It was sunny on the Vegas strip, hot and sunny with barely a cloud in the sky, which was how Mikhail liked it. You see the rain made Mikhail sad, clouds made him sad, being sad... made him sad. Actually, a lot of things made him sad. Scared and sad to be precise. So Mikhail had built himself a great Ivory tower in LV, and surrounded himself with leaches, and hangers on and sycophants, all willing to stroke his... erm ego, and tell him how wonderful he was. Mikhail even had a wonderful pedestal built atop his Ivory tower, somewhere he could sit and watch, and do very little else. Why should he, he had his ass monkeys and sycophants to do it all for him.

Looking out across the great nation of America... once great nation to be honest, because it was slowly dying a death. Too many crews, too many spaces to fill, and no new blood to fill them. But that was the way Mikhail liked it. You see, other than a big gun, Mikhail had no talent... absolutely none. In fact he was beholden to another Godfather for making him look even this good. Mikhail hated that, it made him sad, but there was nothing he could do about it. If he took out Ae... this other GF then sure he would be top dog, top dog with a big bite and a little bitty bit. Some even said that this other GF wrote his speeches for him, but who are we to judge. So, Mikhail sat in his Ivory tower, only emerging occasionally to thin the chaff, cut down those who might be growing strong enough to topple his pitiful regime. Its not like his empire even matched up to some of the more recent empires. At least those guys could talk for themselves.

And so it came to pass that as he was playing with his toy train set and cars on his pedestal, that he looked out and saw Chicago in the distance. Chicago could never be legitimately thought of as a threat to anyone but themselves, but they did have a few guys who were knocking on the doors of 60 days old. Mikhail sent for one of his sycophants, and ordered him to send for the mathematician. The mathematician came in and informed Mikhail that as these people were almost 60 days old, then they might have as many as 750 kills under their belts, if they were serious hitters. Their Bosses, at almost 80 days old might have as many as 1000 or 1250 kills under their belts.

This mad Mikhail sad, sad and scared. These people where obviously training hard to take him down. Take him down to china town and replace him with a puppet leader who didn't have the IQ of a crayon. SO he called forth his hitters, and the men he'd had following the top dogs of Chicago around these past two weeks, stealthily picking their pockets and checking on the statuses of their bodyguards, and like Green Yammo and White Ninja, they swept down from their Ivory tower and laid waste to fair Chicago. Every conceivable threat, and a few that certainly weren't a threat to anyone was killed. Satisfied momentarily he returned to his tower, Stalking past CommissarZverev who had fallen from grace cos he had done fucked up by placing silly hits on people he shouldn't have with money that wasn't his with nary a word. He stalked past the gibbering buffoon who was CoconutRandy with his $5 haircut, with nary a word, wanting to distance himself from the one man in the whole of LV perhaps more stupid than he. He didn't stalk past the hermaphrodite in a tiggy suit, who despite being mostly male was half the man that tiggy ever was or their patsy Destro, because they didn't live in LV and they would be on the shit-list themselves soon enough. 

It wasn't until he returned to his pedestal to watch the latest episode of "In The Night Garden" that he cried out in pain.... "Owwwie that hurt." So he summoned Toaly, one of the only individuals on the planet more silent than he. Many thought that Toaly was in fact a deaf-mute, much in the same way as some of the great despots of Egypt had employed deaf-mutes so that they could not overhear state secrets, but they would be wrong. Mikhail didn't have enough intellect to employ deaf-mutes. Arriving at his bosses pedestal, Toaly bowed low, so low it was almost a grovel. "Toaly, Mika has an ouchy in his bum bum, it hurt!" Worried about his boss, but wanting even less to have to stare into his rusty sheriff's badge, Toaly summoned Irina, yes you heard me, Irina, and no, I don't know who the fuck she is either... Regardless, it was apparent that Mikhail was butthurt, but who possibly could have butthurt Mikhail? Who had managed to bend the legendary Russian dancing bear and fucked him in the ass so hard and fast, that they had managed to butthurt him?

And that is the question. 

Feel free to send me mails of who you think butthurt Mikhail and I will post them anonymously, and should anyone bother to donate to the Waaambulance, then I will award it to the best answer. Think of it like one of Kuku... erm I mean Zverev's competition, without the grandstanding and obvious fixing and self congratulatory bullshit just to game the system.

Well now I know Vaelin thank you for coming to the streets to enlighten me like Pythia, the Oracle of Delphi

MikhailsWaaambulance, obvious from your rantings are three things

The first is that you clearly and absolutely NOT aware of the inner workings of the Soviet State.  For the record, neither am I for the most part, but I KNOW that you definitely aren't.  Mikhail fought against overwhelming odds in a recent war, heck, some people even said he lost that war, but he's still here, deaths and takedowns are at a minimum, and people by and large are Just Getting On With It.

Second thing that is obvious is that YOU are obviously aware of the Post Malone conspiracy.  Your syntax, your way with words and your paranoiac fantasising make it obvious to me, your humble narrator, that what you have said has been said before.  Three words POST MALONE CONSPIRACY.

Thirdly, someone has been clearly feeding you bits of information.  Now, I wonder who that might be?

