Salted roads, rusted cars and REALLY salty humor.

Top of the morning gents,

Fuck me running. I just paid $250 for a new driver's side ball joint and last month had a second brake job performed on our scuba-douche (96 Subaru Legacy Wagon). Needless to say, I was mildly irritated at the $886.00 brake repair bill. Shit! I had the rear brakes completely replaced 2 years ago, you'd think they'd last longer than that. I asked the young man at the counter (Brandon) why my brakes were "partially sticking in the closed position indicating locked up calipers and grinding the pads and rotors (disks) to shit." He explained that in the last decade the SOA DOT (state of Alaska-department of transportation) has been spraying a salt brine solution on all of the roads statewide, in addition to the sand/salt blend you may have already seen those big blade trucks spreading generously all over fucking hell. The corrosion from both salt and sand, plus the liquid brine is devastating and completely rusting the steering assembly and brakes on all the cars he services.

Brandon says I got off lucky. My frequent car washes and evening detail work in our heated garage was smart. Most cars driven during Alaska winters are suffering massive rust damage to their auto frames, bodies, braking systems, wheel bearings, drive train and steering and suspension assemblies. It's a new phenomena in the last decade since this new salt brine juice is sprayed all over the roads of Alaska and the northern states outside. The old school sand and salt mix worked like a champ, causing a rusting pain in the ass, but brine is even more of a killer for the chassis and undercarriage of cars. But of course, on the flip-side, a Godsend for driving safety. In short, many more Alaskan lives are saved at the expense of greatly abbreviated automobile longevity and more frequent expensive repair bills.

Across the country, in northern states, salt has been mixed with sand and scattered all over the highways since fucking forever. The salt melts the snow and ice on the roadways and the sand greatly increases traction. You see, this only applies to the northern states that have significant snow fall and temperatures way below 32 degrees, the freezing point for water. The number of states that suffer long arduous winters also allow studded tires. That number is actually quite small, 6 states to be exact, that allow studded snow tires and spread sand and salt generously with brine sprayed as a bonus. Despite improving traction, studs wear the shit outa pavement, regardless if it's asphalt or concrete, and costs mucho millions to the 6 cold winter states to replace or repair every summer after a winter of moron combat driving.

I can hear you. Don't the snow plows clean the snow and ice right down to the pavement? Well, no. The plows use those cool blades that lift and throw snow and ice WAY off the fucking highway, but leave behind a sweet layer of shiny glass a speed skater would totally dig on. The snow blades on state trucks are similar to cattle blades trains use to lift and pitch cows, buffalo and stupid Indians way the fuck off the tracks, high into the air and way out in to the boonies. Or for shits and giggles, offa bridges. They're called cattle guards but train engineers sure as shit laughed like motherfuckers whenever wastrels, drunks, Injuns and farm animals were standing on the tracks, spellbound then airborne, and tossed on their heads. The impacts are almost always fatal. Since early America, these railway clearing cattle guards created the predecessor to our use of the term "road kill" leaving corpses buzzing with flies and maggots. At that point of putrification, all the organs and tissues are useless for organ transplant recipients and serve only as food for crows, ravens, coyotes and wild dogs. Or drunken Injuns with the munchies.

Even with state road equipment blade work, crunchy sand blended with a million tons of salt pellets and high dollar studded snow tires, we have far too American citizens dying. Yup, deaths on the snowy highways in winter condition collisions are much greater than summer crashes giving first responders crushed cars splashed with strawberry jam to pry open and remove it's occupants. I ain't kidding, winter in America sends a million drivers to morgues and emergency rooms in numbers even you non-driving village chimps would find startling. The summer driving seasons in America are relatively safe, but cold weather conditions kill motherfuckers in piles. Automobile insurance companies covering these losses have raised a ruckus and pushed for legislation to improve road safety in the winter months so northern states have added another cool tool to their arsenal. That being those big trailers loaded with giant plastic jugs filled with thousands of gallons of salt brine the crews spray all over the highway.

