After taking a stroll throughout the highways and byways of Philadelphia, you take a seat on the park bench beside you, thinking all about how many great things the city of Philadelphia had to offer.

The Delaware River and all its exciting motorboating. The picturesque beauty of the relatively new Benjamin Franklin Parkway, bringing a taste of the exotic Champs-Élysées in Paris right here to the East coast... but without having to put up with all those Frenchies. The inspiring words of the glass encased Liberty Bell, sitting in the tower of Independence Hall, still echoing in your head "Proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof" as you add "and charge them all $5 for the work required to do so".

This really was a majestic city that offered the world so much, you wondered if it could ever get any better than this.

Just then, it happened.....

~* Philadelphia's Phinest Phunniest Publication *~

 

 The Potato

 

Kind of like The Onion, if it were a potato and more potatoey

 

 

Price: As much as you can possibly afford. Seriously! Cash and credits welcome.

Registered Charity Donations: 8d2ea1b3d456d48d00dedfca9b14edff

The world just became perfect. It's not that you especially liked newspapers or that you thought this one was going to be any better than the normal rags that littered our streets from time to time. Simply that the sign being erected for this one was providing you with a little protection from being able to see in Whatsername's window and have to witness TheNewGuy doing his daily, nude, yoga routine. Today really was the perfect day you thought, as your hand reached out beside you on the bench to pick up a, only slightly used, (possibly) weekly copy of The Potato!

It had been some time since a decent paper had graced our streets, so you really didn't have high expectations from this one. You were willing to let the spelling errors on the sign for Finest and Funniest slide, as the beautiful alliteration there was only fucking fabulous, but you'd never heard of this thing. Was it new? Was it a joke? Was it actually produced by THE POTATO, the cute little bastard of historic Mafia fame and notoriety, or was some drunken Irish twit just using the name in an attempt to look clever and witty while staying true to their puitín drinking roots? 

(For anyone keeping track, the answers there are: Yes, No... but kinda, No and Yes... in that order)

New Wars Eve

Setanta

Normally here at The Potato, I and my (un)faithful staff of (in)competent reporters will rip the living piss out of anything. War included. Especially war actually, as it normally provides a huge number of projectile rattles being flung from unfortified prams, as arrogant victors lord over, bat shit crazy with anger, kin of the fallen. It's a recipe that is as old as the shores themselves and one that will continue on long after each of us has passed away. 

For once though, and don't let it muddy the waters for future expectations as this is going to be the exception and not the rule, we're going to refrain a little and treat a topic with (at least some of) the respect it deserves. We don't tend to be mean just to be mean, we do it because in the vast majority of cases it's fully deserved and often even required. In this case however, the winning side carried themselves with (at least some) decorum and the fallen battled valiantly throughout to their last breaths and their kin spending time honouring their forefathers rather than bitching and moaning.

Honestly, it was sickening. Next time, can the victors please be complete assholes and the next of kin please have a complete and utter meltdown so I've more to write about. Instead of making fun of window lickers here I'm now having to do a proper story. This isn't fair and I hate you all for it. Thank you in advance for following these directions in the future.   

On the morning of the 30th of December, shock hit our fine cities. As most peoples minds wandered to New Years Eve, New Years resolutions or what gym they would pretend to join so as to be hip as fuck with all their mates, others had much darker plans. They were only thinking about New Wars Eve. Dun dun duuuun!

[10:14] <~MafiaReturns> OBIT: Broly (Don) - Broly  [Queens, New York]
[10:14] <~MafiaReturns> OBIT: Kyubey (Godfather) - Kyubey  [Staten Island, New York]
[10:14] <~MafiaReturns> OBIT: Arsenic_Annie (Consigliere) - None  [Queens, New York]
[10:14] <~MafiaReturns> OBIT: Spiels (Don) - None  [Staten Island, New York]
[10:14] <~MafiaReturns> OBIT: LF (Godfather) - LF  [Queens, New York]
[10:14] <~MafiaReturns> OBIT: Rorschach (Don) - Rorschach  [Staten Island, New York]
[10:14] <~MafiaReturns> OBIT: Trinity_Dupree (Don) - None  [Staten Island, New York]
[10:14] <~MafiaReturns> OBIT: Bee (Don) - None  [Staten Island, New York]
[10:14] <~MafiaReturns> OBIT: Amethyst (GF - Chairman) - Amethyst  [Brooklyn, New York]
[10:14] <~MafiaReturns> OBIT: Luther (Don) - Luther  [Staten Island, New York]
[10:14] <~MafiaReturns> OBIT: Abed (Don) - None  [Queens, New York]
[10:14] <~MafiaReturns> OBIT: TepidDelucci (Don) - TepidDelucci  [Brooklyn, New York]
[10:14] <~MafiaReturns> OBIT: BigHurt (Don) - None  [Brooklyn, New York]
[10:14] * a-true-soprano whistles

As you can see from the official transcripts of City Hall records, the only trusted source for valuable information like this other than The Potato itself, a war had begun. Someone had decided to take a bite out of the big apple, and in a first wave that left many in shock and awe they'd struck a huge blow against the citizens of New York. Leaders had fallen, hitters had fallen, Godfathers had fallen... hell, even the first ever Godfather Chairman, Amethyst, had fallen. A group that had set records, laid lines in the sand others could only dream of and had held power for a time longer than most teen girls can hold their virginity, had fallen.

Many bodies from both sides of the war fell. One hundred and seventy eight friends of ours, made men within Cosa Nostra, passed during the war itself. On the day of the war and in the following two days, over five hundred deaths occurred when including associates of the various families. The body count was high and the cost to our cities can never be expressed by numbers alone. In memory of the button men who gave their lives fighting valiantly on either side of the war, The Potato has put together a little war plaque in their memory. Say a prayer, say a private thought or just spend a moment thinking of those that gave their lives for a cause they believed in. Rest well good sirs and ladies, you lived a heros life and died a heros death.

