The Intermittent Whisper

By The Anonymous Drunken Shadow

Printed and distributed in a secret manner by someone totally secret that nevertheless becomes immediately available to every criminal in the country- and none of the cops.

NOTES FROM OUR SPONSORS

This production would not be possible without our sponsors. Please consider giving their products a try.

Our first sponsor, ALCOHOL, is available literally everywhere despite the fact that it's illegal. That's called irony, kids. This publication would not be available without alcohol. Alcohol, as they say, is a many splendored thing. It loosens lips, inhibitions, and belt loops. Liquid courage. Liquid stupidity. It makes men both more willing to have sex and less likely to perform- a double edged sword. And it also inspires people to embark on a series of intoxicated ramblings in the middle of the night.

Which leads us to our second sponsor, INSOMNIA. Why aren't I sleeping? Why am I writing this? Why am I not normal? Why am I even here? All these questions and more, brought to you by INSOMNIA. 

And finally, our third sponsor: A LACK OF FUCKS. This is true in every sense of the word. If, for example, I had a preponderance of literal fucks, I would most likely not be writing this. Regardless of what certain people in Chicago's South Side may say, copulation and composition tend to be mutually exclusive acts. I also tend to lack figurative fucks, which will be expanded on later- because, honestly, I don't care enough to go into this right now.

What is The Intermittent Whisper? Who are you? Why is this happening?

One at a time, please.

What is The Intermittent Whisper?

The Intermittent Whisper is a publication. It's... published. I'm going to talk about... things. 

Who are you?

I'm the writer. THE... shit, what did I call myself? THE ANONYMOUS DRUNKEN SHADOW. Technically, none of you know who I am, but I expect everyone to ignore this fact immediately. 

Why is this happening?

I don't know. Sometimes, when a boy and a girl really like each other, they give each other a special kind of hug. With a penis. One of those hugs resulted in my existence, and somehow I wound up here. Sometimes I'm not here, but then I wind up here again. And here we are. I don't know.

TOP STORY: VOLUME 1 OF THE INTERMITTENT WHISPER WAS SO STEALTHY NO ONE NOTICED IT.

We have lessened our level of stealthiness to become visible to the general public. You're welcome.

The Intermittent Whisper: Our Promises to You

Promise The First: We will not have a regular schedule. This is just going to happen sometimes. Maybe never again. This isn't a regular kind of thing, where you can plan to see me every Friday or Saturday night. Sometimes I'm just going to call you in the middle of the night. Or show up. It's that kind of arrangement.

Promise The Second: True to our name, which was... pausing to check again... THE DRUNKEN SHADOW, every Intermittent Whisper will be written in a state of intoxication. 

Promise The Third: There will be minimal proofreading involved here. What I see is what you get. Who has time for that crap?

Editor's Note: Hiring Proofreaders. Must be willing to pay to read this publication, be a fast reader, and be available to read at the exact moment The Drunken Shadow finishes writing. 

Promise The Fourth: We will be extremely mediocre. I have no resources. I have some talent, but less than lots of other people in the past. I also have minimal time. So don't get your hopes up, huh? Low standards are the keys to happiness in every relationship, and I don't expect things to be much different here. You deserve some sort of wonderful newspaper. Instead you're getting a this hot rambling mess. Look, we're not getting any younger here. Can't you just learn to live with me and then cheat on me in four years when some hot new thing comes along? Thanks. Love you too. 

Okay, literally everything so far has been you reporting on yourself. Is this what we should expect moving forward?

No.

The Current State of The Cities

Some say that half the cities are empty. I say they're half full. Why the long faces? What if there were no cities at all? Then where would you be? Outside? Spending time with your family? Oh. Well. Moving on.

The West Coast is the Stressed Coast

Earlier this... week? Yea. A week. Earlier this week, a bunch of unknown assailants climbed over the mountain of bodies of "tricker treaters" to add a few dozen more bodies to the pile. 