The results have been startling. The drop in winter fatalities is far more than just "statistically significant." The drop in winter road fatalities had been pert near a miracle. Dumb shits that insist on driving too fast for road conditions with shitty winter cars, shitty winter tires and driving skills guaranteed to receive a DWO (driving while oriental) are now safely avoiding high impact crashes, ditch romances, dash board cranial bashes with a side order of infant brain juicing and cerebral grape stomping. Salt brine on highways has proved very effective in keeping our dumb asses between the ditches and keeping the rubber side down. To spell it out, rolled cars, flipped cars and inverted engines also implies inverted passengers with broken necks or air-born occupants partially or fully ejected from the car, becoming pressed rat collections from a 4 ton rolling pin.

What only you coppers understand is the number one cause of childhood deaths is automobile collisions--and the little niggers ain't even behind the wheel, their wasted, distracted fat retarded mommies are. Now put on yer legal-beagle cop thinking cap. In your insurance paperwork, you'll see AD&D stands for accidental death and dismemberment. The death part is cheap, the dismemberment part is a ball buster. Dead bodies only cost insurance companies a flat fee of $250K per accidental death, but years of hospitalization and rehabilitation runs into the millions. Therein lies the bitch of the bunch.

When you roll yer car or truck and succeed in staying inside yer car, all the garbage, dirt, sand, groceries and beer bottles are bashed all over yer fucking face as you toss your car like dice to see which side ends facing up. Sand and dirt is in yer mouth and inserted in yer eyes blinding you and garbage and pets get ruthlessly bounced offa yer kids' soft puny skulls. Rolling cars commonly cause sideways whip lash trauma giving the occupants injuries pediatricians call "shaken child syndrome." Seat belts and air bags do zero to protect us from these side-to-side paralyzing injuries. Sucks huh. Those rolling auto injuries are the mother of all fuckers for your insurance company to hump.

The 6 northern states' DOT agencies have documented that with the addition of applying salt brine on top of sand/salt flavor coating, almost a third less winter road fatalities have occurred. No shit, one third less. That's almost as dramatic as lowering speed limits to 55, enforcing drunk driving and seat belt legislation. Cars are stupid consumer gadgets in that above roughly 50 miles per hour, our brakes and steering decline in effectiveness. No shit, very few cars brake or steer worth a shit at higher speeds with most cars doubling and tripling their stopping distances once they exceed 60 mph. Of course, if you're on your roof, you ain't stopping fer shit until you slam into a unmovable solid object. Like a bridge abutment or some shit. Or a Peterbuilt double trailer fuel truck in the oncoming lane.

When the Carter Administration lowered the speed limits from 70 to 55 mph, that was for fuel economy, the road safety improvement was an unintended consequence. The big 3 (Ford, General Motors and Chrysler) conferred and asserted that the double nickel is the speed with which Detroit steel gets the very best fuel economy, meaning peak miles per gallon. Everybody gets shit mileage in the city, but on America's interstate freeways, that boring 55 mph yields our top fuel economy. Even today with new cars, wind resistance, engine friction, transmission inefficiency related power loss, wheel friction and overall drag on a vehicle pushing past 50-60 mph experience greatly shittier fuel economy. Race cars produce more horsepower in a single cylinder than your whole engine, but also average less than one-tenth your fuel economy.

Quite a few states have returned to their old speed limits and you'll shit yer pants driving on crowded Washington highways at over 70 mph and in Texas over 80 mph. Of course, the collisions have returned and are nearly always fatal, but with superior auto design such as air bags, crumple zones, 3-way seat belts and anti-lock braking systems (ABS) the number of collisions has seen some improvements in survival But when high speed collisions do occur, it can get real fucking cowboy. Meaning real ugly for the vehicle occupants ending up dead in horse-drawn prairie schooner Conestoga wagons bouncing up to Boot Hill with yer ignorant hillbilly clan, dressed in black weeping over yer stinking croaked ass. The only upside is that in modern times, we get all their salvageable body parts. Which is good for boomers like us that will soon be requiring a bucket full of replacement organs, eyes, hearts and lungs. Plus square miles of skin to replace the shit we burn sleeping with wheeze-bitch smokers.