SydBarrett Madara_Uchiha Babydoll Vincenzo Luv-a-Bull DarkAngel Clay Ayahuasca Brendan Skullkrusher Kizira Morte_Rossa Ryann- Christo
ClarenceWorley NightHound Supremacy Cherokee MichaelLaMotta Minos Just_A_Guy The-Dubliner Nello _Assassin_ BigDaddy182 Nikita_Khrushchev 
Sigyn Shaydee TIIYAH BobFunnyMan Sam-Fink Rorschach Johnny_Guitar Lequec Serephina Roman Sixtee Sallu TheMentalist sezzo VitoS
shadowblade CassandraNitelord Sofeleye Koga space_pole DarthMaul Doug_MacRay Rebus Dare 4fterburner Sorry Trinity_Dupree 
Dirus Visi Bud_Bellomo Mob_Marley kong AlanBStard Bee  P_habulis Anubis JackFrost Tulip Kal_El
adrianavixen Jake Nighttrain80 Vincent_Gigante Jaime_Eisenbaum Broly OLD_SCHOOL
Polica Honor Araquin bobbi Hermione MrMiltos
Freeman Kristoff_Kortur Kaley

LF   Cantillon   Chuckie

Gravity   Amethyst  Kyubey

Elsa   FutureStealer   Starck

Drea_DeMatteo EonBlueApocalypse SNeyAesKE returned
Mayday Lace Lady_Stoneheart Spiels Sarai VeraKategan WorBomb John_Rosa
Alice Leilani Burger Devil g0d BlakeV Trixie WarCry Jasmirane Hardwell Isabella Standard KingDemon
john Mr-Kite hill-billy_John Dollface Satanta Ken_Park PotatoeHead Philli-Stein Vodquila  Johnny_rochy
TinyTina Abed RedDawn -AdmiralAckbar Luther Maeve Typhon Raistlin Bagoong HarryPotter Liar Shadow-Princess Harley_Quinn 
Demon_Lord Jumong- MementoMori Constantin Francis_White Carlos_Hathcok Vincent_Valentine Fhilly DiAnno BLOCKSTEEL Bunny
AverySunburst Adz Sienna Crocodile Charmander SpikeS Azariphale BigHurt Morgoth FinnDaHuman TepidDelucci StripheGotti
Deadlock Christian-DiCopo Spraker Ty Dominick Loffy Grosso MatchesMalone wrench Arsenic_Annie

Rest in peace all the fallen, regardless of which city or district you were from. In Domini Patri, et Filii, et spiritus sancti. Amen.

The reasons behind the war have been outlined, or stuttered through at least in an incomprehensible scouse accent, already. Given that the discussion was hindered due to scouse-ness, a drunken Irishman nattering on (when doesn't he) and some irrelevant nonsense being thrown around that had nothing to do with the war, we will provide a brief synopses and translation here for our valued readers.

What was said ~*~ What was meant

So, what in the fuck just happened? That's what a lot of you might be thinking and being honest, I can't really say I blame you.

There was a war, apparently. I'm not exactly sure what happened. Ajani, Curtis, Tetley and Whatsername all tried explaining it to me, but I'm still not sure I understand. Ajani did give me an extra hub cap this morning though, so I'm sure it's a good thing.

The how is really simple too, we got together, organised some shots, laid an effective first wave and watched as others who would either sit on the fence or be too cautious to move on their own came in to the fold to help finish the job.

People much smarter than I did some stuff, and judging by the ten extra hub caps I got this morning I'm guessing it went as planned. I really love the shiny hub caps, they're my favourite. 

Considering the extremely lengthy process of this war I am in the mood for keeping things short and simple. So with that in mind it was simply because we fucking could.

I'm a lazy old sod. As a grumpy old man, I'd have killed them all weeks ago if I could. Hell, I'd have killed them all months ago. Never mind them, I'd kill you right now if I could. I see you looking at my hub caps!

Breaking point though? For The Loop, again it was simple. You do not fucking threaten to shoot one of our hands and one of our crewleaders and expect to fucking get away with it.

I've decided to try a new way to hit on the ladies. I'm going to try the old 'white knight' approach. Here, I've even decided on using some strategy I stole from someone else by using it to hit on two birds at the one time. If it doesn't impress TinyTina's daughter (she has to be legal by now, right?), I have an outside shot at it impressing Kelly_Kapowski herself. What chick wouldn't gush at me being all manly and shit and swinging my member in their defence. I'm going to get so much tail for this speech I'll be limping for a week.

Rest In Peace to all those that have fallen. A lot of you thought well and with honour. You should be proud. 

I'm pretty sure some of those that died are smarter than me. Shit, their next of kin are probably smarter than me too. I hope they don't point this out. I hang around with that Irish jerk Setanta enough already trying to make me look more intelligent... and it works... but I can't put up with even more of him. I know, I'll compliment them on how smart they were. That's perfect. Nobody will point out I'm a bit thick if I've just called someone else smart. That'd just be mean. Well done brain, you've done it again. I'll let you stare at a hub cap later as a reward.

Following on quickly after the war, we did witness the removal of another Godfather as the other Chicago leaders choose to remove Haven and her button men from the North Side. Was this really a war shot and did her connections to those who were killed in the war lead to this? Was this just a power trip by Ajani, who was hoping to earn more space in the city for Hubert's hub cap collection? Was Haven's unwillingness to join in on the war with the city she sat with the cause? Could anyone trust her in the future if she'd sworn loyalty to a group and then allowed them to die? Could anyone trust someone who'd sworn loyalty to a group that wasn't their family to begin with?

Seriously, these are all great questions that I'd love to know an answer to. I haven't got the foggiest and none of the lazy evil minions I have around here are likely to know anything other than insults that begin with the letter C. So if you have a journalistic itch, if you have a nose for a story, if you're willing to work for free and not expect any thanks or praise... get in touch with the editor of The Potato and help us answer questions like these. 

Over the holiday season our fine cities were filled with festive cheer and good will among men. Which, I'm pretty sure, translates as people were pissed off their heads on booze and were trying to shag anything and everything they could find. Man, woman, best or novelty Christmas decoration in the shape of a deer. 

As part of the festivities the good people of city hall organised multiple events, handed out thousands and thousands (literally) of prizes and organised more fun than you could shake a stick at. Being the fine upstanding publication that you've come to know (for the last few minutes) and love (you better love us, right!), we couldn't let it pass us by without sending out one of our crack reporters to investigate*.

(*In the interest of honesty lets correct a few things there. We haven't been able to hire any reporters yet, so it wasn't even really a poor reporter... it was Curtis. We didn't know there was going to be a paper at the time, it's not like we planned this shit, so it's not a report so much as I stole his diary and am just publishing bits of it. Without his knowledge. If you see him, don't mention anything about this. If nobody tells him we might manage not to upset him and in a future issue I'll publish the entries about the night he mistook Barry's forehead for a urinal.)

