzebue and Bethel Air Bases, were scrambled fully loaded with air-to-air and air-to-ground ultra-high payload nuclear missiles. Some missiles were "aim and fire" and some were pre-targeted to "clear a hole" and destroy a swath of Soviet military bases all the way from contact with our spy plane to safe landing on Alaska's numerous airstrips.

Our boys were ordered to clear a path all the way back home and the US had no less than 50 fighter jets, bombers and re-fueling tankers airborn. Imagine that vicious pack of hornets flying over the horizon at supersonic speeds nearly overloaded with atomic weapons of kick-ass mass destruction. The Soviets weren't blind, their simpler over the horizon radar detection and imaging sites watched the entire escort and retrieval and reluctantly kept their fingers off their launch triggers.

The Air Force intercepted our spy plane and followed it back to Alaska, but with the near-miss missile damage, the plane could hardly limp to the Kotzebue Air Base. One engine down, damage to flaps and fuel loss forced our spy plane to land on a much shorter runway, on a hazardous air field, surrounded by hills we call boot hill and Squirrel Canyon. The Air Force station personnel in Kotzebue scrambled a series of capture nets and cables across the landing strip and with the guidance of our bombers, fighter jets and fuel tankers, the spy plane descended from almost low earth orbit, crash landing in Kotzebue.

The escort planes performed a confusing random flight path all around the west coast to prevent the Soviets from tracking which plane landed at which base. The already heavily nuclear armed statofortress bombers returned to their normal DEW Line flight patterns along the International Date Line, the re-fueling tankers did crazy-eights and random altitude flights all over the Alaska's coastal waters, the fighter jets kept close eye on the spy plane but last minute, veered off and jammed the throttles to the fire-walls screaming back towards Russia to burn off fuel, alert and scare the Soviet Defense Systems and divert attention away from the crippled spy plane landing in Kotzebue.

The spy plane came in way too fast, collapsed its landing gear and failed to dump all remaining fuel on approach. The black secret weapon airplane was almost shot down until foam was discharged and more heavy equipment was deployed as a way to stop an out of control, skidding aircraft at the end of it's doomed arrival. The pilot ejected moments before touch down and the plane skidded the entire length of the runway snagging cables and nets, but stopped before crashing into tractors and trucks parked at the end of the runway and stop this multi-billion dollar camera and rocket. This was the last flight for our black spy plane, Kotzebue Air Base's runway was far to short for another take-off.

The spy plane was quickly unloaded of its cameras, film packs and super secret guidance systems, then the hulk of the plane was dragged into a hangar and cut into sections and loaded aboard Air Force freighters and quickly flown on varietal and confusing routes back to Area 51 in Nevada. Everything about our spy planes was super-secret. The engines, materials and external coatings and maneuvering equipment had to be quickly shuttled out of town.

In subsequent years after the collapse of the Soviet Union and reviewing secret Russian cables, we've discovered that their military was evaluating a raid on Kotzebue to seize the crippled spy plane for its technological treasures and destroy the Kotzebue Air Base and entire surrounding village with 100-megaton nuclear weapons. Our scatter pattern and flight obfuscation didn't fool them, but the threat of a nuclear war with so many heavily armed bombers and fighter jets was sufficient discouragement.

Following the rapid dis-assembly and removal of the spy plane the city of Kotzebue was was allowed to move freely about. The citizens hunkered down, blacked out their windows, turned off their radios and any machinery. The civilian drills for city-wide black outs went perfect and Kotzebue was totally "dark" preventing most of the prying Russian eyes from observing activities at Kotzebue Air Base.

Their was no estimate as to the number and nuclear capabilities the AIr Force positioned at Kotzebue Air Base. Until the Pentagon Papers were leaked to the Russians, then Alaska's massive nuclear missile counts became known, so Nixon unleashed an unprecedented investigation and viciously pursued these traitors. To thwart any possible exploit or military strike by the Soviets, Nixon drastically increased the nuclear ordinance and delivery capabilities at all the air bases in Alaska, especially Kotzebue. The 49th state was the most heavily armed state in the union and bristling with thousands of ultra-high yield nuclear armed fighter jets, long range bombers, stand alone missiles and silos statewide.

A detail unknown about Nixon's predecessor (President Kennedy) was brought to my attention whilst working aside David Craig of KPD. He'd discovered a military history book detailing how President Kennedy directed the Department of Defense to stash small atomic (SADD) demolition devices all over Western Alaska. Including Kotzebue. These man-carry nuclear weapons weighed approximately 100 pounds designed for human transport, and with consent from the few remaining Muktuk Marsten ATG mercenaries, including bun's father, Charlie Tikik Sr. our Eskimo soldiers agreed to lead teams of commandos aboard skin boats and dog teams, and deliver these high-yield backpack nukes to Russia. From Diomede Island and Kotzebue, Alaska Territorial Guardsmen were instructed to carry SADD nuclear weapons 70 miles east to the coastal military observation sites in Russia, hit the 20 minute detonation timers and likely evaporate in the blasts.

I think this is really significant. We have genuine Eskimo heroes in our midst that knew their covert Inupiaq black-ops delivery trip was guaranteed mission suicide. Dog teams and skin boats are completely invisible to Soviet radar and fly-over imaging. Similar to Navajo Code Talkers, these former ice age WWII warriors were old school stealth. Mind you, none of the Alaska Territorial Guard soldiers were ever formally discharged from service, so we had a secret reserve of on-call active-duty ice-cold killers on tap fer these missions.

Tip yer hat and salute the legacy of these aboriginal soldiers, they served their entire life active status and died in service, with their mukluks strapped tight and rifles shouldered. Kotzebue Air Base Alaska, manned with crews of Muktuk Marsten's ATG boys, were prepped to rally boats and sleds filled with small atomic demolition devices. These Inuit bad-asses were nuclear armed Eskimo motherfuckers, and ready to mush and paddle to Russia and die for their country in atomic bomb blasts many thousands of times larger than Hiroshima. I see you boys smiling with tearful eyes.

In pursuit of the traitors that leaked the Pentagon Papers, Nixon (illegally) authorized the FBI, NSA and CIA to spy on thousands of American citizens and elected officials, then assembled a team of trackers and hit-squads code-named S2 composed of G. Gordon Liddy and E. Howard Hunt, and eventually located and neutralized all the of leakers and conspirators. The break-in at the Watergate Hotel offices housing a psychiatrist's office and patient files culminated in the wrap-up of an extensive spy hunt and liquidation throughout America. And also ended Nixon's presidency.

The outcome of this huge spy hunt and it's unknown number of murdered treasonous rats and traitors will eventually be declassified, but the link from America's Cold War, nuclear detente, Mutually Assured Destruction and Watergate all connect with you dumbasses and Kotzebue. Nixon's spy hunt and cover-up using America's Intelligence Agencies on US soil, the leaked military and nuclear capabilities, the ensuing political theater, was important and necessary to our national security. I'm cool with that.

Decades from now, we'll likely discover that all the books, news coverage and silly movies were completely inaccurate, misleading, sensationalist and inane. Hollywood and popular fiction like "All the President's Men" will become comedic and retarded.