Many decades ago, I worked for years doing a restoration on an old hotel in Seattle built in 1889. It's now called the Campus Apartments and my good buddy Donald Heupel (D. Hypes) was the manager. He hired me for years as we worked our way through all 40 apartments, adding 6 more units utilizing old storage rooms and subdividing apartments way too large for UW students. While we worked, Don told me a shit load of funny tales of driving in Buffalo during their notoriously awful winters. He impressed me with stories as a child growing up in Buffalo, New York climbing and sliding down 40 foot tall snow drifts blown in off the Great Lakes during Arctic storms. As a young adult he cracked my shit up with tales of off-the-hook skating, sliding and broad-siding his huge American made automobiles to and from work as a press photographer. Arctic Alaska ain't got shit on Buffalo winters.

Heupel explained that in Buffalo folks drove 2 cars: one for summer and one for winter. The winter cars were big heavy sedans with digger snow tires and sand bags in the trunks for weight over the rear tires. He also humorously detailed the massive corrosion that wasted and rusted autos from the million tons of salt that was dumped on all the roads. Don stated that most winter cars, being already mature cars, would be scabbed out and rotted from salt after just one or two winter seasons.

D. Hypes also said that a popular Buffalo hobby and favorite pastime was playing bumper cars when drivers cross it up sideways around corners like Steve McQueen, slid through stop signs like Stevie Wonder and crashed into other junker winter cars skating into parking spots like John Belushi. Nobody stopped to inspect the damage, they just continued onward leaving paint and trim pieces all over the freshly dented cars covered in heaps of rusty slush and dirty snow. That sounded cool to me. Besides, yer fancy sports cars should be garaged and not out in the dark winter combat zone. That'd be stupid.

Heupel worked for the Buffalo Press as a photographer and used to race out to building fires, natural disasters and bad car crashes for front page headlines and graphic snap shots for publication. In addition to his crime beat, he also covered the hazards of winter driving. He scanned police and fire radios and with his press pass was allowed entry to emergencies to photo and tape record details of the crashes from first responders. Like all of America and Alaska, Buffalo, New York had much higher highway fatalities during the winter months.

A side note Heupel mentioned was a tax on all new cars totaling roughly $400. It was a fee assessed on all autos sold in New York State to offset the expense of fetching and retrieving abandoned cars all over the fucking place. After a couple winters, folks would simply pull the plates, tags and paperwork and leave their battered rusted winter cars wherever they broke down and stopped running. New Yorkers simply walked away and hailed a cab. Do the math butt fuckers, there's over 10 million residents in New York State so that's a lot of wrecks left on the roadside every year needing impounding, crushing, melting and reborn as new metal stock. Even if you dispose of your own rusted junker car at your own expense, don't be a fucking Jew and ask for a refund, this is New York ye fucking moron. Not goddamned Indun givers.

Even here on the Kenai Peninsula, borough mayor Peter Icky-mitts lifted heaven and Earth to set aside a multi-million dollar budget to tow away the thousands of abandoned vehicles rusting away on back roads, parking lots and ditched on private properties when the owners were out of town, down south leaving their vacation properties ripe to become dump sites like the now closed Northway Mall. Folks ain't dumb, instead of paying big bucks to dump their shit at Anchorage transfer stations, folks now drive to the Northway Mall and kick shit out their truck beds and drive away. I saw the place last month and it looks like a new adhoc recycling center for old fridges, washing machines, dryers, water heaters and a hunnert junk heap cars. Back here on the Kenai, in the first 6 months our borough blew through ALL the funds set aside to pick up the cars and trucks left to rust and rot on state, borough, federal and private property. Over the last 60 years folks been pulling the same shit my buddy Don Heupel explained in Buffalo and the greater New York State. We got junked cars up the fucking ass.