The 12 Days of Drunkness

Curtis

Day one

3:00pm:    Woke up in immense pain. Some vague memories bleeding through the cracks. Setanta in negligee singing Donna Summer's I feel love. Whatsername walking up and down a line of exposed male behinds while whipping them and barking complaints about under-performance. Utopia in tears and Tyke enjoying it all a bit too much. I know I've had sex but can't remember what with. Just hope it was at least a biped. Christmas parties at The Mountains Beyond are good. Must attend again next year.

3:45pm:    Burrowing sound like vermin scratching their way into the room has woken me again. Further investigation lead me out into the offices. Raoul_Silva and Arnie feverishly trying to draw a picture. They say its for a competition before the inevitable argument over crayons and boob shapes results in destroyed canvas. Raoul cries, Arnie laughs, small fire, no prizes. 

9:45pm:    Whatsername had stern chat with me. Explained I needed to take the festive competitions more seriously. I avoided the bare arse whip and goose step. Drink myself to sleep on eggnog stolen from BlackBetty.

Day two

10:00am:     I wake and try to wipe the crusty dried eggnog from my pants where it had innocently spilled last night. The stain looks suspicious but Whatsername won't let me change. She tells me this wasn't early enough. Need to do better tomorrow. There are birds in jail. We need to find birds and spring them from jail. I go back to my room and check the labels on the bottles from last night. 

12:00pm:    I've been all over Philly jails and now flown to Chicago. No sign of any birds. There have been rumors but nothing concrete. TheNewGuy is here in town with me. I think he's been told to make sure I'm not slacking off again. He tells me he doesn't give two shits what I do and I decide he's my new favourite family member. 

1:15pm:    I give up, get drunk and spend the rest of the day hiding in a local dive bar.

Day three

1:00pm:    Woke up in a local abattoir covered in blood. Room was clean but I wasn't. Pocket full of mysterious pills and a phone number for someone called Big Sean written on a pair french knickers. I have no memory.

3:00pm:   Get a flight back to Philly. Whatsername isn't in so I escape the wrath. The kids are doing something witty with French Hens and punchlines. I've had enough of birds and feel like a bloody punchline so I go back to my room and cry in the dark. 

8:00pm:    Opium and sedatives. Few lines of coke. Big Brandy. Happy ten minute bounce around the office laughing at people's humorous competition entries before returning to my bed to collapse.

Day four

11:00am:   I make it into the office late and everyone's gone. TheNewGuy tells me they're all in the main local coffee shop, Divine Lunacy. He says its general knowledge quiz day. I struggle back to bed instead.

11:00pm:   Everyone came back from the coffee shop with pockets full of credits and assorted prizes. Everyone is suitably jubilant and I'm too drunk to win any of it from them at cards. Turns out my clever plan to spend the entire day in bed drinking, was a mistake. Even if it was a Christmas tradition. Made mental note to try harder tomorrow.

Day five

8:30am:    I'm up early. Well rested and ready to perform. The office is full of maps and books. Barry has come over from Achilles' crew and explains there are five golden rings hidden around the country in super sneaky extra secret places. Even in the north pole. I couldn't have picked a worse day for being 'really up for the challenge'. I hide my complaint and knuckle down to help the head and the gang as best I can. 

11:30am:    I have been searching through the businesses in Detroit half the day now, found next to nothing. I'm that shit that Barry showed up and found something I missed hours ago. Barry shows me what to look for and explains that each piece of the puzzle will make an answer that will give us the prize. I feel renewed and head off to the north pole full of optimism. 

2:00pm:     Found something! I call Barry all excited and he tells me its a bit of the treasure. I'm made up with my own sleuth skills and get very drunk in the airport on my way back. Just to celebrate, of course. 

6:45pm:     Land in Detroit and head to the business district. I rifle through the first dozen or so businesses and then hit a brick wall when I rediscover the Peach Pit. Burned out and dilapidated but no less appealing than in years gone by. I get distracted and then get drunk. Too blurry to search any more I send a telegram back to the office with all my discoveries and fall asleep in the pile of ashen furniture in the middle of the once great bar.

Day six

11:00am:    Woke up covered in black ash. Head out into the street to find a local hotel for a shower, only to be met by geese. Hundreds of them. After shaking my head violently in case its the after effects of the creature... they're still there. Best pull out the gun. Five or six geese dead and they are still there. This must be real. Covered in ash and blood and feathers, I make my way over to a hotel. Desk guy looks at me funny. I throw money at him not to but he still does. Twat.

12:00pm:    I'm back on the streets looking clean and feeling sharp. I'm not sure if I don't have a hangover or if I'm just still drunk. Knee deep in dead geese with nothing but shots lined up for the rest of my day. The boss has told me killing these is our objective for the day and it's time I pulled my finger out and tried to help more. If there's one thing I can do well, drunk or sober, it's shoot shit. Come here you fucked up feathery fuckers!

11:45pm:    I've run out of bullets. A mountain of dead birds lie in my wake and possibly one or two people that were unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Still, the boss is delighted and I think we turned in a good performance for today's competition. I get back to Philly, oil up the old beast and get ready for more hot plugging action. I've been told there are Seven massive swans coming next and I'm not about to miss out. 

Day seven

00:00am:    Sleep is for the weak! A few heroic lines of chisel and half a bottle of something strange and I'm all kinds of jacked up. Ready. Ready as fuck! I see the first one, Swan_HoHoHo! The eyes rollback in the head and the bullets fly.

1:51am:    I stand victorious atop the dead monster, golden egg in hand, one meeeleeon dollars richer! I am the man, I shot the shit out of that bird. It can not be contested. Every bastard was shooting at that bird. My god was it tough. The best part of two hours relentless gunfire from every wise guy in the country and it was me that got the kill shot. I feel sexy and decide to celebrate with more lines and drink. I rack 'em up, knock 'em back and pass right the fuck out. 

12:04pm:   I wake with a start, sit bolt upright and fire my gun. It hits a swan. What the hell is going on? Is this yesterday, or just before, did I dream the last swan or is this the same one? I look closer at the bleeding giant swan, its not the same one, I must be awake. I see my golden egg beside me. What happened? I keep shooting and look around for clues. My coke was next to the smack I was delivering to a street dealer, in all the excitement I appear to have mixed them up and done massive lines of brown by mistake. That explains the sleep. 

3:35pm:   Spent nearly two hours shooting at Swan_Holly, then another couple shooting at Swan_Jingle. Killed neither but I drew a lot of blood and I'm sure it was me that softened them up for the other guys. Feeling decidedly ill still from all the smack. Need to lie down.