Unleashing so many spy agencies to operate on domestic American soil was truly illegal and unconstitutional, but doesn't bother me a bit. I doubt it bothers any of you coppers either.

Come on fuckers, we've all bent and broke the constitution in pursuit of our targets. Me? Kotzebue Chief of Police Ed Ward claims that on my narc jobs, I "use the constitution as fucking toilet paper."

Funny fucker. He speaks the truth.

Karl.

"History doesn't repeat itself. It merely rhymes" (Mark Twain)

Top of the morning gents,

I just got back from a slew of funerals. When you get to be my age, you'll appreciate George Burns' declaration that "the first thing I do every morning is read the obituaries, and if I don't see my name, I'll have breakfast." The worst thing us boomers can do to ourselves, our families and our generation is to run and hide like faggots and refuse to accept that we're nearing the end of our lives. We're born, we die. And in the middle, we do shit. "Just don't forget yer humping time" (Bill Pace 1985). Before you die, make a splash and do something you've always wanted to do, like rent a Norwegian super model. Me? I write stories about my friends I've met and worked with all over Alaska. That means you lot. Cops and a shit-load of pals I bump with over coffee and bong hits. Okay, some are really old men, and even more are dead, dying, buried or nuclear funeral pyre fallout. Some of these boys have shown me some serious ass bravery, on the job as policemen and bullet dumps in battle as soldiers and cannon fodder. Here in Hellblog, Alaska, it's perfectly acceptable to laugh at yer own funeral, but attending others always chokes yer shit up.

I feel obligated to bid farewell to another batch of pensioner dudes. Ancient crispy fossils I befriended here at the old folks' home that finally got fitted for wooden jackets, kicked the honey bucket, did the slip-knot hemp-rope gimp dance, did the dirt dive, got in line fer the all-you-can-eat worm buffet, tipped over their wheelchairs and crawled into a furnace. These old dudes were a bit older than the Vietnam Vets I buried at my previous residence in Sterling. In prior postings, I described my friends Steve, Ron and Richard drinking gourmet coffee, listening to old KOTZ broadcasts, taking apart rusty guns, repairing them and talking cars and boobs.

This new batch o' geezers consists of Jim, Will and George: older gents that sit in wheelchairs, wear their medals in public and wouldn't let me and bun sneak away without sharing tales of surviving village monkey Alaska. These old shrunken codgers demanded we tell them all about whaling in Barrow, shooting dogs and polar bears to bits, mud wrestling midgets in Kotzebue and swimming laps in the sewage lagoon.

We only had a few photos to share these old dudes, so I opened up my blog page with all the gutted whales, walrus and polar bears: just to blow their shit outa the water. They totally fucking dug 'em. Old Will was blinded by bun's million dollar smile and asked how he "could get me a beautiful native woman like her", whereupon she advised him that there weren't any more pretty, sober and rich Eskimo women, and she was the last of the dying breed. Beat that.

These old boys me and bun visited were born and lived during the Great Depression. The economic depression that mirrors some of the current economic data I've examined and scrutinized. Meaning now, 2022, you dumb asses. "History doesn't repeat itself, it merely rhymes" (Mark Twain). Their hard-luck stories living through the Depression impressed me, as told by Jim, Will and George: the causes and remedies and World War II. We agreed that hiding taxes inside devious schemes like inflationary spending and money printing were pert near criminal acts, as was borrowing trillions on the federal credit card by selling bonds and running up our national debt. My old dudes claimed we were in the same position as the 1930's economic collapse. To avoid an argument with old farts, I graciously agreed.

Mind you, my pretty wife is a highly trained banker, loan examiner and collateral asset auditor, so in our discussions with these old fossils we discussed the modern banking tools we have at our disposal to combat a failing economy. We also discussed the new post-depression 20th century banking regulations. We have a Treasury that's able to print unlimited currency, a Federal Reserve to set interest rates and set bank reserve ratios and Federal Depositor Insurance Corporation (FDIC) to guarantee our savings accounts.

George griped how Herbert Hoover took a drubbing for his numb-nut policies, got beat up in the presidential election and how shitty he handled the Depression. My old dudes pitched a bitch that Franklin Delano Roosevelt's New Deal never cured shit and kept America hungry and broke for more than a decade. The Depression lasted from 1929 to 1941 and started easing when we entered World War II. War is good for manufacturing, training and ridding the world of dictators, monarchies and naked emperors. My gang of old farts claim this applies to our last half-dozen presidents. "It went to shit after Reagan" "He forced the Soviet Union into bankruptcy and turned their trillion dollar military into useless junk."

Similar to this century, the stock market set record highs during the 1920's and brought us the "roaring 20's." Bidding wars vastly over-inflated all asset class prices (stocks, bonds, commodities) and economic decisions are based on auction dynamics and inflation ballooned at the same pace as the stock market. Parallel to our Mortgage Bust of 2008 and not wanting to miss out on a red-hot sugar-high stock and commodity market, banks lowered lending requirements and lowered interest rates to hitch a ride on this kick-ass economy. Yup, dumb-ass banks loaned money out at a 10 to 1 ratio: loans against savings, leverage versus reserves, putting $10.00 at risk for every dollar you and I have in savings.

Now remember, a sugar-high economy, with a side-order of cocaine and bootleg booze, is full of amateur dopes that know nothing about buying low and selling high. They just wanted in. Millions of people dove head-first into the stock market just as it was cresting its highs, then rode the bitch all the way down. Hence, the diving boards upon the roofs of brokerage offices allowing over-leveraged, upside-down investors to perform swan dives directly into the pavement. Like the twin tower jumpers on 911, some impacts were louder than a shotgun blast.

Market makers are the agents responsible for the buying and selling all asset classes in auction-style markets. The pricing of stock shares, bonds (corporate and government debt paper), commodities like gold or silver, barrels of oil, or even slaves, are set by what's called the Bid/Ask spread: opening bids. Auctions are the buying and selling forum we use in trading houses, trading floors and open markets, so if slow delivery and shortage rumors are whispered across the trading floor, Ask prices go up and so do Bid prices.

Auctions have been around as long as prostitution and slavery: the oldest professions in the world. Wake up faggots, you all remember smoking hot babes with big boobs and sugar-cooter cow-licks worth more than money, cars and houses. We're all guilty of pitching our wives and children in the shitter and putting in bids (collateralizing our homes) on fine ass Norwegian pussy. If you close yer eyes and think back, you can still taste blond bush on yer upper lip. We're such pigs. Albeit, pigs with dicks, all the money in the world and a nose that's still the second-best seat in the house.

Okay, get yer mind off fine tasting high-dollar pussy, yer stuck in Ugly Alaska forever. A large number of cheap and easy loans that banks made were so investors could pay little or no interest, put these borrowed monies in the markets, reap the rewards and get rich. It's called leveraged positions or buying on the margin. Better known as "Borrow Buy, Borrow Die." Borrow money, invest in the stock market, then borrow against the gains. When you borrow against the capital gains profits in your rocket high stock market values, you never have to sell your stock and avoid paying capital gains taxes. Yup, all the profit, zero taxes, Unrealized gains, means zero taxes. It's the secret Elon Musk, Warren Buffett, and Bill Gates do as a tax avoidance trick and pay less taxes than you do. Totally legal. If you never sell your stock, you never realize any gains and pay no taxes. But, you can borrow against them and these stock portfolios become collateral. Until the markets tank. Like right now.

