The Midnight Cessna

i've finally had enough of the grotesquely unintelligent and subpar Custodians' so-called "partying" every weekend. 
worse, hosting this "partying" -
it seems to me to be so utterly pathetic that this, this sad... sick, tribal-like gathering is now considered an official "party" -
if only the Custodians knew what it was like, to be riding shotgun to the Señor Pablo Escobar, with four models in a two-seater Cessna, moonlighting it from bogata to tijuana... ah, those were the early days, you know? Before corruption of the trade. 

though, on a serious note, writing heavy hearted and heavy pawed (whether to blame the elusive sensation of empathy on the nostalgia or gin, I'm not sure) i do regret ceremoniously weighing and thus marooning handfuls of the asinine, pouting models who pounded down upon the scale at over 100 lbs...
    ...in all fairness, at the time it was standard practice. No portly, vaccine-deficient & paper lacking rotunds were to take the place of what we were making the run for in the first place... we needed as much spare weight available to us in order to fit as much product on board as possible....
by the time we were ready for take-off our laughter was roaring louder than the engine, we had forgotten all about our clandestine practices of the tarmac, sticking our heads out and waving good bye to the runway....

oh those cigars... the best man, the best. 




 Bernie.

the history of Henry.

today i finally was able to meet up with my former colleague, Henry. it had been some years passed.
he, too, is in a very similar position as myself; however, his low-level status as a mere black-listed commoner with a few registered gun-owners in jersey keeping an eye out for his name, makes his life leagues easier than my own.

i am indebted to him, however mildly, for his kind suggestion that lead to my placement with the Custodians.
he resides with the female Custodian's fraternal brother.



i met Henry a long, long time ago. in an anonymous war-survivors therapy session, held in the basement of a church in a seedy area of downtown moscow.

he and i were  immediately drawn to one another.

the same week, we sealed our bond by killing a drifter.






Bernie.

Fleeing Cuba

My fellow furs, i welcome thee to my previous updates and posts regarding my temporary assignment of "laying low" as a "domesticated" "pet" in the green hills of Vermont. 
Here are my copious notes, minus annotations:
My custodians are borderline retards.
They think I do nothing.
They think I know nothing.

this scenario is perfect.


until re-assignment, i will be guiding my furs from this location - which must remain undisclosed.