Day eight

8:00am:    My door is kicked open by Tetley asking about hidden sheep. Apparently we have to find sheep today. I don't know what this means, but if it's about sheep I bet Setanta is involved. Tetley makes loud stressed noises for a long time so I get up. He's being a proper fascist about it.

8:00pm:    Tired now. Looked everywhere for these bleeding sheep. All of us, like kids in a sweat-shop. I didn't know there were this many sheep in the world. Fuckers. Few more hours and we're done. Then I can dream about shooting sheep.

11:00pm:   Downed tools and opened a bottle of Merlot. Fuck this noise man. If a trillion isn't enough sheep then I don't know what will be. I hide in my room. Blues on. Lights off. Eyes closed.

Day nine

1:30pm:    Knock at the door. Something about a huge party and special events in the north pole. Bollocks to day nine. Every time I open my eyes all I see are those damn sheep!  

Day ten

9:01am:    Woken to BlackBetty rummaging in my pants and not in a good way. I accuse her of of being a thief while lying passive and doing absolutely nothing to stop the trouser intrusion. She gives me the kind of condescending look an A&E nurse gives when she's checking your prostate after a car crash then leaves counting the wad of cash she'd levered from my secret pocket. I get out of bed wondering if I'd been robbed or had some niche market sexual experience.

11:20am:   Not even mid day and I've been fleeced for everything I had on me, more times than I care to accept. Changed shirt because Archy knocked my coffee all over me as a clumsy distraction to take my cash again. Bastard. They say today is all about pick pocketing. I decide to play it passive but safe. I put on my working day clothes and brace myself for a day of trouser invasions, all the time watching for those sheep to return.

11:00pm:    I feel utterly used. Like some cheap dockside trollop doing favours for sailors. The gang keep telling me its all for a good cause and blah blah bla but I feel like an old New York cab, everyone's been through me. I'm tired, time for an early night. I hope I get to kill things again tomorrow.

Day eleven

9:30am:    Got up today all ready for a highly functioning day of edgy crime only to find the downstairs of the building all covered in flour and sugar and all sorts of colourful mess. Turns out today's competition is about making cakes. I like cake. I like eating cake. But I can't make cake. I leave them to it. Looks like McSteamy and The-Mountain are dab hands. Even Barry is making himself useful letting the others use his forehead as a breadboard!

12:45pm:   I had spent the morning trying to get some work done. Ten days on the piss has left me a touch short and its time to get paid. Stopped back by the HQ for lunch. Tried to steal some of the cake. Got my arse handed to me by a team of floury mafioso in aprons. Beaten about the face and neck with rolling pins and high pitched shrieking. Terrible scenes. On a brighter note, I did get some cake. 

7:30pm:    Got back from a hard day of work. Lots of money made and a few smug villains aren't grinning any more. Walked into the kitchen at HQ hoping for a cakey reward. No dice. All produced goodies are to be sent off for competition consideration. Gutted. I head to the bar to load up on pistachios and drink.

Day twelve

10:00am:    I wake feeling reasonably functional and head downstairs into a god awful cauldron of banging, beating, hissing, tishing, clapping, clanging noise. "WHAT IN THE WIDE WORLD OF SPORTS IS GOING ON?" I scream but no one seems to hear me. All face down in little magic boxes producing all kinds of horrendous noises. I fight my way past the wall of sound into the bar and get an early drink. A note there explains that we have been challenged to make music with these boxes and replicate a well known Christmas ditty. I find a box, grab a couple of bottles and head back to my room upstairs away from the chaos.

10:30pm:   Profoundly stoned and deeply transcendent, I float back downstairs on a cloud of my own self congratulation. Having created an almost flawless rendition of jingle bells, I decided to test its musical integrity by getting utterly wasted and seeing how it sounded. It sounded better. I'm a shoe-in to win with this baby.

11:00pm:   The box has been sent back for consideration and with that, the last day of competition ends. I head back into the bar and try to utilize every shot glass in the house for some impossible drinking feet. About a third of the way though I realize I won't make it and perform a daring fire based stunt which has mixed results. I got more drunk but the HQ lost a couple of chairs and a bit of a curtain. Whatsername gave me another frowny face. I went to bed scolded, but victorious!

A true birds eye view of what life is like through the bottom of a bottle. Learn from it, judge him on it and pass snide remarks whenever you can about it. That said, relative to everything else he's chicken scratched into this diary... that's all pretty tame.

With the New Year upon us, the heartache of war behind us and the task of rebuilding our fine cities ahead of us and actively being procrastinated... we felt the need to help out our fellow man. We decided we need to look at where we stood and calculate where we were going from there. We build some mathematical models to help try and simulate our future, but we realised early on that leaving The_Stig in charge of anything to do with numbers... or letters... or people... was a mistake when it predicted World Destruction on January the 3rd, 1901. Hard luck Stiggy, better luck next time.

After that, we aimed higher and got a crack team of students (mostly Asian) to have a go. They got to grips with the uncertainty quantification, built out accurate algorithms to handle everything except for the spread of Spunky's bodily fluids and made stunning progress. They managed to get within 97.4% accuracy of predictions and even gave incredible details on the causes, triggers and outcomes of the next war. However, 97.4% isn't accurate enough for our loyal readers... we demand 100%, if not 110%!

With that in mind, we threw away math and science... it's for nerds... and went to the only system we knew would give us 100% accurate predictions for the year ahead. Astrology!

ARIES (March 21-April 19... born a free spirit, your parents were probably off their faces on drugs at a 4th of July party when you finally became more than a potential stain on your mums chin): 

Stay focused on big shit and don't get dragged into the petty nonsense, Aries. Avoid listening to the fucktards, without trying to school 'em or looking to forge a bullshit superficial peace. Really, they're too thick to learn. Let those wishing you'd fall back into the past, you know... being the lazy bastard we all knew you as, fuck right off. Actively trying to seek recruits to your side or your way of thinking will lead directly to fights, so please go try and do it. Fast. We love a good fight here at The Potato. Once you actually man up and grow a pair, whether that's balls or boobs, the farther away from them no name C's you will end up. Hopefully, eventually, to a distance where you can't hear their crap but can still make the shot. This sort of intent focus on your own future could subject you to criticism and ridicule, so if you get called a self obsessed vein old bastard... know that it's your own fault. In this case, try and behave yourself for once and not react to others' baiting you with shite.