The fancy bold dead included: Ishmael, Diogenis, Bella_Swan, Sarah_Farron, Olivia, Chucky, Armin, and BossLV__TogaWoman.

After the dust had settled, CletusKasady came to the streets and expressed the following:

1) He was sad about killing, maybe for the first time ever
2) He complimented Diogenis and Ishmael, stating that "they were both victims of whispers coming from underneath them." Sexually suggestive. I approve!
3) In addition to the whispers from underneath them, Diogenis and Ishmael also suffered from gushing "streams of information".
4) These whispers and streams seemed to indicate "that people were being discussed and that some people in my city had to be removed at some point"
5) CletusKasady summed up his position by saying "Regardless of your opinions on the people under me I will never stand by and let those in my city be slaughtered due to past grudges and paranoia." Truly, there is no ambiguity in his statement of "Hate me or love me, know that if you are a member of New York you will always be protected."

Responses varied generally as expected, from the complimentary to the critical, the eloquent to the asinine. Sarah__Farron tearfully stated that her family was retiring from this life. Well, let me tell you something, Miss Farron. It's easier said than done. You say goodbye, you're gone for months, and then all of a sudden you're just back. What even happened? You're drunk. You're writing a goddamn pamphlet or whatever in the middle of the night. I don't know. Oh yea, the speech. Well, there was some more drama, but we really don't know any of the people involved so we have no idea what they're talking about. But hey, it seemed important. We recommending checking it out yourself. We're mediocre, remember?

The_Kid, a 10 year old, is running a city

Well, at least it's Detroit. Even a 10 year old could do better than the local government there. 

The_Kid, I know almost nothing about you except that you're, apparently, a literal kid. Like 10.

How do you even function in this world? I might need to do an interview. I suppose I can't complain, since there is a literal Taco running a crew in New York. 

Editor's Note: East_Side_Tacos responded to our query confirming his literal taco-ness, on the condition that we not eat him. Also, now he's in Philadelphia.

Sometimes this world makes a lot more sense if you're drunk.

So congratulations The_Kid. First, we thought you were a baby goat. We're not sure if we're excited or disappointed to be wrong. We wish you the very best in Detroit.

Also happening in the streets: Lots of adventures that no one paid any attention to.

Just sad, really. I'll try to give some of these more attention moving forward. 

People who were Authed, according to The Streets

The_Kid, by Varys.

Dovahkiin, by Earl. 

Sandberg, by The_Kid.

Capazzo, by Cesare_Torretta.

People who would have been shot in the not too distant past due to the lack of an announcement

Lots of other people. So many that I'd be worried about forgetting someone if I tried to list them all. Moving on.

SOMETHING ELSE JUST HAPPENED

Sources say that East_Side_Tacos and HotIce, both embodying contradictions of all sorts, will soon be moving to Philadelphia. They will receive a 21 Cheesesteak Salute, a cracked bell, and a population that's ready to boo Santa Claus. Best of luck in the City of Brotherly Love!

And there's even an announcement in the streets. 

Could this get any better?

No.

Well then we're done.

See you next drunk!

The Drunken Shadow

Ruby red. She wore it like a dame living on a knifes edge. Louis kept his eyes on the Maybach Zeppelin as he sipped his watered down liquid breakfast. A glass of whisky. Too much ice. If he had a more refined taste for what his lips touched he'd have chewed out the waitress three glasses ago. But, his was the arm pouring his favourite brand of poison into each water refill.

Another job, another hot car to boost. In between keeping an eye on Maria, and melting into his eggs on toast, Fats read the secret offering. It made him look less conspicuous. Or so he hoped. He found it in his jacket pocket. Then remembered a shoulder bump by some shady..or was it shadowy, looking like a bar had just stepped out of him or her delinquent type.

As Louis juggled his attention, he was in particular enjoying the read. Something about keeping informed without the need to hit up all his contacts on the street corners piqued his interest. Maybe there would be another run in with the shadow..or was it shady, individual. And maybe the two police officers would hurry the fuck up and move on so he could nick this beauty.