Get this. The Kenai Borough towed away over 500 dilapidated cars and trucks from back roads, alongside highways and city lots. Yup, that's a half a grand and you wouldn't even notice a dent in the number of junkers and fucked up vehicles polluting and decorating the supposed vacation capitol of Alaska: ghetto mod Kenai Penicillin Pit. Welcome to Niggerville schmucks, we're almost as ugly as the Mat-Su Valley o' Trash. The primary reason for our local government expenditure is for the obvious reason being the unsightly and ugly eyesores junk cars and trucks create. Wrecked cars breed like crazy and quickly create blighted communities and neglected neighborhoods like the innumerable black towns my gramps torched to the ground. Another reason is the leaking and dripping motor oil, glycol (antifreeze) and assorted hydraulic fluids used in transmissions and brakes. One single drop of these old, awful, used, burnt petroleum fluids will make 1,000 gallons of aquifer water unusable and unfit to drink. All these oils quickly leach into the well-water reservoirs under ground on the Kenai Peninsula--and they're all interconnected. I taste butt.

Heupel and I never discussed the impact on well-water plus we didn't discuss the upside to so many winter car crashes, being organ harvesting because this was back in the dark ages of tissue rejection and only early experiments were performed. Larry Hagman and George Jones' liver transplants topping the medical journals back then. Now in the 2020's we can harvest anybody's organs and install them in waiting patients statewide and nationwide. Back in the 80's when I was working with Heupel, we never comprehended the medical value of car crashes and gun shots to the head. Dudes, pull yer heads out yer asses, including gun fatalities, car and motorcycle accidents are God's grocery cart for organ donor recipients. Gunshots and car crashes are music to the ears of patients dying fer fresh meat.

No shit, adding car accidents and gun fatalities, it's like Christmas Day for a million fucking sick people needing used body parts in good working condition. With so many Americans on waiting lists for replacement organs, hand guns, rifles and shotguns and the highways are the cornucopia bonanza gift aplenty for organ recipients patiently waiting for packed coolers full of hearts, kidneys, eyes etc. Instead of coolers filled with beer, you may soon be enjoying bits and pieces or large bloody parcels sealed tight in a cooler from the meat wagon on the highways of death or suicidal trans-corpse kids, retarded faggots sucking pistols and mongoloid gun owners using firearms as butt wipe and hemorrhoid treatments thus allowing you to live decades further. Don't forget 80% of all gun fatalities result from suicide, so hand 'em out to your in-laws and wait patiently for the BOOM, then with a net, you can catch bright, pretty red body parts that all us withering boomers need so badly.

You may disagree with me harvesting organs from dead cops like Erlich, Octuck, Nay, Jewell and Westlake but damn, despite being tobacco junkies and alcoholics, they gotta still have a few usable spare parts left on board. Don't overlook the millions of abortions every year plus dead niggers behind the wheel, cut up and put in a cooler. Those valuable organs just might persuade you geezer coppers that an organ bank fully stocked with human innards may likely save yer shitty dicks and rotten asses. Wake up fucks. Swiss time is running out on yer shrunken graying gizzards.

I'm betting our native pride, uppity nigger attitude or white privilege (racism and xenophobia) will vanish when we're presented with replacement gook kidneys, slant-eye pancreas, dink-slope eyeballs and welfare nigger lungs and hearts. Shit, after receiving a gut full of minority sausage fixin's, I seriously doubt I'd experience a moment of awakening and start writing WOKE, gay and faggot LGBT-Q scribbling. Seriously fucking doubtful. However funny, there's zero probability I'd become a born-again homosexual after a thorough organ replacement regime. Modern medicine ain't like old black and white movies where we behave like the serial killers we harvested, that only happens in Hollywood and is proven retarded bullshit.