Hot markets ramp up commodity prices, strain supply chains and eliminate excess inventory. Inflation exploded in the late 1920's and by 1929, the demands to purchase crops and mine ores and metals, far exceeded what farmers or miners could produce, creating tightness in the market. Or better known as shortages. Supply chains locked up, farms and mines were stripped bare and inflation went crazy. We had way too much money (saved and borrowed) chasing too few resources. America ran to the bank to take out their savings only to find banks under capitalized with insufficient cash reserves to honor these withdrawals. The banks were full of worthless IOU's collateralized with zeroed-out stock portfolios. "When the markets tanks, run fast and be first in line at your bank" (Joe Kernan CNBC).

The following year in 1933, the banks closed and locked up everybody's savings, even little kids like my buddies' paper route money, milk money and farm litter sales dollars. Litter meaning baby chicks, ducks, goats, piglets, calves, dogs and cats. State Fairs across America, like the Palmer Fair, were auction markets where farm kids with super-sized vegetables and super cute litters auctioned off their farm harvests fer big buxsh.

The death of any bank happens by making bad loans to people that don't pay them back. These bad loans are lent from our savings and between the interest we're paid for our savings and the interest the bank charges for these loans is their profit, life-blood and life-supply. In the 2008 Recession, banks across the country were making home loans to customers that were likely never going to pay back. Some stupid loans were NINJA loans (no income, no job or assets), NEG/AM loans (negative amortization loans) that had such low down payments and low monthly payments, that the unpaid balance grew over time and accelerated beyond the purchaser's ability to ever pay off that loan. Banks can loan out 10 dollars for every dollar they hold in savings accounts, called the reserve ratio, and when bad loans fail, the bank's losses are exponentially worse. They've just lost 10 dollars for every 1 dollar saved. I smell toasted nigger dicks.

Here in Alaska, we had a doozy of a depression. Ten years after completion of the Trans-Alaska Pipeline and oil down the pipeline stabilized real cheap, we witnessed a shit-load of Alaskan banks go broke, close down and skip town. More than half of Alaska's banks fled south leaving thousands of properties foreclosed, repossessed, or abandoned to the respective city's they were located, forcing numerous cities to suck up the lost property taxes and cope with neglected, blighted, distressed properties. Roughly a decade after the Trans-Alaska Pipeline was completed, The Miners and Merchants Bank, Alaska National Bank of Fairbanks, United Bank of Alaska (UBA), and Alaska National Bank of the North all went bankrupt and closed. Numerous buildings in Fairbanks are still abandoned and boarded up and costing the city millions in lost taxes, neighborhood blight, and inevitably, demolition and scrabble removal.

When an economy is roaring, banks become really retarded and bad gamblers, and like fucking air-heads, take insufficient collateral to secure these non-performing, failing loans. Inventory Auditors and Auction Houses flew up to Anchorage, Barrow and Fairbanks to examine the stored collateral treasures, estimate their value, then following the Federal Reserve guidelines, auctioned off all these collateral assets and applied the monies toward these failed loans on properties like buildings, houses, trailers, lots and raw land.

Some folks put up artwork, jewelry, gold and silver and even deeds to properties around the state and the lower 48. All these items were valued, sold, matched to the respective unpaid loans, and the proceeds put towards the bad debt paper at the banks. Some folks even put up their Native Allotments (illegally) and the Regional Native Corporations repurchased them on the cheap and then deeded or sold them back to shareholders or utilized them for Native Corporations buildings, mines and housing.

Now dig this: a moment where natives were shrewd motherfuckers. All the big 13 native corporations bought up land deeds, homesteads and land claims that were near, bordering or inside native lands but were never native owned. By purchasing them, they became protected status native lands solely intended for traditional subsistence. 44 million acres of original ANCSA native land quickly grew in size after the Great Alaska Recession. Some native corporations built new headquarters on these repossessed properties in Fairbanks and Anchorage. Smart motherfuckers, sometimes native green-backs ain't green, they're brown. Eventually, all the savings accounts in Alaska's failed banks were honored (with interest) and the Federal Reserve picked the bones of the banks managers, bank investors, shareholders and boards of directors, clean.

Your savings accounts are guaranteed, but everybody else involved in the bank's corporate structure lost their asses. Dicks and balls, titties and snatches too. Some folks still have old stock certificates from these failed Alaskan banks: paper unworthy as pecker snot goobage butt-wipe toilet paper. Rudy Hecker's wife, Peggy, bought a pile of this bank stock paper, and she wiped Dean Westlake's herpie-ass penile-smegma with it.

Trooper Hecker, famous for stating, "I hate that asshole," was smart to divorce that bimbo, all her large-intestinal blisters and her junk bank stock certificates from Alaska National Bank of the North. And her Kiana colo-rectal fart-globs, rich in mongoloid quarter-monkey DNA. Poor shmuck, both Kathy Ward and Margaret Hanson will lecture us the riot act, "That asshole douche bag left me with an abortion and herpes." We should have funerals for tiny cookoo buttfuckers like Westlake, I laugh every time I hear ugly women piss and moan about him. Good fun.

The Great Depression of the 1930's was triggered when inflation wrecked purchasing power, backed up crop, ore and supply lines, then the commodities market rocketed upwards, then tanked, pulling the other markets into the shitter. The banks that loaned the money to investors gambling in these markets went broke, scaring customers with savings accounts and we witnessed a "run on the bank." No money coming from borrowers, no money for savings bank customers to withdraw, banks closed and zero monies were available. Shit storm perfecto. America was cleaned out. Cash is a medium of exchange. No cash, no exchange, so trade and barter emerged again like the fucking Stone Age and business was crippled slow to nearly a stand-still.

The full faith and credit in US currency evaporated. No money, no trade, no commerce: dead economy. No buying, no selling: eat crow. Or more accurately, serve yer kids cat and dog meat, trade and barter cows, pigs and horses until you got hungry, got evicted and became homeless. Depressions don't discriminate and even the blackest African American is still half-white, at the genetic level, every native in Alaska possesses mostly European DNA, so figure it out: that was us you nimrods. Imagine us all homeless, sleeping in the Sullivan Arena, picking and eating koomuks, butt camping like stink natives soaking day-old bread in kerosene. I remember when me and my reservation pal Ernie Squirrel Nuts used to "kill rats behind the Esso Station, then we sucked back a case of Lysol. It was really good." "Then we beat the shit outa his old lady." Yes, I'm a funny fucker when I quote reservation radio broadcasted outa Brockett, Canada. You get the picture. Recession is when yer neighbor loses his job and house. Depression is when you lose yours.

The Great Depression was prior to creation of the Federal Reserve that regulated interest rates and reserve ratios. The Treasury printed money and regulated the money supplies, but also sold bonds for government operations like the old war bonds. In 1932, these notions were only in the making, and almost half of America was unemployed. The establishment of the Reconstruction Finance Corporation started supporting failing banks with credit based on assets on hand and Congress approved the delivery of dollars to rebuild cash reserves.

