Untitled.

Moving stuff over.

Do not disturb for 12 hours.

Boatel Bar.

That's right. Love ya. Jen in action. Look at the sun, too: after 1 a.m.

Humming a tune?

Cab stuff by Don Cole

1. I came on her face with the meter running
2. I'll slow down to 10 mph for you
3. Ripe stripper bill
4. The customers ass takes the grease spot
5. Don't take off your shoes, just pull your shorts down
6. Puke blues
7. Chili for the passenger
8. High flag the dick head
9. Red south, red port
10. Ran over a foot but didn't lose traction
11. I flagged the women who robbed Eagle 15
12. Dispatcher in the trunk

My favorite graffiti in Fairbanks.

What graffiti we have in this town is definitely scanty and subpar, so it's nice to see this at Campus Corner. Hope they keep it but get rid of the swastikas some knucklehead applied to this nice piece of work. iPhone pic.

My bank, 2.30 a.m., downtown Fairbanks.

White trash.

From the Fairbanks Daily News-Miner. Thanks for having the guts to print this along with the "sponsored advertising" and turkey dinner stuff. (Via Craig.)

I love my job.

An Alaskan message to Bobby Jindal.

Thank you, Mr. Ackley!

Fairbanks dispatch.

Trulee's moose sighting.

Last night, near Lathrop and Kellum.

The Alaska bar experience.

Welcome to Fairbanks. She has a boyfriend. (Thanks, Aurora!)

Sarah Palin turkey interview.

From KTUU in Anchorage. Palin interviewed at a turkey farm while the birds are slaughtered behind her. It's worthy of Monty Python.

New prose by Craig.

Wasn't the Full Moon just two or three nights ago? Must be a delayed reaction.

A strange shift. I went into service at 4:00, and immediately had two trips in a row. An excellent start. It was shaping nicely into what promised to be a good, steady roll right out of the chute then...nothing. The phones had quit working by then, and were lifeless initially for 2 1/2 hours or so. Any hack will tell you there's something not quite right about long, silent radio periods. Thanks, GCI. Stood pat for quite awhile rather than chase phantoms, then decided to play the airport. Speaking of phantoms. I figured there would be lots of cabs there and was right, but still was lucky to flag two pretty decent trips anyway. I love it when they'll walk by a whole line of cabs and then stop at mine.

So far, so good, all in all.

Phones were up and sporadically ringing by then and Trulee, the dispatcher, sent me to Oaken Keg. Liquor stores are rarely decent sources of customers, but somebody has to do it, right? So I ignored my gut feeling - invariably a mistake on my part - and went anyway. To find a tweaker. I didn't know that about him before I picked him up, of course, but eventually suspected he might be psychotic as well when he volunteered, out of nowhere, that he was a multiple felon. No, I didn't ask which ones.

He wanted to go home to the Monson Motel, but decided on the way that he had to have a movie to watch. No problem, so we stopped at Blockbuster. Returned a few minutes later pretty pissed at the clerks because they wouldn't rent him some movie called Green River Killer that he wanted to see, but probably really wanted to study and someday practice. I figure they just didn't have it on hand, but reality is relative and can be fleeting for some.

It sort of explains why he cursed popcorn when, in a failed diversionary effort to chit-chat, I suggested that it goes well with a movie. Or maybe not. Hell, I don't know. Just know that when Karma decides to take a shift off, I might as well save some gas too so, thank you, and good night.

The truth about Palin's makeover.

The skinny on the $150,000 Palin makeover, courtesy of my friend Craig:

They claim the clothes expenditure is a campaign related expense because the governor of the Great State of Alaska only had Carharrts and bunny boots to wear when she arrived, like a pauper, from Methville. Joe the Plumber offered to lend them a few white t-shirts and some denim overalls when he wasn't using them, but they made her butt look much bigger than normal. Or something like that. And that's the simple truth. Honest.

New prose by Don Cole.

On last Friday night (Halloween) in the Fairbanks cab biz:

I have mixed feelings here. Friday I had 3 pukers, was delayed an hour and 15 minutes with a starter going down, and lost my brakes completely. Thought I was going to die on the last one. Here is a gem though. Friday while sitting in front of the Golden Nugget I was approached by a guy on the driver's side. He asked me if I wanted to have some glossy postcard-sized flyers concerning porn star superstars. My gut told me he would move on quicker if I took them so I did. He told me they were coming to the Castle. "Is the Castle open now?" I asked. "It's the other Castle (sex toys, ed.) by the Bentley Mall. I figure if a lot of people go, there will be more porn star superstars coming up here so be sure to go." "I will eagerly attend," says I. He walked south.

JJ at work.

Saturday night, Eagle/Yellow Cab dispatch office, Fairbanks, iPhone cam.

Chena Small Tracts.

A small one here in town.

If wishes were horses.

We're headed to the same place, I think.

A letter from someone who's known Sarah Palin since 1992.

Straight from Wasilla.