TAURUS (April 20-May 20... you were most likely conceived in the missionary position, from two parents in a loving relationship who had extensively planned for a family with 2.4 children. You're the 0.4 numbnuts. You sicken us, you really do. The best part of you ran down your mother's arsecrack and ended up on the bedsheets.): 

Typical old Taurus. You're in a spot where you're ready and willing to say just about anything regardless of just how idiotic, radical, provocative, brash or dangerous it might be. For once, you're not actually a complete waste of air. Now, hurry up and do something with this feeling before you waste it. If you're seeking to address 'that one issue' nobody else involved seems to want to acknowledge exists, that's probably a sign that you don't fully understand what you're talking about. Again though, roll with it. We'll laugh either way. You may be speaking from passion or conviction, rather than logic or reason, but that doesn't matter as long as you entertain the masses. Right? After all, any clever mind can cleverly concoct clever reasons why their clever logic makes perfect sense and is clever… and you are clever. You're also self-serving, biased and often morally reprehensible... but remember, you are clever.

GEMINI (May 21-June 20... Your dad probably isn't your real dad, unless your mother was honest enough to tell you about the late summer fling she had with that drunken Irish tourist that one night. Ever wonder why you get the urge to drink so much... now you know!): 

Keep your mouth shut this year, Gemini. Seriously. When dealing with delicate topics, hurt feelings, conflicting opinions and convoluted intricacies of the human heart, you're liable to stick your foot in your mouth and make a complete balls of things. As normal. Despite your extensive experience in this area, it really is one best to avoid this year. I could say something about planets moving into complicated orbits and stuff... you know, for science!.... but you wouldn't even listen anyway you stubborn mule. The more words you say this year, the more things you'll live to regret. Being fair, your proposals are often reasonable and original. However, those that are original are not reasonable, and the reasonable ones are not original. Actually, in second thoughts this sounds kind of fun. Let the world hear you scream Gemini. They're all horrible people and deserve everything you throw at them. You go girl! 

CANCER (June 21-July 22... you live in a dream-world, with little concern for reality. Which is just as well crabby, as reality has even less concern for you. Your mere presence saps the intelligence of those around you.): 

With Venus scooting into your relationship house... that's even more naughty than it sounds.... Cancer, you'll acquire an added sense of self importance and your narcissism will reach new highs. Good work kids, aim for the stars. You love to know what's going on in the lives of others, you nosy little pervert. However, you tend not to know what's going on in your own life. This dilemma will reach epic proportions this year, so expect fireworks. If you are lucky, your friends might tell you what's happening... I jest, we all know you've no friends. Remember, as a Cancerian you only get dressed because you have to. You are more likely than any other sign in the zodiac (except Pisces, who's a no name C) to iron your clothes by sleeping with them on, so there's a fair chance you've already stopped reading and started dreaming about that cute ass you saw earlier. On a scale of one to ten, you'd definitely give it one.

LEO (July 23-August 22... some suggest Leo's are blessed with an animal magnetism unparalleled by any other sign, which is a nice way of saying you have a face on you like a bulldog chewing a wasp. You will think you are the exception to this rule, but you're not): 

This year you should focus on work, and tasks of a productive nature, Leo. It's not that you'll have any more productivity or success with them than normal, but really you've nothing else to do. Whether it's the way the planets are aligned or just the way the sun plans to break through the clouds this year, you're going to look even less appealing than normal. All Leo's, including Barry's forehead who is a Leo in its own right, should take this on board and not venture outside. Seriously, others are trying to eat. Venus's transit into your 6th suggests you'll tolerate the monotony of the typical everyday humdrum, so get cracking on keeping your head down... no, further down than that. Good, that'll do... and keep that nose to the grindstone. Though you'll remain likely to get into battles due to your conceit, you won't really care much as long as you win. Handle your shit efficiently and you may find others are suddenly agreeable and willing to help... assuming you don't quarrel over irrelevant ego-driven bullshit and actually accept the help for once.

VIRGO (August 23-September 22... with origins mainly from a mixture of Thanksgiving and Christmas party hook ups gone wrong, you're the unwanted spawn of alcohol and semen more than egg): 

The astrological shift you're now experiencing, it wasn't just wind if that's what you were thinking Virgo, will make you unabashedly intent on asserting your authority on those around you. Whether it's whips and chains or rules and regulations that get you going, you're going to be going for it hard this year. With that in mind, if anyone knows any single Virgo's around could they pass on contact details and vital statistics to the editor? For a story? Ehhhh, sure, lets go with that. Spartacus would like to do a story, or a train, on you. Mars revitalizing your 6th house means you can expect a profoundly renewed capacity for efficient, effective day-to-day work. Despite this, your lack of intelligence and ability to do things without fucking it up mean that the efficiency will be wasted and all you'll do is make more of a mess in a shorter time frame. With Venus arriving in your 5th... do they honestly think people believe this nonsense?... it's a wonderful time to ratchet up your kill... I mean fun levels this year. Frankly, it's the only way to ensure you'll be able to suffer through you're otherwise deplorable existence. 

LIBRA (September 23-October 22... you really are the Christmas gift your parents never wanted. Too much eggnog, Father Christmas empties his sack a little too much and nine months later they get... you.): 

While a Libra's sole purpose in life is to be right all the time, for the year ahead you really should try and put this on hold. It's not that it will have negative impacts on you or anything, it just drives everyone around you bat shit crazy... then the rest of us have to deal with their shit and yours. Spend some time purposefully enjoying the peaceful feelings that relative privacy and quiet foster. Or, you know, just leave the rest of us alone. You will continue your normal bi-polar lifestyle, whilst failing to make any kind of decision on your own. Whether you turn to friends, one of your therapists or, heaven forbid, a stupid horoscope for reinforcement that you're not a complete failure. Hate to be the one to break it to you, but you totally are. Invest the time you save from annoying the rest of us into improving at both of your hobbies, the voodoo and the masturbation. Just don't get confused again and try doing both together, sticking the needles somewhere painful. 

SCORPIO (October 23-November 21... as a valentines baby, you sicken us all. You prance about convinced your parents conceived you in love and happiness, not aware it was actually a $10 special in the bordello bathroom): 

Your inner discontent, which is only one of the many reasons for you having a face on you like a slapped arse, comes bubbling to the surface this year. Even more than normal. Resentment, anger or unsettling emotions are running rampant. Look.... just look? We can all see that vein bulging in your forehead. You should probably calm down a little. No. I said calm down, not get angrier. I'm not sure what you're getting angry at me for, I'm just saying what I see. Now, when you're done grating your teeth we'll get back to your future here. I'm not sure this internal activity, or bitchiness, is going to help you accomplish your goals out there. In your business dealings, in your love life, in your shot reports, this inner turmoil with just the veneer of a nice friendly smile is going to end in tears. Not to worry though, the tears will be of those laughing at you when you eventually come to a grinding halt and have the complete meltdown you've been putting on hold for some time now. In other news, the stars do suggest you'd do very well playing miniature golf this year. So that's a big plus.