President Herbert Hoover had no chance of winning the 1932 election, Roosevelt campaigned on the prevalence of homeless camps choking America's cities, going so far as to dub them "Hoover-villes." The new term "Soup Kitchen" became mile-long lines where hungry millions got a single meal each day. Take a sniff of Anchorage: homelessness and soup lines are back. Just look at the thousands of tent cities across America and Soup Kitchens and Rotten Food Banks serving millions of citizens that we deem unworthy of a job, house or dinner.

Imagine Fat America (OB City) dragging their bloated chunky butts all the way downtown to wait hours for diluted vegetable and mystery meat soup, bread or roll or biscuit. In the 60's, each school in America had only ONE fat kid. Today, in the 2020's, American schools have only ONE skinny kid and a third of America requires Insulin. It's okay to slug yer fat fucking kids, they're just like us fat fucks. The apple don't fall far from the tree. Or should I say, tub of lard children jiggle just like fat ass Alaskan parents. Political correctness aside, it used to be hilarious to laugh at cartoons such as Porky Pig and Mr. Magoo. Look in the mirror, we be fat old blind cunts. Just like our current and previous presidents.

Keep in mind, the Depression lasted longer than a decade. Roosevelt created the Civilian Conservation Corps in 1933 and put 4.5 million young men to work in 4,500 work camps nationwide. All supervised by the Army, providing health care, dental care, education and recreation. The Army also provided a strong regiment of basic strength and combat skills and military discipline. The Civilian Conservation Corps, known as the CCC, was sometimes called the "tree army" because they planted more than 3 billion trees in reforestation and orchard redevelopments. The CCC also planted 45 million trees and shrubs to landscape federal lands and erosion control along rivers, lakes and ocean shores. The CCC also created 3500 beaches, installed 5000 miles of culvert drainage, water lines and fresh water pipes.

These crews of young men and boys also restored 4000 historic structures, 4500 fish ponds and lakes and 800 state parks. A lasting legacy the CCC men and boys left us was dams, picnic and cabin shelters, 46,000 bridges and thousands of miles of roads. Even Camp David, the President's retreat was once a Civilian Conservation Corps camp, later developed into what you see today. Roosevelt paid the hired boys and men $5.00 a month, but sent $25.00 a month home to their respective families. In today's money (50 to 1 ratio), that's $250 a month for the workers and $1250.00 per month for their families back home. The Federal Reserve started controlling interest rates, enforcing reserve ratios and loaning money to banks at the Prime Lending Rate. The Treasury dropped the gold standard restrictions and started printing Fiat money. Paper money backed by the full faith and credit of the United States Government.

Another interesting aspect of the Great Depression was thousands of young men and boys left home and rode the rails all over America. Mind you, automobiles weren't mainstream yet and the majority of America was rural farm country. As a matter of fact, even as late as the 1940 Census, 90% of America was classified as rural agriculture and only 10% were urban city dwellers. Without a family automobile to travel cross-country to look for work, most boys and young men simply hopped trains and "rode the rails."

The term "hobo" wasn't a negative slur, but more a lifestyle description attributed to the flight from home to greener pastures in search of work. Nobody ever called them bums or homeless, merely wanderers looking for scratch coin and scant pennies from heaven. One aspect my old dudes told me, was that stowing away on trains resulted in injury and death. Untold numbers of fatalities befell the rail travellers hitching a ride on boxcars. Another unknown number were frozen solid on the long-haul rides over the Rockies, Cascades and up north to the Great Lakes.

You'll recall famous songs about life on the road and rails performed by the likes of Boxcar Willie and Roger Miller's classic tune, "King of the Road." These tales and ballads were derivative of the depression and the popularity of leaving home for work, and even riches. John Steinbeck penned "The Grapes of Wrath" depicting the suffering by "Okies from Muskogee," entire families abandoning their unfarmed homesteads and the great Dust Bowl of Oklahoma. Steinbeck further illustrated work camp life on the road in "Of Mice and Men," a tearful yarn of two hobo travelers working for brutal camp bosses and tragic misadventure. "Tell me about the rabbits George" will forever bring bouts of weeping from our more literate readers of this posting and illustrate the virtue of shooting yer best friend in the head to avoid a lynch mob.

Remember, the Great Depression lasted more than 10 years. That's a long suffering time from the roaring 20's, massive inflation, supply chain failures, market collapses, the banking disintegration and years of trade and barter with zero dollars available to facilitate commerce. Similar to our mortgage collapse in 2008, popular sentiment was to blame and vilify the banks (banksters). Bank robbers became folk heroes, such as Bonny and Clyde, Pretty Boy Floyd, Machine Gun Kelly and Ma Barker. Common thieves became icons of the American imagination and fodder for Radio Broadcasts and Hollywood's product output.

Westerns became popular with the advent of "Talkies" at the theaters and brought us such legends as Tom Mix, John Wayne, Gary Cooper, Charlton Heston, Gene Autry and Douglas Fairbanks Jr. As a postscript, don't overlook Shirley Temple and Judy Garland, the lead role in Wizard of Oz (1932), strolling and singing along the yellow brick road. Dirt poor, prison thin hungry farmers dream of roads paved in gold.

TV was years in the future, waiting for it's appearance in homes, but radio drew entire families to hear episodes of Flash Gordon, The Pirates and you'll all remember the closing slogan, "Only the Shadow Knows." Parallel to these broadcasts were live performance extravaganzas of traditional music and religion in radio shows like The Barn Dance and The Grand Ole Opry. If I bitch-slapped yer retarded kids, took their phones and pitched 'em in the fireplace, I'll bet they'll all join you around the radio. Just don't make 'em listen to KOTZ or KBRW, those stations suck honey bucket sauce. "Adii, radio is so depressing" (Sara Magnum).

Another tool created by Roosevelt was the GI Bill. The military student grant and loan program that retrained returning WW II vets. Clint Eastwood, Steve McQueen, Charles Bronson, Tony Bennett, Gene Hackman and Audie Murphy were WWII vets that returned to American and returned to the classroom. Drama, Journalism and Opera were passions these soldiers sought out as both artistic expression, resume building, heart mending and post-war PTSD therapy. Bet you didn't know that.

This part will make you proud. When the Civilian Conservation Corps was finally shut down and the boys sent home, they were no longer starving and prison thin. America's young men were on average 15-20 pounds heavier, stronger, disciplined and most (like my buddies Jim, Will and George) simply walked to the Army and US Navy Recruiters and joined the war effort in the European and Pacific Theaters. Yup, my old buddies were all World War II veterans and credited their thrift, patriotism and work ethic on The Great Depression and Civilian Conservation Corps where boys and men became frugal, pragmatic, fit and strong and ultimately, soldiers.

Trade and barter are crude economic tools you and I utilized in rural monkey Alaska. Imagine having zero inventory like farm animals or firearms to trade. That's the time you think of pretty girls in a different light. Slavery and prostitution will outlast modern commerce and be around long after we're dead broke. And buried.

The next time you're day-dreaming naughty thoughts and out of nowhere, you get a whiff of candy snapper, just keep in mind: it's yer upper lip.

Karl.