Back to my purchase of Japanese Subaru beer cans. Well, I was wrong. They're not Jap rice burners nor Chinese wheeled vibrating anal sex toys for fat women here at my senior center. Subarus have been wholly manufactured in America for the last 3 decades and are more American than Ford, Chevy or Dodge/Jeep junk. Those vehicles are sourced from China and Mexico and only assembled in the lesser 48, finally getting shitty plastic badges and gay emblems indicating a bogus American name. Totally hokey. Chevy and Dodge ain't built Ford Tough, they're stealth chink, beaner and wet-back ghetto sleds made specifically for ignorant hillbilly white dudes with fat bellies and tiny dicks that'll never see the mileage I'll be seeing on my odometer.

I've been questioned by newer car owners why we bought just 1996 and 1997 Subaru Legacy and Impreza models. Well the answer is simple, they're the good ones. You see, later models offered slightly larger displacement more powerful motors: 2.2 liter engines upped to 2.5 liter engines. Two worlds apart in quality and durability. Ask any Subaru aficionado and they'll tell ye that despite being Alaska's best selling and longest lasting automobile with the very best full-time all-wheel drive system, the upgrade from the smaller 2.2's to the stoked-up 2.5 resulted in timing belts falling apart and head gaskets getting blown out. Souping up and stressing smaller motors frequently delivers you a pain in the ass.

Remember, me and bun never owned cars during our 30-year residencies in Kotz and Barrow. We walked our dicks off and rode mountain bikes during the summers, junking the mountain bikes every fall. They were rusted, beat to shit and worn out after a whole summer of use. I'm cool with that, but after 15 years in Barrow and coming to "crackerville and hymie-town" (Kenai Peninsula) we needed an automobile and after researching the shit outa the topic, the older Subarus were a no brainer. We looked for cars in decent shape, good care and reasonable price, grabbed cash and made offers. We don't buy pet owner's cars nor smoker's cars, that's gross. I always look at the upholstery for dog scratches and claw dents in the vinyl, lift the rear carpets, look for micro-trace dog hair and sniff fer cat piss and tobacco. I never found a pet-free tobacco-clean scuba-douche, so I never made an offer.

The cars I ultimately bought were already gone through by the Subaru shop nearby and he'd haggle with me, take my money and even offer a bit of a warranty on a handshake. We've bought 4 Subarus since retiring out of Barrow and with good care and frequent cleaning, they look really nice after I drive them roughly 100K or more miles. That's when I unload them. I try to sell them when they approach the 300K mileage mark cuz the paint and body panels start to show a few spots where tin rats been nibbling on them. Meaning despite numerous car washes and my detailing them in our dang nice, heated garage here at the senior center, the road salt eventually starts to show little pockets of corrosion. So, at the right price, I'll unload our used Subarus for a pretty penny, cleaned, tuned, full tank of premium and looking good. The last few years of skyrocketing car prices proved fortuitous and I nearly cleared my original purchase price for the cars that had an additional hunnert thou we added to the odometer.

Don't get me wrong, I spend a bundle on our retirement pleasure driving. We try to only insure one car at a time, only use the best fuels, oil changes every 3000 miles, professional upkeep and drive like crazy. Our insurance is about $250 every 6 months, basic liability cuz the cars are paid for and a bank don't hold the note (title). Even if we total them in a crash, our insurance carrier will likely pay us a skimpy coupla hunnert bucks cuz Kelly Blue Book values have zero relevance to well-maintained, 20-plus year old Subaru values in Alaska.

I've added "uninsured/under-insured motorist" coverage and Roadside Assistance in case we're plowed into by some shit-ass redneck hillbilly lacking any coverage whatsoever or break down driving over the Turnagain Pass. Not a place ye want to get stranded. A sad fact is Alaskans are reluctant to purchase insurance, cuz with drunks, druggies, cell phones and 1000 pound moose all over the fucking road statewide, insurance premiums for Alaskans can be spendy. Do the math, with zero tickets, no claims and a dick head driver that has weaponized the speed limits, our total annual outlay for basic liability and roadside assistance is about 6 hunnert bones or $50 bucks a month, plus change. Shit, I spend way more than that on coffee, super unleaded and car washes.