SAGITTARIUS (November 22-December 21... best known for their high propensity to be born into the wrong gender, yes that does include you so don't deny it, Sagittarians are born adventurers. Thankfully, that means they often don't get long to annoy the rest of us): 

Do try to be careful this year Sagittarians. You might think you're a cat with nine lives, but eventually those lives will run out. Quit trying to do crazy things, like walking to the bathroom in the middle of the night with the lights out. You really would sooner sustain a crippling injury than do something the easy way. Stop taking risks, stop looking for sympathy after you ignore us and do take risks and then stop crying like whiney bitches when you ignore both and get no sympathy from us for the stupid crap we already warned you not to do. Seriously, dealing with your shit is exhausting. Having said that, keep licking the windows, I've never seen them so clean before. Don't let your loudness and lack of social graces hold you back however, this is your year for love.... which does mean all animals and small children should be locked up safely when you're around. On the financial front, many Sagittarians do manage to pursue their optimal career, being a vagrant, so if you've not yet made that choice for yourself take this as the nudge you need and make the leap. As Sagittarians refuse to listen to any advice ever given to them though, we do expect them to be extinct by the end of the year. 

CAPRICORN (December 22-January 19... your parents probably got it on during a second date, having originally had a fleeting one night stand on St. Patricks Day the dirty sinful bastards. That, or you're just an April Fools Joke gone wrong. Toss of a coin really.): 

I see you. I know exactly what you're doing. No, not you Capricorns, quit thinking the world always revolves around you. I'm talking to the other one, yeah... you! I see you there. Bugger off. This is Capricorns future, not yours. You got yours already. Quit coming down here reading theirs too. With your judging and your sniggering, poor Capricorns have enough to worry about without snide cunts like you. Now, where were we. Ohhh yes. Capricorn. You're fairly buggered this year aren't you? The exhaustion is mainly due to the fact that you're very hard working, reliable, and dull as hell. You sit there, always working away, headed to your next delusion of grandeur. Your aims though are far too low and watching you is about as exciting as watching paint dry. Yet, in spite of all the hard work, you always fail. Loser. Normally hard work is a great quality to find in a person, but in you it's really just one more liability to add to the list and simply results in you failing more often than a lazy failure would. Capricorns are often good at math it must be said, which helps explain why they are such pains in the ass. 

AQUARIUS (January 20-February 18... your father thought your mother was wearing a hag Halloween costume that night. Unfortunately, for him at least, she wasn't. I bet it really sucks to be him, ending up with her and now you. Life is harsh.): 

Every Aquarius loves a party. Anytime, anywhere is their motto. Sadly, no party ever held liked a single Aquarius that was at it. This was proved beyond doubt because.... Science bitches! It is not unlikely that an Aquarius will consider a wake or a funeral a good place to try and meet chicks, which unfortunately at times can include the corpse. Aquarians also love to be naked. Some believe this may be some type of allergy to clothes that all Aquarians share, but it is in fact that they're just too cheap to spend money on clothes. Money spent on anything other than alcohol is considered a crime. Many have gone so far as to forego any type of motorised transport and return to more frugal times of keeping a horse outside. They do sadly ride their horses naked too. 97.4% of Aquarians will be caught naked during this coming year. We'd normally plead for this not to happen and give tips on how to avoid it, but many are actually quite fit so rock on! If anyone catches any interesting images of naked Aquarians on horse back, please do contact The Potato graphics department. Rice Krispies has now become Aquarius' favourite cereal, since it will engage in a friendly chat with the Aquarian as he or she is eating breakfast.

PISCES (February 19-March 20... the worst of the lot. You're universally hated by everyone pisces, and for once they're right. Your self loathing is totally understandable. Drunken Thanksgiving parties have a hell of a lot to answer for. People like you are the reason genetial warts were invented.): 

To all you come in contact with, for the entire year, the official narrative I strongly urge you to put forth, Pisces, would be "I'm sorry". You scar the world with your very presence. You hurt the eyes that look upon you, you initiate gag reflexes when a nostril inhales your hideous odour and cause migraines any time someone has the misfortune of hearing your shrill voice. Other than that though, it looks like it should be a pretty good year for you. So that's a plus. Everywhere you go, laughter and comedy will ensue. Which would be fantastic if you were actually trying to be funny. You are deeply confused by the idea of sex this year. Not in any deep philosophical way or even in terms of questioning your own sexuality (hint: you really should do that, you know. I don't mean to push you in either direction, but are you really happy?), but purely in terms of figuring out what's happening. Most of your year will be (mis)spent watching porn in aim of this pursuit, which for both you (and us not having to put up with you) is a pretty good year.

Private readings are available, if you're willing to pay through the nose for them. Honestly, we'll say or do anything to get cash. We're proper little man whores here at The Potato. Get in touch with your requests, or even better just send the cash and don't make any requests.

I Am Sad

Spartacus

I am sad. I don't mind writing it down here so you can all view it. I am very sad. I even cry sometimes. Alone, in the HQ, when I think no-one can hear. Why am I sad? I'll tell you why I am sad should I? Did I tell you I am sad?

I am sad because money is now more important than loyalty.

Much like my old, senile friend Achilles I long for the old days. I know you all say the world has changed. But it hasn't. Not really. You still have those in power and those that are not. They still have friends and they still have enemies. This will never change.

The thing that has changed is that leaders and people they trust have become cute. I'm not talking about today or yesterday. I'm talking about recent generations. They have realised that money, now, is power. Money brings you a cannon. Money brings you a fuckton of Bodyguards. Money brings you power. It really is that simple. So, with a little 'outside help' you climb your way to the top. You don't have to rely on your gob. You just have to donate enough so that you are trusted. Once you reach this point you donate enough that you and your leader remain alive long enough for you to be trusted with the rank of Don. Then, because you have so much money and have dug your leader out of the shit you get given a crew of you own.

Now money, as a crewleader, really fucking does mean power. The more members you get, the more they donate and the stronger you get. You can buy more of these credit thingymajigs and do all sorts of wonderful things with them. Eventually you hit Godfather, are damn nearunkillable and you laugh. You laugh for the reasons I cry.