Alaska has a counter-cyclical economy. America can suck my ass.

Top of the morning gents,

To me, the cup is always half full. I smile at shit and chuckle at crap and look for the upside in every disaster. I been hearing dumb-ass hillbillies bitching about the price of gasoline, empty shelves and sky high inflation. The same big chunky Alaskan white bitch hillbillies that were former cast members in commercials for Stay-Puff Marshmallows. That's some big chunky butt. I'm including fat old man pussy too. Got no baby formula? Suck my dick.

Fuck it. I was trained by the best: old native home builders. Empty shelves only mean that you were too fucked up to forecast the shit ye needed, in advance. I had to take the shit that was available whenever I faced shortages at Tupik Hardware, or better phrased in broken Inupiaq/English, "Hardware-Me" (Pete Lambert). When me and Scott Wade were framing in the extensions to house 369 on 2nd avenue, there was zero T-111 exterior grooved plywood sheeting boards. All sold out. So my thought was, let's just continue with the original weird boards that Joe and Lydia Harris had covered the original part of the house with: 3/4 inch thick sound deadening boards. A composite fiber board like OSB (oriented strand board) that was chips and sawdust, pressed flat and soaked with Epoxy resin, creating a tremendously strong product with excellent insulation ratings and sound absorption.

Scott Wade and I had extended the north side porch out 8 feet to create another room, and extended the south side porch by 16 feet creating a 2-bed dormer. We had to bash off the old shitty flat-roof porches and then after framing in the extensions, with the carpentry assistance of Mike Zagars, we stacked rows of triangle-shaped trusses 2 feet apart and carried the original roof-line architecture scheme, but with a T-shaped overview instead of a simple rectangle ranch box dwelling.

Zagars popped by to see how the project was coming and explained how tricky old-to-new restorations were. He'd also explained he was in the process of rebuilding a couple old houses uptown, just north of Rotman's. I showed him where we'd took a sledge hammer to the old porches, then layed out floor beams for both add-ons, and covered the floors with plywood and tipped up framed walls, front and back. He totally agreed with what we'd started, but extending the roof line needed indentical roof trusses, so we measured, cut and nailed 2x4's over the old triangles on the old exposed trusses on the street side of the house with retractable 2-headed nails.

We pulled the master truss down, then modeled a butt-load of triangles just like it. Mike spent the afternoon assisting us until we had a stack of roofing triangle trusses stacked and tilt up high atop our framed-in room extension add-ons. Fucking A. Projects haul ass when someone starts throwing lumber around, measuring, cutting and nailing faster'n a motherfucker with me and Scott, Danny Burnor, and Charlie Tikik holding the dumb ends of the boards.

We propped, spaced and secured the trusses, sheeted them with plywood, layed tar-paper roll-out, then Danny Burnor, Mike Zagars, Scott Wade, Charlie Tikik and I put down brand-new metal roofing over the entire house. We layed and screwed the metal right over the old 3-tab composite material left behind by Joe Harris like a fucking steam-roller and then put the trim caps on the peaks and the elbow shaped end pieces over the edges. I couldn't believe my eyes. Some things just bring tears to a carpenter's eyes. It looked fucking beautiful.

In payment, I handed a bunch of acid to Danny Burnor and Zagars, they each also gladly took half-gallons of Jim Beam and Mike happily took a new barrel stove. Danny had assembled 3 barrel stoves, spray painted them with black high-temp cast iron stove paint: one for the sauna in the porch of 676 Caribou, one for inside 369 and the last I gave to Zagars in trade for labor and supervising the truss assembly, plywood covering and sheet metal roof work. Mike was psyched to use the barrel stove to heat his project house and burn scrap lumber, raked and swept up sawdust and garbage.

Writing this, I still feel a debt unpaid to him for taking the lead and barking orders to me, Scott, Charlie Tikik and Danny Burnor. Charlie didn't want any LSD, but was happy to fill his backpack with numerous fifths of Bacardi 151, and ambled uptown to party with his buddies. Native buddies that likely wouldn't rebuild an old house with the 3 English speaking white dudes Charlie had worked with all day, night and into the next morning. Me and bun ordered our maximum allowable amount of hard liquor every month and I'd emptied the last of our booze and acid working this all-day and all-night work jag. A long work sesh that was a really sunny and long 24 hour work-shift and was starting all over again with Kotzebue's fishermen loading up and heading out for the next salmon period. The whole town smelled like fish, ocean, sawdust and road dirt. Some of you graveyard shift patrolmen popped by and checked in on our project and these memories put us all right there, at that moment. The saddest aspect is that I'll never see any of those gents, nor any of you men, ever again. Yup, that sense of lost time gets to me too.

Back to work. Me and Scott still needed to cover the bare framed exterior of this behemoth. There was zero T-111 in town so Win Scott at AC hardware sold me 2 pallets of Sound Deadening Boards, for almost nothing. "Shit Karl, you get that shit out of my yard, I'll pay you to take it. Nobody uses that shit anymore. It's too heavy and too expensive." So the following morning, Frank Miguel fork-lifted the 2 banded pallets to our job site. Me and Scott went crazy covering the framed walls. We tipped the damn heavy sheets into position, nailed up the boards and cruised around the entire house that had exposed framing, like covering the ribs of an overturned boat.

The shit worked like a motherfucker. After we sheeted the entire exterior, the inside of the house was silent. Deathly silent and cool. The Sound Deadening Boards (SD boards) were merely the foundation, with Tyvek thermal and moisture barrier white wrapping paper to be stapled up next and T-111 grooved plywood as the final exterior wall covering. Of course, the Tyvek and T-111 would arrive on the next barge, next year. Fuck me.

With half-inch ACX plywood covering the new trusses and shiny brown sheet-metal covering the entire roof and SD boards covering the exterior walls, we'd finally completed the look I was after. The house appeared to be all original and not another junky HUD model 500 POS (piece of shit) that you dildos wrongly refer to as NANA housing. I had created a new larger T-shaped modern energy efficient house upon the hulk of a box-shaped energy nightmare. Taking advantage of the available materials and not whining like a cunt that my choice of plywood was out of stock, the alternative improved the overall thermal (insulation) factor for the entire house.

Upon completion of the siding and new metal roofing, half the town's builders like Gordon Ito, Eugene Smith, the Capones and a bunch of older gents motored by and examined the weird looking siding, made comments and offered opinions about how Joe and Lydia Harris's house sure looked way different, and bigger. Here's the bonus: reviewing our lumber bill, Win charged us only a couple bucks per board, not the $65 we expected with T-111. Who's bitching now?

The Capone narc job was finished just before Christmas of '92, and the spook job with Mat-Su Narcotics was posted, so I told Bish we were in the mood to sell the house back to KIC. The program was a native home-ownership scheme with the intention of selling stale derelict reservation properties to motivated native shareholder buyers that had the KSA (knowledge, skills and ability) to restore these neglected eyesores back into shape. We paid about $19,000 to KIC and after roughly $46K in labor and materials, we sold the whole construction overhaul back to KIC for $45,000. Yup, I took a roughly $20k tax write-off (loss) selling the house back to KIC that cost me and bun a total of $65K to purchase and overhaul. I had to play by the rules. The intent of the program was for us to fix/repair the house and then live in them. Not do a TV show Home Improvement Flip and pocket the proceeds.