Mind you, I drive a lot. We drive from way out in the woods of Nikiski to Kenai every morning to lift weights at the Kenai City Rec, returning home for a scheduled lunch. I do my chores like vacuum, dishes and laundry, cuz I only use my clothes and dishes for one day. Then we drive back to Kenai or Soldotna to grab a few sticks of groceries, book to the library to check emails and post stupid shit to a bunch of fucking cops. Some times we drive all over the peninsula visiting cabin psychos, then onward to Homer or Seward: just for fun. On some days, I'll take a quick peek at thrift stores for old collectible watches, gold or silver jewelry and even drop off my own used leftover shit there.

The watches I've snagged were Movado, Tag Heur and Rolex. I've never seen a Patek Phillip watch. Those fetch a quarter mil and aren't worn by hillbilly inbreed Alaskans. I have Walmart install new batteries and then take them to a jewelry shop at the University Mall in Anchorage. Carl's Jewelry would open a wholesale/retail price catalog, show me my watches, then offer me the price they published. I always accepted his numbers he showed me. What the fuck, a couple hunnert bucks is decent hobby money. The gold and silver jewelry we take to Oxford's in Anchorage and let 'em sort them all out, separate metals (silver vs. gold) and then take whatever they offer. In the last few years, the pickings have dwindled to near zilch cuz everybody is flocking to thrift and junk stores doing the same thing as me.

It sounds like I drive thousands of miles fer nothing, but I also run important errands. We both hit the Denaina Vagina for dental appointments every 3 months for cleaning and exams, we hit their eye clinic on each of the scheduled time slots and we also pop in for blood panels every 6 months. Now add trips to ANMC and a bunch of chiropractor appointments: we've a busy calendar. Plus add twice weekly trips when we "check mail with David Burnor" at our PO Box in Sterling. A million years ago in Kotz, it seems I saw Burnor checking mail at the same time as I did, during mornings before swings or after graves at the cop shop. We'd chat business, do trade, smoke a bowl, down a strong mix, then I'd grab Dopey and head onward home bound and nap before my shift at KPD.

Wake up fuckers. Despite 40 years pissing and shitting in Alaska, I ain't one yet. Even in my younger years I was committed to frequent visits to dentists, optometrists, general practitioner MD's and thoroughly enjoyed the visiting chiropractors when they flew up to Kotz and Barrow. These habits started when I was a kid, so why fuck up a good thing. Get this, I also follow the doctor's orders. I eat very few carbs, lots of fruits and vegetables and high grade meats. No booze, no cigarettes and zero drugs. I may live at a senior center but my neighbors sure as shit don't look like me. They look like my fucking grandma. Dirt and all.

I chat with an older gentleman who works at the gas station and he regales with tales of riding his motorcycle. He's an old beat up alcoholic who looks like he's 80, but is actually much younger than I. He had to give up riding his Harley cuz he was getting knocked off more and more frequently. His explanation was "shitty fucking drivers, dark tinted windows, cell phones and driving with their heads up their asses." He's right you know. He may be a crispy wastrel who will work minimum wage at a gas station forever, but he's dead on correct about drivers not paying attention fer shit.

I've seen a million drivers looking down, texting messages or messing with their gay music, fag tunes or nigger beats. I've also seen tinted windows that invariable reduce visibility during dark winter periods, which is like, all fucking year. The reason I'm leery about these drivers is cuz they're prime targets for staged crashes for the insurance payouts. It's the near perfect crime of insurance fraud. Crews of vehicles roam Alaskan highways looking for distracted drivers, scatter-brained women drivers and elderly prunes peeking over the steering wheel. These crews box in drivers and abruptly stomp on the brakes when they see the gullible targeted driver not watching the road. Smash! Works every time. Usually wrecking more than just the car immediately in front of them. A lot of time the sucker target will swerve and wreck one of both cars to the sides.