The world revolves around money far more than it has ever done so before. If you are cute enough then you will have understood this and used it to your advantage. If, like me, you fight it, then you're in for the hard slog my friend.

As I said. I long for the old days. The days when a hitter was someone who had got up at 3am, stalked his victim for 20 minutes, lay prone in the dark knowing two or three others were out there doing the same things. You then backed your skill level to be the one to hit the three windows and do your business. You knew you were elite. You knew you were the best. Now every fucker is at it.

The days when a leader had to be in the streets and communicating with their families. If they weren't then they were reprimanded. If they didn't buck up then, usually, they died. My family line has seen leaders die for such matters.

The days when they needed every single member to be working their nut sack off to protect them and not just having one person supply them with endless amounts of cash. If every member did not pull their weight then they were the failed cog in a broken machine.

Those three points and a few things around them are things that show good leaders to me. They show dedication, communication and loyalty.

That is what makes me sad. That is what makes me cry like a boy who lost his favourite ball. Money is now the number one factor in general life. Not what we used to hold dear. Until we grab this world by it's bollocks and drag the general populous in that direction then we, those who have been Made, are failing in our roles as trusted men. As the button men we should strive to be. We are failing the new blood and the growth of this world. But not only that. We are failing ourselves. And guess what?

That makes me sad.

Great points Sparty, but when you said you were going to write about money Spartacus I thought you meant you were going to get them to donate us cash and credits to fund this thing. This really isn't going to help. Lets try anyway though.

If you agree with Spartacus, that money has become too pervasive in all our lives vote "Fuck Money" to Spartacus' bank account with as many $'s as  you wish to vote.

If you think money hasn't become a problem, vote "I <3 boobies" to Setanta's bank account with as many $'s as you wish to vote on that side.

That's bound to make us a bit of cash, right? We'll be back at some stage in the future, we hope, with something resembling results.

Job Board

Setanta

The world is no place to try and go it alone. Without a family, you die. A newspaper is a lot like a family. It smells as it gets older. It doesn't react well if you try and pee on it. It breaksdown if you try and flush it down the toilet. The parallels are startling really. In order for it to work though, it does need people with incredible talent. 

As I have no talent, that means the paper needs you!

Have gossip for a story?

Have something you want to get off your chest but don't have the balls to say it yourself?

Have something you want to reach a large audience with and fear nobody will listen if they know it's your idiotic thoughts?

Want to simply be a part of the greatest rag to have hit the streets ever (or at least today) The Potato? 

If so, get in touch. We need reporters, researchers, photographers, sketch artists and groupies. We're especially low on groupies at the moment, so all applicants for that position will be given the highest priority. If you are interested in working with The Potato, get in touch with the editor, chat with one of the reporters or even just 

McSteamy strolls out into the streets once festive and beleaguered with tales of what Setanta had done in the past 12 days...bottles to the right, blood to the left and steam from barrels that were lit to provide heat to the homeless. He looks around, notices the place where he allegedly was making cakes...which honestly had turned into a flour fight, with little cake to show for it. Alas one piece remains in his coat from the remains of the debauchery that was New Years...12 days of swans, sheeps, cakes and well...blood! Steam from the barrels didn't make it easy, too much smoke, too much heat...MCSteams walks into the HQ and asks for the first messenger out the door. Scribbles something on a  paper and seals it. 

Hand this to Setanta and none other...make sure you don't open it!!! But as they say curiosity kills the cat, this Kat had to read these scribbles only to be let down somewhat. The trade secrets of Phi...yet just some words to a old friend! 

Swans and sheeps? A load full of cash (just buried it in the forest below) in betty's black hands? Ajani about town with nothing but a big Brandy to be found?!?! I see blood on the streets and barrels with steam. Tyke wants a taste of the cake...but we got the best Tetley in town! Teabags and truffles...mountains about! Search for Utopia and Curtis's clout...These are some of my favorite things! 

Welcome back my friend. Enjoyed the paper! OCD always has the pills for ya! Some wine to wash it down after! And hell who don't like a debauchery...next time Goats!!!  

<font color="rgba(0, 0, 0, 0)">Messenger rolls it up...only to be </font>let<font color="rgba(0, 0, 0, 0)"> down somewhat! Drops it off at Setantas "Potato" box. </font>

Looking surprised to see a newspaper being offered in the streets Tesla reads it with high eenthusiasm.

Such a refreshing thing to see out here in these streets, thank you for producing this newspaper. This is something i wish there was more of out here, but sadly i don't have the time to do it.

Vagoong came back to headquarters to see if there is more work to do. while walking inside the headquarters he saw a pile of paper in the table.

" hmmm a news paper. well i have a few spare time. i should read this."

" blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah ahuh ahuh blah blah  blah blah "

" this is good lol. a horoscope too. i think TadePimmel and Oculus love horoscope. they should read this."

Vagoong finished reading the news paper and he kept it so that tade and oculus can read it when they come back. 

Padrino shivers.

Brr...when I read 'potato' I thought for a moment that it was a real life, actual potato...So naturally I pulled out my gun to shoot it! But luckily, it's a newspaper. And not bad at all!

Walking out of the office, Setanta felt a huge release come over his whole body. It was like a massive weight had been lifted from him. He really should have gone to the bathroom before leaving the building.

The work was done, the paper was published, propaganda masquerading as news was hitting the corner stands throughout the city. The entire business had just been set up as front to launder dirty money, but why not get as many side benefits as he could from it while they were there. He had always heard that the pen was mightier than the sword, so he hoped that the printing press was going to be a metaphorical tank.

As he walked along, he noticed a note stuck to his arm. It was old and crumpled. It looked like it had been an early draft of a story, started some time before that had never actually made the cut. He contemplated reading it or even reusing it for next weeks issue, but he was far too lazy for that and there was heavy drinking to be done. Flicking it from his sleeve, it well gracefully to the ground and nestled right in front of you.

Who let the dog's out

Setanta

Sometimes we all wish for a little more from life. Sleeping in that bit later in the morning, not having a care in the world other than what you eat for your next meal, hoping you finish the evening curled up with a loved one on the couch or being able to lick your nether regions without requiring a few ribs removed. Yes, dogs and DeadlySin really do live the good life. 