With my earnings and bun's wages from the state of Alaska (DCRA), the $20K tax write-off (loss) allowed us to drastically lower our AGI (adjusted gross income) and pay zero dollars to the IRS when the next April 15th rolled around. We actually received a multi-thousand dollar tax refund after H&R Block packed and stacked all our paperwork, and filed the motherfucker.

With the KIC check we put $15K down on the Willow property and the IRS refund was dineros to invest in cleaning it and hauling away hillbilly farm fucker trash, car parts and stupid welfare white nigger shit piled all over. Now you know why I call the Mat-Su the Valley of Trash, them butt-fuckers are toothless hayseed white trash that have a phobia of cleaning tools and products and solid waste transfer stations.

Here's the silver lining to Karl-n-Bun's 369 2nd avenue Kotzebue Construction Restoration Project: Harold Lambert came in with KEA wages and damn good construction skills and whaled the shit outa Phase One of my project. He totally picked up where I left off following the home ownership regulations, pouring a million fucking bucks in more materials and sweat equity into house 369. Harold gave me and bun a tour of the house and he must've been reading my fucking mind. It turned out exactly as I imagined.

The north side addition he turned into a bathroom, boiler room and laundry room and the south side addition he added 2 bedrooms leaving the interior of the old HUD house as a grand living room and kitchen. Real sweet. Now take into consideration that he worked for electrical company wages and the wiring, plumbing and wall dressing all transformed the interior into a top-shelf, non-native castle.

Too bad Paulette was such a smokey bitch-slut and got the boot. Way to go Eskimo. Harold is now married to some Schaeffer chick (Pete Schaeffer's daughter) and it looks like the guy is gonna die in his own home that he and I (and Joe and Lydia Harris) built, with completely worn out donkey balls. It's been said that the third time is a charm, but wife number 2 works magic. Take a hint niggers.

When you go shopping for lumber and hardware and the inventory is sold out, be creative and take a chance on more expensive alternatives. Just like my love-lives. When I got exiled from rural monkey Alaska, I was forced to make do with Scandinavian and Nordic materials that were WAY more expensive. Figure it out.

My secret to success is that I never had any American children. This freedom allowed me to travel all over Alaska and Europe, rebuilding a fuck-load of houses along the way. It also allowed me to work retarded schemes with you armed motherfuckers and graying gunslingers, and take on more romances and sack more girls than all yer families and affairs. Combined. If you think yer kids are retarded, imagine what my kids would've looked and smelled like: buck-tooth Siberian mongoloids, cross-eyed autistic Eskimos, really smart niggers with horrid BO and dullard retard Norwegian, Finnish and Swedish stupor-models.

A rule of thumb (and dick) to follow: look for the good and praise it. Note: Alaska's economy is counter-cyclical to the lesser 48. I mean it. When America is whining and bitching like cunning runts, or more accurately, running cunts, look at Alaska's good fortune. We're making bank on our dwindling oil production and the TAPS ought be gold-plated. We're fucking rolling in the dough. Juneau just passed the largest budget in Alaska's history, fully funding every program, department and boondoggle imaginable. As America's economy gets wasted by the Green New Deal, devastating energy costs, inflationary consumable expenses and LBGT-Q politics, we're cheesing groovy and smiling like a motherfucker. Or more accurately, in view of our marriages, great-grand-motherfuckers.

Don't forget, when the rest of America is barking mad, popping tampons and spraying graffiti with their pissy whiney discharge, we're doing great. As a matter of economics, we're doing better than great. I just saw gasoline at $5.60 a gallon, I fucking cheered like a fat faggot with a cubes of butter up my ass (Gumby and Barney would've been proud). NS crude is topping $120 per barrel and us Alaskans are making bank. I listen to conservative talk radio and all their gripes are about President Biden and his disastrous energy policies but back home here in rural monkey Alaska, we're rolling in the dough and the direct beneficiaries of these policies. Remember when Chump, I mean Trump was in the White House, we had cheap oil coming out our asses.

Putin's Vietnam (Ukraine), cancellation of federal land oil leases, shutting down hydro-logical fracturing (FRAC) wells and the Keystone Pipeline, forced wrinkled dick President Magoo to take responsibility for spiked worldwide oil prices. Alaska is back in the drivers seat getting a blow job from old white lower 48 whining toothless geezer dudes. Can you suck orange dick? Sperm and eggs over the age of 35 may be rotten and inadmissible to fertility clinics and sperm banks, but makes great nutrition for stupid old bitchy conservative white men, angry at losing the last presidential election to niggers, faggots, liberals and minorities.

President Magoo did us 907 chimplet porkers a really big favor. So don't get pissed off at the economy or energy politics, we're like Saudi Sheikhs and we get to torture, kill and chop up faggot-ass journalists. I'm chuckling thinking of you cops wearing towels on yer heads like rag-head sand niggers smiling at our fat wallets and fat pensions due to skyrocket crude oil prices. Or better put, we're in the same boat as Norwegian ass-wipes with blue eyes, blond hair and a sovereign wealth fund that is nearing a trillion dollars. Fuck yeah.

Almost. Our Perm Fund is maybe $80 billion and growing. If we avoid the forecasted decline in the stock market with each FED rate hike and diversify our Permanent Fund away from residential real estate, staying in commercial, we'll be in pretty good shape, but for the foreseeable future, we're all about oil revenues for our state spending and contribs to the perm fund. Don't fight the FED and don't fight the markets. Our stock markets have dropped from their highs down a little over 20% and that's official Bear Market Territory. Let the markets go wherever they want, America may be hell-bent fer leather but a recession benefits us 907 dill-rods.

Just a quarter century ago, we witnessed Fed Chairman Greenspan beat down a market infected with "irrational exuberance" and the end of the tech bubble and Dot-Com mania. Greenspan totally flogged and scattered amateur faggot investors out of the market with 6 Fed Rate hikes within one year.

Now another issue that's near and dear to us rusty killers and graying gunslingers, the issue of liberal policies and the fear of taking away our guns. Don't believe it for a second. When Clinton pushed his micro-scrotum gun agenda, he earned a trophy from the retail firearms sales lobby. Yup, him and Obama only accelerated gun sales nationwide. If you have any junker nigger shooters laying about, clean 'em up and sell 'em. Pocket the proceeds and buy some other commodity, like slaves, cocaine or illegal immigrant child prostitutes. Every little Methican girl and boy that we smuggle across the Rio Grand will bring us a million dollars in fuckee-suckee dineros. That's some fat wallet there hombres. By the time these little skanks die of AIDS or drug overdoses, we'll pull down roughly a mil. How cool is that?

Wyatt Earp and the Dexter Clan pulled down approximately $10,000 dollars over the viable life of a prostitute in Nome, Alaska. Adjusting for inflation, that's a million in today's money. Soapy Smith didn't quite make that much, his whores ended in the pig pens of Skagway as soon as they got TB, pneumonia or clap. Dead children and blown out whores that have been fed to the hogs gives modern day Canadian bacon that really wonderful taste. Don't get all queeby you pussies, mining camps have thousands of gold fever suckers to feed. And fuck. "Mine the miners" (Alaska's state song).