Now add crooked back doctors, lawyers and vulnerable insurance companies and you got a decent pay check for only a minute's work. If you got a half dozen drivers with a collection of mature cars you can rack and stack insurance claims. It's also called serial crashes with injuries and laddering bogus insurance claims. My old attorney Dennis Principe told me to stay away from teams of cars driven by Methicans or ugly white dudes looking to set up a "framed crash." 1-800-stage-a-crash is what he called them. So avoid the boxes. Old scam and nearly impossible to prove criminal intent because the investigating cops know cell phones don't lie. The duped driver was plainly using their text functions and has plainly smashed one or more automobiles. Tough luck fucker, cops always seize and examine yer fucking phones. Now yer screwed. Pay up bitch. Oh, and if yer also high and texting, learn to suck nigger ass real good. In jail.

My old friend Pim used the same scam a few times. He'd look for cell phone drivers, move in front and when their eyes were cast down, he'd hit the brakes. To avoid lighting up his rear brake lights, sometimes he'd pull the parking brake abruptly. The results are inevitable and he'd ask for a couple grand and not report the incident to police or insurance. The last time he pulled that stunt, he was rear-ended by an off duty female SPD detective. She played along with him, listening to his scheme, then put him in cuffs. I know, my friends are dopes. At least he didn't offer to show this plain-clothed cop his trunk filled with hot guns: stolen guns or guns used in shootings and homicides. Or worse, explosives I likely made for him. He occasionally bumped into crack nigger gangstas and sold them guns outa his treasure trove of stupid felony firearms. I still have nightmares of getting arrested by you guys for selling "Pim guns" to the gooks at shitty restaurants in Krotchebue or the Thomas niggers in the apartment downstairs from us. It's been 2 and 60 years and the longer I live, the more crimes I worry.

I'm enjoying my daily drives. They're an extended vacation and retirement package. We discuss other options like returning to Anchorage when we're infirmed and no longer running over homeless relatives. We also contemplate moving to other old folks' homes, tapping into our SOA LTC (State of Alaska Long Term Care) when we're needing that kind of structured care environment. It's scary and difficult to discuss the days ahead, but being witness to numerous friends that didn't plan ahead fer shit, my decisions are inevitable. I ain't gonna wake up some day, young again and fit and healthy, looking to start a new career in crack house porn. Even with a butt load of new organs and tissue from winter car crashes and mental fuck heads eating guns, that shit ain't happening.

I won't move in with Bun's kids or grand kids, cuz they're awful retards and worse, they're natives. I've lived centuries in native communities and I've had my fill. Fucking welfare communities filled with shitty niggers and believe it or not, I deserve better. So does bun. Besides, she's the only ice negro I let in my house. I avoid contact with miserable people, poor communities and the criminal element at all cost. Which means, rural Alaska and large swaths of the Kenai Peninsula.

When I look in the mirror I no longer see a narc, jailer, VPSO or criminal dandy, I see a handsome old man. A man with a wife who's a classy fucking broad and good looking dame, good money in the bank and we're isolated in literary heaven. No shit, no TV, no cable and only a radio if I choose. Most of the time my house is quiet and me and bun are reading or she's doing puzzles, crosswords and I'm clattering away on this laptop. Since I won't be listed in the NANA Memorium, you'll know I'm occupying a ceramic urn when you no longer receive moron fucking updates and shitty cop humor in your email in-boxes. Unless of course, you fuckers die first. Then you can meet me there and buy the first round to help me get my legs back under me.

I'll miss driving the most. Well, that and coffee and bong hits fer brekky when we worked narc squads and wore younger mens' uniforms. That recipe is a lot of fun. I'll also miss bright marijuana grow rooms and the exhilaration of inhaling it's output. I know folks vape their weed or eat edibles to save on lung damage, but that's not what I enjoy. Like cigarette smokers, I like the actual smoking of crystalline bud. I'm a monkey human that found great enjoyment in this daily (and hourly) ritual. But my lungs would be shit if I continued. My liver would be Swiss cheese if I continued my fashionably heavy European drinking too. Driving a car, smoking pot and drinking like a Finn ain't a combination that would keep me outa jail. Out of hospital neither. I'm forthright and tell Doctor Mitchell everything and he's convinced I might have decades more to write.