The good people at City Hall took this fascination we have with man's best friend to a whole new level. They released what can only be described as a Great Idea Frankly (yes, it's a GIF) when they launched the new, the exciting, the "it's like watching paint dry... but without the paint" Dog Simulator 2015! (*No dogs were harmed in the making of this product)

Dog Simulator - if you missed it, catch our artists reconstruction here!

A great deal of time was passed as members of the organised crime community around our cities sat there like.... well, dogs. Waiting for their masters to return, staring longingly at the door. A competitive fever gripped the nation as people actively tried to beat each other to 100%... and then 1000% and... well, you get the picture. The questions came thick and fast. What is behind the door? Is my master really coming home? Are you all thick, you know this is just one of them crazy moving picture shows right? Is this really a door or has Barry's forehead taken on a new form and is about to take over the world? All valid questions on the lips of our community.   

As time passed, the good people of City Hall decided it was time to reward the loyal pups who had so diligently monitored the door for their masters. Jumping into one of the local coffee shops, the staff members started handing out treats to the diligent followers. Luckily, our artists were once again on the spot to capture the moments for all to witness.

Dog Simulator - Completion Treats

As with most things in life, it didn't take long before it all started to go horribly wrong.

Whether it was due to the frustration of the door never opening, whether it was due to the hysterical laughter of those taking the absolute piss out of anyone who didn't realise it was a small joke or whether it was due to a vicious uprising of the feline community we're still unsure... but things went nasty and many in the community actively turned to animal cruelty. One eye witness describes it as "It was like the idiots were angry about being idiots and decided to blame the poor little pug. Like, it's hardly his fault they spent their lives licking windows". In scenes that some readers might find disturbing, our roving artists once again captured everything for us to share with you (No pugs were harmed in the making of this story). 

Dog Simulating Gone Bad - The Michael Vick Approach

After the carnage we've witnessed from such a peaceful beginning, it does leave us wondering what we can learn from these events:

- If you give people even the slightest chance of possibly getting free shit, they'll pretty much do anything.

- Doors that don't open are very frustrating and seem to drive people bat shit crazy.

- If people don't get free shit for doing what basically amounted to nothing at all and it was never suggested they would gain anything, they'll still bitch and moan.

And most importantly...

- A pug running in a circle is one hell of a cute thing to watch, almost as good as penguins flopping about.

*** Breaking News - Well, it was breaking when I wrote this... by the time we get the printers working it'll probably be retro ***

In a surprising turn of events, the surprise being that this running joke still appears to be limping along, City Hall announced that the simulator had been malfunctioning all along but was now fixed. It sounded about as believable as Aliens telling Maria those little blue tablets were just for his heart, but people were all so in awe of the results they never questioned the announcement and instead dove right in to the Dog Simulator 2015 Final Level dubbed "The Real Climax". As always our fearless reporters scribbled down a sketch of the events on the back of a beer bottle wrapper just for you.

Dog Simulator 2015 - The Real Climax 

City Hall thrusts that you enjoyed the simulation and hopes to bring further civic events of this nature to you in the near future. Little is known in the way of facts, but this reporter is happy to start rumours that future events may including Chewing The Bone (possibly an adult theme), Lifting The Leg (definitely an adult theme) and Humping The Shit Out of The Teddy (expected to be aimed at young children).

Well written ,keep posting - great news and paper :)

Noticing a new publication on the rack of his local newspaper seller Lancelot decides to buy a copy, "Probably some other pile of tripe" he thought to himself slipping it into his jacket as he made his way down the street headed for the coffee shop to get his morning fix of caffiene, after ordering up a large coffee he made his over to his favourite table by the window once seated he pulls out the newspaper and starts to read, almost immediately a smile appeared on his face "This cant be" he thought as his mind wandered back to his ancestors journals and how they had talked about such publications, he always thought it was a myth given the standards of newspapers that he'd become accustomed to.

"Finally a decent paper I got get my teeth into during my morning coffee" he mumbled to himself engrossed in one of the many stories.

Swiggle was on his way to harass a local shop owner who was delayed on paying his weekly tribute to Barry when he spotted a new paper hanging at Fat Albert's News Stand. He grabbed a copy with one hand, and handed the baseball bat he was carrying to Fat Albert. He scanned the pages and smiled when reached the 12 days of Drunkeness.....

He turned to Fat Albert and asked...

"So what did you do during the Christmas Season?"

Without waiting for a response, he turned the page to the horoscope.... then smirks after reading it....

"I'm a Capricorn!"

He informs FatAlbert, then takes the bat and walks away..... After a few steps, he turns to Fat Albert and tells him....

"Better read your horoscope and close shop as soon as possible!"

He then leaves a baffled Fat Albert, laughing....

Mr. Setanta, far and few capture my undivided attention on what I perceive as a good read. Well done! I thank you and much respect!

This is one of the best pieces I have seen printed in quite sometime for a newspaper. I hope to see more quality work such as this and hope this sets a bar for a standard when it comes to the printing press.

Padrino comes to the newsstand and picks up the second issue of the paper.

Very well done, Mr. Satanta. I enjoy reading this Potato of yours.

Ryu takes a stroll down the bloke and comes across the news stand picks up the papers.

Sounds great Mr.Setana your news brings a lot of entertainment for the people who do not know much about politics within this world. Thank you for showing us and telling us how it is.

Tony Capazzo sits out enjoying the nice breeze. He takes a puff on his cigar and begins to read the new edition of The Potato. Tony had immediately been drawn to this particular paper. It was informative, interesting and for the most part humorous. Setanta had did a incredible job getting this off the ground and Tony was grateful he had something this lighthearted in the mix between the rest of his crazy life.

Tony began to read the section on the Dog Simulator and he chuckled.

"Asses!"

He remembers attempting this particular simulation but after a few percent "completion" he knew the real deal and knew it was going nowhere. Tony still found it hilarious how many people were going insane trying to get full completion though. Just then he finishes the article and folds the paper on the table. He continues to puff away at his cigar.

"I wonder what old Set has got for us next...."

Jng sips his coffee while walking down the street. Feeling the bitter air biting at his face he decides to indulge in some browsing of literature. He mosies over toward the newsstand. Looking down he discovers horoscopes.

Let me see what my horoscope has in store for me.

Jng begins to read and chuckles while continuing to sip upon his coffee.  Jng hears a voice coming from within the newsstand.

This isn't a damned library.  Buy it or get lost!

Jng puts down the article and walks away.  Jng mumbles to himself.

I'll read the rest later.

Very good work, I found it enjoyable to read. Will def be excited to see the next issue!:D