You see, Alaska is one big flim-flam scam. We attract suckers that believe they're gonna get rich quick. But instead, end up doing all of our chores, washing our diapers and massaging our balls. The real gold is in the oil-rich public service retirements. We all will get $2 mil in health care benefits for both retiree and spouse, and roughly double that in monthly pension payments, dental vision and audio care, spousal survival benefits and the biggy: long term care when we need our rest home dicks tugged, washed and chewed. Senior living don't gotta suck. Come visit me at my rest home, we got kill bud, great coffee and Jameson's whiskey to use as coffee creamer. Plus, I've got a batch of Thai massage beauties that do serious rub and tugs on yer wood and with a decent gratuity, drain yer nads burping sperm. Old fart living don't gotta be shit. Use your imagination.

Now think dickheads. Counter-cyclical economics also seems to be counter-intuitive. We all see how oil and gas wells gushing all over the lesser 48 provided cheap gasoline and heating oil prices at home, on the rez and out in the rural monkey bush. But don't overlook the super low barrel oil prices flowing down the Trans-Alaska Pipeline. When the market is cheaper'n shit, that's when our PFD is in the most jeopardy and an income tax is more likely to re-appear. Alaska has always been a super expensive place to live, breathe and fuck. 2000 freight air, sea and truck miles are built into everything we smoke, snort and chew. Mike the meat man at Hanson's explained that the Department of Agriculture subsidized the cost of most beef, chicken and pork shipped to Kotzebue and all of Alaska's chimpy villages scattered about. We still enjoy considerable subsidies on the basics like food products, so we can't bitch about paying the true cost of our obesity.

Imagine paying the true cost of Alaska's generous programs and departments. Our last budget was $7 billion spread out over 700,000 citizens. Do the math dildos, that $10,000 per person. Now subtract shit poor welfare niggers and then stick that tax bill on the remaining half of us with serious money. Yup, that's about 50% of Alaska that has the money to suffer such a tax levy. You'd be fucking hacked to be saddled with a $20K tax bill every year, just because you ain't white, brown or red trash. Abortions, slavery, sterilizations, death penalties, deportations and penal colonies start to look perty fucking good now, don't they? Instead of shooting 1500 dogs every year, why not hire KPD to shoot FAS retards and place them around the old dump for wolf and fox trap bait. Seriously diggable shit.

Look at yer kids, then consider paying all their grocery bills, medical bills, rents and utilities, alcohol and drug expenses for their entire life! Real soon, you'll agree with me: organ donor bank. Them little niggers got the same DNA as yer stupid ass. When you need to go to Costco or Walmart's fer eyes, nads, internal organs and lungs, thank yer lucky stars that y'all humped like mad demons, blindfolded and with a clothes pin on yer nose. All them little retards will help you live beyond 200 years old. We're all 60 and older, so only half the light a 20 year old sees, makes it through our old foggy lenses to our detached retina. Imagine seeing with brand-new eyeballs and fucking with a brand-new set of nasties.

Alaskans truly care fer the poor, sick, stupid and stinky shitty dicks. We're all so benevolent when it's somebody else's money. As soon as you gotta take out a second mortgage, sell all yer guns and extra toys and cars to pay for Alaska's poor, stupid, lazy and infected, you'll become Adolf Hitler's wet dream. Nobody hates the poor, until it's yer money going down the homeless industrial complex and native village rat holes. I doubt you'll write checks to support homeless native bums spewing butt-retch and stool-barf shakes all over Anchorage.

When I gotta pay for welfare, food stamps, SNAP (subsidized nicotine and alcohol programs) and WIC, it's time to invest in cute little darling midget sized harnesses and cute little buggy whips. Imagine Alaska powered by little native slaves working for their food and lodging. I'm chuckling at the image of midget niggers engaged in forced labor. Fuck me, harnessed tiny goofy dwarf natives are hilarious and if you add Manillaq monsters with crossed eyes, drool and shitty drawers, I see yer photo albums and family reunions at next season's Ewing Slave Auction.

If we Americans paid our tax bills, we wouldn't have any inflation or a national debt. Yup, inflation is a hidden tax, well-known by economists, but concealed from the ignorant masses: you fuckers. Americans hate paying their bills, especially their tax bills due to the Treasury. Instead of charging all of us citizens the true, fair and accurate tax bill, we've agreed to let our Treasury print WAY too much money to pay our federal obligations, therefore greatly diluting any dollars you've saved.

Two measures of a bloated money supply are the prices of new and used automobiles and the prices of residential homes. Of recent, these prices have tracked upward to the tune of 40%, which mirrors perfectly, the Treasury's hyperactive printing of paper fiat money. Additionally, instead of paying our actual cost of government, we've endorsed selling US treasury notes (T-bills and bonds) as an easy way to charge most of our federal operational expenses on a giant $35 trillion dollar credit card. We're such stupid girls.

The debt service (interest payments) for our national debt is starting to eat away at a significant part of our federal budget and lessening our ability to pay for important programs like Social Security, Medicare, Public Assistance, HUD, IHS and Department of Defense. These departments consume 75% of our total budget. Americans hate paying taxes and really hate paying their bills.

Don't play the political party blame game. Same shit, different day. Republicans cut taxes and defer payment of our tax bills with inflationary printing of money and borrowing. Democrats introduce spending programs and pay for them with inflationary printing of money and borrowing. When you point yer finger at someone, ye got 3 fingers pointing back at you. Look in the mirror and just think, "It's nobody's fault but mine." America will never afford another world war. We're toasted roached faggots.

Blame both Trump and Biden, the song remains the same. We're like all those stupid kids that get car loans and credit cards. When the bill collector comes knocking, the equity in any house, car, pension and savings bank account is fair game. I've heard underwater dudes and dudettes claim they'll just file for bankruptcy and discharge all their debts. Any assets, savings, investments, equity and second or third mortgages will be levied first.

My buddy Mitch works at the billing department at the local hospital here in Soldotna. He's worked for them for a few years now, after transferring from Washington State. Get this, he worked for Asset Forfeiture and Asset Seizure in the tri-state area (Washington, Idaho and Oregon) for the IRS. He and I are MBA motherfuckers with accounting focuses and his duties at Central Peninsula Hospital is to garnish, levy and attach properties, assets and pension funds.

Every year the hospital faces multimillion dollar billings from short-sighted retarded folks that skipped buying good health insurance, or failed to add supplemental insurance on top of Medicare. It's quite common for patients to arrive with stomach pains or chest pains and walking out, get slapped with hospital bills for surgeries such as hernias, coronary bypasses, heart valve repair/replacement, cancer removals, chemo-therapies and radiation treatments. And get this, most fucking bills are for a half mil. Fuck yeah dudes. That's $500K for just getting warmed up. Most treatments easily exceed our $2 million cap in our PERS pension AETNA health care plans. We ain't free-riding aboriginies, so plan yer sicknesses after you've turned 65 and purchase Medicare part B.