Doc Mitchell knows about my gramps that quit everything at age 50. Just as I did, but gramps lived to over a hunnert. You boys know better and it'd be a fucking miracle if I pulled off that same stunt. Come on, think hard which of us grunts got that much mileage left on our odometers. I'll grant you that my gramps had the same injuries as we did such as bad backs, cut scars, busted knuckles and round circular entrance and exit wounds that we've no recollection where they came from. We was really drunk at the time. My gramps even has the similar chronic lifelong diseases at we do. He took meds for cholesterol, blood pressure and boosted doses of insulin to keep his blood sugar at a safe level. He maintained a good tan golfing all over the states while owning a course himself.

He even left behind a questionable life of crime, turning completely legitimate at the same age as I. One difference is that his crimes were legal work a century ago. Slavery, child prostitution, laudanum (heroin) smuggling and human trafficking was honorable, as long as the stock was beneath our station and wouldn't survive without our intervention giving them a job. Albeit in a Nome or Klondike Gold Rush brothel, cotton or tobacco fields at gunpoint of a nigger shooter or building America's railways in small chains fitted fer chinks. You see, we ain't much different than our ancestors centuries past.

You fuckers read me like a retarded child's coloring book. I'm ambivalent. If we was alive a century earlier, we'd be lying to ourselves if we abstained from marketing slaves, purchasing children at Pacific Northwest orphanages and shipping them to the brothels of Skagway, Ketchikan and Nome. I'd also be disingenuous if I believed for even one second that I'd choose not to get rich smuggling Chinese immigrants from Canada to the Dalles, Oregon for work on the railways. Dudes, nigger is as a nigger does and like fucking Christopher Columbus, we'd be all in.

Another significant factor to consider is that all the above trades were totally legal in America and Alaska. No shit, all forms of slavery, bonded servitude, prostitution and forced human transport were completely above board and not one of us would've looked down on such ventures. Worse yet, I'm of the opinion that all of our ancestors made bank engaging in these industries and the payday is happening right now.

Looking back a century or two, I'd likely do what I'm doing now. Shrug my shoulders commenting that it "sucks to be you nigger" and put on any uniform relevant to the time period. Just like we did during this lifetime. We ain't dumb, we wanted to work, needed a job and had families to feed, clothe and house. Fuck it, I'm getting mine, ye best git in line our you'll lose your share.

What the fuck. I'm spending proceeds with origins in these black markets, washed in real estate and golf course greens fees and finally laundered in an elderly Eskimo woman's bank accounts, creating the image of honest, hard work and diligent saving. I got no money, all those zeros are my wife's dineros. Her wallet is heavier, cuz it's packed full of Native money. Believe that?

I'm a descendant of brutal Alaskan history and a retiree from KPD, AST, Mat-Su Narc Squad, NSB cops and outfits overseas I can't remember the names of. All money is blood money. I simply plug my nose. My pay is derivative of stolen minerals, oil unlawfully appropriated offa first nation's real estate. Fuck first nation's reparations. That's like repaying niggers fer slavery. Sure, here you go coon boy, take my share of a multi-mil estate. Banjo lip would be broke in minutes.

What I'm trying to say, is my resume reflects crooked criminal Alaska employment. If I hear any of ye declare you were clean as the driven snow, free of corruption, honest and hardworking, I'll punch you in the puss, cuff yer eye and give ye a freshie.

Had we stayed in our shitty hometowns yonder 48, we'd be ugly, illiterate, broke old men. So get off yer fat lazy hillbilly asses and get in yer cars and drive like crazy. If you see any niggers, chinks, natives or child prostitutes burping sperm, tossed to the side of the road in the wake of DOT's snow plows and sanding trucks, run them ugly minority shits over before yer Jap car falls apart from salt corrosion and rust.

This is Alaska fuckers. The only good Injun, is a dead Injun we can harvest for organs. All the rest is road kill we torch at the dump.

Oh, and in regards to my grandpa, "It's a family tradition" (Hank Williams Jr.).

Smell ye later, unless you smell me first.

Karl.