With a heavy sigh, Barnacle leans over the bar at his local watering hole, finally coming to the conclusion that the answer to life, the universe and everything was actually 42. Casting this mundane thought from his mind, he came to the conclusion that now he was at the ripe age of 21, it had fallen to him to pick up his father's mantle and continue the storytelling ways of Daddy Mickey. Standing up quickly, he holds his hand out toward the barmaid and speaks sharply to her.

Stop! Watch your step because I am about to drop some knowledge. Have a seat, and fetch yourself a drink. You'll need it because this is a doozy. You might not know who I am, but I don't really care. You're paid to serve me drinks and listen to me waffle on about my life so do your job.

I don't suppose you've ever been somewhere that you instantly know you're out of your element? Such as SpikeSpiegel finding himself in an upstanding neighbourhood instead of a crimewatch hotspot? Or Tetley in a bar with women instead of men? Or perhaps Khione going speed-dating. It's a fairly horrific sensation, when realisation dawns on you and those three overused words are muttered under your breath - "What the fuck…?"

I feel the overbearing need to inform you all of a story that may assist you in future instances. I was born and raised in England, and in a fairly upstanding society at that so most disputes were solved with a logical debate or a fierce match of Polo. So sheltered was I, that when I used to watch the news and see stories of crime occurring I used to believe it was a fictional tale as opposed to an every day occurrence in Immortal's neighbourhood. Fighting was a rarity, mainly only occurred with the lairy rabbles at football matches, and I'd only ever been in a couple of scraps myself which would include a bit of pushing before a swarm of teachers would descend to separate us and move us along the hallways.

You can imagine my surprise when I visited a fairly rough area of the UK known as Dagenham or, as the local louts refer to it, "da 'nam" in some poorly thought out reference to Vietnam. Never quite got that. Perhaps the difference between gorilla's fighting (in the shape of yobbish teenagers) and Guerrilla fighting was never distinguished to these people. All I know is that I was in a run down area where vivid hats, hoods and teenagers with walking difficulties were rife. I was convinced that the large majority of the people who lived here suffered with one leg being shorter than the other considering the limping swagger that was being exhibited.

I, along with my two friends, were invited to a game of football at the recreation ground. I thought it might be an interesting game with some good sportsmanship and general happy banter. My heart sank when I met the first eligible bachelor to arrive who had nicknamed himself "ASBO Jay", which stands for Anti Social Behavioural Order Jay. Excellent. Needless to say, he was delightful. He managed to partake in a fight midway through the game, and it was most entertaining when he attempted to yank his shirt off to appear more intimidating until his shirt got stuck on his head and took 20 seconds to finally remove his head from it. Bless his heart, he was a simpleton.

Aside from this, it was not so eventful as I'd feared, with that being the only scuffle in the duration of the game. It was only after the game that I showed my awkwardness about being in such a society. There was a fight breaking out amongst my friends and one of "ASBO" Jay's friends. My friend was a bit of a stick, a tall one but still not the bulkiest fighter I'd ever witnessed, but the opponent was - if you'll excuse the expression - built like a brick shithouse. I was fighting my natural flight instinct as my fight instinct was underdeveloped. It was at this point that I exhibited behaviour that was uncommon to this area.

I was informed post-fight that I was too quiet and needed to show verbal aggression to show that I was involved in the fight. Instead, I elected for what I termed the "sneak attack". I strolled silently up behind my friend's opponent, football boots in hand, and clattered the poor gorilla over the head. The only thing I've seen drop faster were Jessie_Pinkman's underwear after a few bevvies. My deed being done, I swanned off toward the park exit with my friends in tow, my heart racing and my ears ringing with the incomprehensible yells of the primates we'd left.

There are two morals of this tale that I'd like you to take away with you today my dear barmaid. The first is this: When in doubt, clatter a motherfucker with steel studs. The second? If you want to experience a rough neighbourhood, just go to the local zoo. At least the animals are caged there.

Barnacle takes another swig from his drink, realising he had been the only one speaking for quite some time and flashed a smile at the patrons. Partaking in such storytelling relaxes him somewhat and gives him the opportunity to share life experiences. He privately hopes he can only live up to the untold stories that his father never had the opportunity to tell.

.Some time later a young Mafioso approaches the local watering hole bar. Being the young age of 21 himself Rolls felt he understood what Barnacle had been saying.

Ah Barnacle my old friend, what a pleasure it has always been to listen to you speak. I think I'll miss that more than anything.

Wiping away a Tear Rolls straightened up and smiled.

As it happens our bloodlines crossed and I was present on this legendary day. I remember it like it happened yesterday, infact I believe I was the one whom expressed the 'usual fight' as loud shouting and swearing. Your friend the stick man was indeed my brother and when you defended him that day, you became my brother too.

Rolls took the shot of whiskey the listening barmaid had brought and swallowed it in one.

As we are here telling stories, I think I'll share another with you. One that happened mere days before your tale Barnacle if I remember correctly. When you very first arrived in 'da nam' I was there to greet you, it being our bloodlines first meeting not via letter (IRC/MM).

After a long drive you finally came and picked me up on a long stretch of straight road with a few turnings. Within a few metres after setting off towards the local park to partake in a quick football session we were being tailed. Local law enforcement, how ironic as we met here, in this world.

As we got pulled over to the side of the road, I tried to assure you that it was routine around these parts and you revealed to me that you rarely ran into the law. This really was out of your usual habitat.

Rolls laughed and took another drink.

When questioned, we even accidentally almost gave eachothers code names! I almost called you Marco, and you almost called me Leo. Well, that would have been fun to explain.

Rolls looked up, to realise that he was sat at the bar alone. Dawning on him that only the barmaid was listening to his tale seemed to break his heart alittle.

Well Marco, you will always live in my memory bro.

I had to come back to re-listen to this, Today of all days.

I had always imagined that this would have been one of many of the great times we spent together that you could practice your brilliant story telling skills on, I know you had many much better more embarrassing options you could have talked about.

Happy Birthday Bro.

Always loved.

Never forgotten.