To receive federal, state and borough grants, all hospitals have to exercise due diligence in collecting any and all possible monies for services rendered. Guess what? My buddy Mitch says Central Peninsula Hospital seizes over 100 houses, properties, savings accounts and non-state and non-federal pensions, every year. Stings, don't it? The only monies that cannot be attached, levied or garnished is Social Security and State pensions like our PERS retirements. Everything else is fair game. 401K, IRA, Roth's, savings, home equities are hoovered up, but not yer Social Security nor PERS.

Here's another piss off. If we try to hide assets registered in our names, Mitch reviews the NEXUS/LEXUS asset research tools lawyers, IRS and bill collectors use and go back 5 years. So even if we attempt to dispose of a property by quit claim transfers and give it to our big-booby sugar-cooter mistresses or secret poon-tang fish-licks, within 5 years back, the attachment and seizure is valid and enforceable. If you are thinking about ditching assets, sell them, don't just give or gift them to yer kids or mistresses. If you sell them, pay down all yer medical bills and sit on the savings.

If you do require catastrophic medical care for your obesity, tobacco, age or family histories, pay out what you can, drain all yer savings, and if possible, sell yer house and join me at the senior center. Showing good faith and fair dealing with hospitals and rehabilitation facilities goes a long way in the view of the judges, courts and hospital collection agencies. In most real estate attachments, the hospital won't seize yer shit if you honor the debt and make monthly payments. Then the hospital will only take everything when you sell, or transfer title. Or die.

Hey, once yer broke, you can qualify for Medicaid. No assets, no job, no savings and we can hang out at ANMC with our blind, dentured, oxygen-machined wives, living happily ever after at the old folks home. I don't need to remind you that we are all really fucking old, and as we age, the super expensive health care expenses you'll all be requiring will only steadily increase. So when you turn 65, sign up and pay for fucking Medicare and tap into America's $35 trillion dollar credit card. You'll avoid this collection and bankruptcy nightmare most baby-boomers inevitably face. By adding Medicare part B to our AETNA pension health care plan. we'll never see or pay another hospital bill.

My old Vietnam Vet buddies at our previous residence wouldn't go to the dentist, eye doctor nor dare enter a clinic for check-ups or blood panels. They've since died, leaving me the only goddamned male living at the facility. No shit, after Richard, Steve and Ron left me and bun's building toes up, tits up and dick in the dirt, I was the last and only man in two buildings with 20 apartments, smelling most pissy feminine, feline and canine, inhabited by a mess of women the same age as yer wives. Not a pretty site. I was surrounded by a million fucking grandmas, and no grandpas to bullshit with, take apart guns and drink my coffee loaded with Jameson's or Hennessey non-dairy coffee creamer. I may be sober as a motherfucker, but I make a fucking really great coffee server and bartender. I also play old KOTZ broadcasts on my beater radio.

Now back to business. Always look at the positive, count yer blessings and focus on the glass half full. Us Alaskans are dialed in: pimping and bitching. We got this dicked. I forecast rocket high crude oil prices for another couple years. If we can manipulate China and Russia into a self-suicidal world war, our NS Crude will only become more valuable. So will gold, silver and a slew of AK rare metals.

The Ambler Metals Mine will be a bonanza for the NANA Region. In the last NANA Hunter, the president announced closing Red Dog, ceasing operations, de-mobilization of equipment, land reclamation and site restoration completed in 10 years (2032). I remember the battle to get the permits to open the Red Dog Mine way back almost 4 decades ago.

I'm impressed that the largest lead and zinc deposit on planet Earth has been completely tractored and hauled away, leaving the entire region, water table, rivers, streams and snow melt absolutely free of naturally occurring toxic heavy metals. Mining all the lead and zinc ore deposits through NANA land, state land and federal land, made us all money and was a successful environmental clean-up.

No shit, a natural heavy metal Super Fund ore seam paid for NW Arctic schools AND all our property taxes. All the years of NANA's dividend payouts were partially funded by Red Dog royalties and PILT proceeds. PILT means Payment In Lieu of Taxes. It also paid a goodly amount of bun's NANA Elder checks for $1500 she receives every January. When (and if) yer wives reach the age of 65, they will automatically start getting these elder checks. You'll have to ask Megan Lincoln's brother, the president, if us white motherfuckers will continue receiving these elder checks after our wives choke and puke. David Craig received Rachel's for all the years he survived her, but corporate office and shareholders may have voted to stop payments to all us spouses that are not NANA shareholders. NANA shares are inheritable, but not the elder supplemental checks. Check to see if spouses can still receive them, post mortem.

The glass is always half full. Don't forget it. No matter which way the winds of fortune and politics are blowing, there's opportunity for us. Jamie Diamond, the CEO of JP Morgan warns us that the US economy is headed for a hurricane, like a CAT 5 tornado that'll leave Alaska sitting pretty and stroking fat bat. Despite super high borrowing rates set by the Federal Reserve and mass production of funny money by the Treasury, Alaska's gold, silver and oil will be exponentially more valuable. Fuck inflationary concerns, our commodities will be even more valuable. If inflation is 20% per year, our minerals and petroleum will gain double that in value. Possibly quadruple. As the Treasury floods the world with US currency, I'm of the opinion that we could see our 907 sub-surface treasure gaining value by exponential multiples. Do the math, inflation and currency devaluation will only make our shit many times more expensive and profitable.

My cup and jock-strap runneth over at this point. "We might be going to hell in a hand-basket, at least we're enjoying the ride" (Grateful Dead). Sit back, smoke a fatty, knock back some premium liquor and hork down a pile of high-grade cocaine. The future battle for scarce resources may result in Russia sneaking hyper-velocity nuclear missiles on our mines and military bases. At that point, we better learn to speak Russian. Or Chinese. I'm pretty sure we'd never know the difference. When we purchased Alaska, we merely transferred ownership from one European country, to another. Alaska natives never had a clue that their state was owned by a new (1867) super-power. A 2024 transfer back to Russia or China would likely go unnoticed. All the welfare voucher programs would be printed in another new unfathomable language and food stamps would be denominated in rubles. Or chink tiny ricey-dick Yuan. Dig me?

Chased out of Africa, fleeing Gangus Khan, resisting Chinese imperialism and escaping Russian slavery, natives are indestructible and likely 907 forever. Jews ain't got nothing on these tough little runts. Long after Alaska becomes part of another country, we'll still have at least two dozen autistic little mongoloids "banging on a bongo like a chimpanzee" and dancing like drunks in the KPD jail. And we'll still attend AFN a thousand years in the future.

I don't really care about the future of America's economy, I just have to put my net into the wind and harvest dineros. I was trained by the best, a woman we call "the ancient one." She's lectured me, that here in Alaska, after Prudhoe Bay and Red Dog, we're all resource economists and MBA's.

When you think the world is coming to an end, Alaska is raking in the chips. Turn off yer TV, quit bitching party politics and vote for strip mining, global warming and cow flatulence. Guns and butter, lead, zinc, gold, silver, oil and steaks. For the next foreseeable future, Alaska holds the winning hand: 5 bicycles.

Cheer up, smile evil, and rub yer package. Our cup is more than half full, shit, like big boobs stuffed in a tight bra, our 907 cuppeth runneth over.

Karl.