Elusiveness builds character.
So I was pawing through the town archives the other day when I took a trip down to the local borough hall and requested that I get my mitts on some vintage photographs of Juneau. This town sure isn't what it used to be - I mean hell, back in the day I turned tricks, snorted blow, and pulled just about every illegal maneuver you can think of. Charity was never my forte, and I certainly was never an avid church goer either...it's just the way things are in the wild, survival is eminent; religion be damned.
To be brutally honest (and to be quite frank, a bear knows no other way), this town's notoriety for being a crime-infested beggar's haunt is nothing more than a distant memory I'm afraid. It brings a tear to my eye to look at all the young children getting off the school bus in the morning in such a safe environment....if this were 20 years ago, those kids would have been run over in an instant, or to my excitement, mawed to death by my frightening set of upper teeth that are comparable to a set of bolt cutters. The lack of violence in this area bores me and the only entertaining thing left is to chomp down on the testicles of the UPS delivery man. I'm sorry, but they look seriously fucking ridiculous wearing those tan shorts. It's fucking 20 below freezing out there you goddamn jerkoffs! Put some clothes on.
-Sigh-
So the point of this post was to discuss the fact that I came across two interesting photos found within the archives.
Here is a photo taken of me in 1985 exiting the "Heart Beat" - the most notorious wise-guy hang out located in the west district. It was the main base of operations for prostitution, drug trafficking, and illegal gambling in the state of Alaska. A real boutique for crack whores and derelicts alike. Don't ask why I'm seen coming out of that place...basically, since I'm a polar bear, and most people don't know that I secretly own a Live Journal to bitch and moan about the human race, I can do whatever the fuck I feel like doing, at all hours of the day, and not a damn one of you can do a damn thing about it. Yes I realize that was a run on sentence. This was just another method of demonstrating that my free will as an arctic assassin knows no bounds. Bitch.
Here is a photo taken in the late summer of 1987 of a personal hangout of mine. When you're in need to dowse the inner fires of sadness, there's nothing a good snuff film can't handle. Of course, it wasn't hard figuring out when this photo was taken...merely because after the introduction of Snuff films into this particular pornographic establishment, they were cited and shut down in the months to follow. A shame really...so much snuff wasted in the end it should be considered a global catastrophe.
I think if it's one thing I've learned traveling down memory lane, is that sometimes things are better left untouched. So get the fuck off this fur, son, because it sure as hell doesn't tame itself. Motherfucker.
The Holiday Cares
PS: I hate you all.
PPS: Choke on X-Mas cookies.
To be brutally honest (and to be quite frank, a bear knows no other way), this town's notoriety for being a crime-infested beggar's haunt is nothing more than a distant memory I'm afraid. It brings a tear to my eye to look at all the young children getting off the school bus in the morning in such a safe environment....if this were 20 years ago, those kids would have been run over in an instant, or to my excitement, mawed to death by my frightening set of upper teeth that are comparable to a set of bolt cutters. The lack of violence in this area bores me and the only entertaining thing left is to chomp down on the testicles of the UPS delivery man. I'm sorry, but they look seriously fucking ridiculous wearing those tan shorts. It's fucking 20 below freezing out there you goddamn jerkoffs! Put some clothes on.
-Sigh-
So the point of this post was to discuss the fact that I came across two interesting photos found within the archives.
Here is a photo taken of me in 1985 exiting the "Heart Beat" - the most notorious wise-guy hang out located in the west district. It was the main base of operations for prostitution, drug trafficking, and illegal gambling in the state of Alaska. A real boutique for crack whores and derelicts alike. Don't ask why I'm seen coming out of that place...basically, since I'm a polar bear, and most people don't know that I secretly own a Live Journal to bitch and moan about the human race, I can do whatever the fuck I feel like doing, at all hours of the day, and not a damn one of you can do a damn thing about it. Yes I realize that was a run on sentence. This was just another method of demonstrating that my free will as an arctic assassin knows no bounds. Bitch.
Here is a photo taken in the late summer of 1987 of a personal hangout of mine. When you're in need to dowse the inner fires of sadness, there's nothing a good snuff film can't handle. Of course, it wasn't hard figuring out when this photo was taken...merely because after the introduction of Snuff films into this particular pornographic establishment, they were cited and shut down in the months to follow. A shame really...so much snuff wasted in the end it should be considered a global catastrophe.
I think if it's one thing I've learned traveling down memory lane, is that sometimes things are better left untouched. So get the fuck off this fur, son, because it sure as hell doesn't tame itself. Motherfucker.
The Holiday Cares
PS: I hate you all.
PPS: Choke on X-Mas cookies.