Fourthly, maybe you should employ your slightly better than average way with words and fucking ENTER one of my competitions?  Might be a better use of your time than literally crying out here?

Fifthly and, finally, or better still: train a fun and actually do something instead of moaning.  But wait, we know you have a well trained hitter in our very city, biding his time...  Or is he actually working for us?

You work it out.

Lets call a spade a spade CommissarZverev, or Kuku if you'd prefer, its certainly easier to say. Of Course I don't know the inner workings of LV, I was not in LV, nor have I been in LV until today. You have a wonderful gift therefore of stating the obvious. The issue is, I know a lot about the inner workings of this place in general. I know who is who, and I know what is what, and that's all you need to know. I have no idea of this Post Malone Conspiracy of which you speak. My little narrative is not Paranoia, I don't believe for one instant that anyone is out to get me, or bloodline me, and if they were it wouldn't bother me. You seen I've been there, and done that. My family has seen it all and done it all. For the last 4 years we've been semi retired, drifting from town to town, crew to crew, watching and never getting involved, here simply to enjoy a beer with old friends. As for the sources of my information, I have lots of friends, lots and lots of friends. Its why after giving up on this life 4 years ago, I'm still here.

As for your writing competitions, why would I bother? I did, hoping that the legendary Kuku had changed his ways, but it was not to be. I was defamed and castigated for no reason, I was told to rewrite what I had written, and then cast aside because you didn't have the concentration span to sit for 10 minutes and listen. Then to top it all off, you changed the rules. In every competition you have run you tried to change the rules, you have always tried to put your slant on things, to change things in your favour, and its laughable. I don't for one minute think that my long assed story deserved to win, but there were so many stories far better than your little boyfriends story. SO many people were left scratching their heads in wonder.

As for your final point, why would I train a gun? Apparently I'm a member of some super secret gang of underground ninjas out to destroy the status quo. Well let me tell you something, I really don't care. Seriously. I have no hitter in LV, because if I were planning on taking down any one, the hitter would have been sitting beside me, because that's how I roll. Oh, and I wasn't moaning, I was simply running a story competition about a bunch of losers and how they got butthurt, and wanted people to decide who had caused that butthurt to them. Incidentally, the prize is up to 2.5 million so far, maybe your should fucking ENTER my competition before I get wacked and you miss out.

It has been really enjoyable talking to you though, and I mean that, in all my family's time here, they so seldom get to interact with you, so there is that.

I don't for one minute think that my long assed story deserved to win.

This is the only thing you said that I agree with. 

Coconut Randy, yelling down the phone at his nephew Montague:

"Speak up Monty for God's sake, I can barely hear you! He called me a what? A gibbon? Louder, Monty, I can't hear you at all! The man called me a gibbon? What? No, a gibbon, Monty! The lesser ape! Symphalangus syndactylus? What? What? I can't hear you. Louder. No, I said speak louder. Not a monkey, Monty, an ape for Christ's sake. You are the least of the apes, Monty. Has the man called me a gibbon or not?

He what? He said what? He said what about whom? About me, Monty? You're cutting off, Monty, the words aren't coming through. Tell me what he said. Did he mention gibbons? I what? You're the one who brought up gibbons, Monty! Did he or did he not call me a gibbon? He did? I could hardly make that out. He did? Or didn't? A gibbon, yes. Gibbons. Gibbons. Gibbons, Monty. I am about to lose my temper, Monty. I'm calm. I'm calm, Monty. OK, now tell me what he said Monty, speak loudly and clearly. Have I or have I not been accused of being a gibbon? Who said?

About the gibbons. Yes, precisely, Monty. Have I been called one? No, have I been called a gibbon, Monty? The what? Who did? Where? What? Oh, no I don't think so. Some sort of bird I think. Do you happen to have some sort of zoological manual on hand? Yes, look it up. Yes, I'll wait...

Yes, I thought so, a bird, correct?? Did he call me one of those? No, good. But what about a gibbon, Monty? Gibbon. Gibbon. The ape. The lesser ape. Gibbon. He did? He did? He said what? To whom? When was this, Monty? Was there a gibbon on site? He what? When was that? Right after? And was there a gibbon mentioned then? I don't see how I'm a part of this at all, Monty, I'll tell you that quite frankly. I've never even seen a gibbon. And everybody knows I cut my own hair."

Irina stepped into the streets, out of breath.

Please, give me a moment. That's a long way down from the Ivory Tower I spend my days in. 

She sat down on a bench nearby, until she caught her breath. After about 10 minutes she stood up and smiled. 

Okay, I'm fine, thank you for waiting. To be fair, I didn't even know Chicago had members until I was summoned by our resident deaf-mute. However, it's always fun to see children throwing tantrums in the street, especially when they're accusing others of throwing tantrums. The irony. I'm sorry you're so upset about the events of the day, I truly am. Although I'm not sure how much that means coming from a nobody. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to make that trek back up to my Ivory Tower, it's almost time for Mikhail's breastfeeding. He gets sad, sad and scared if I'm late. 

Irina bows gracefully before making her exit.

Irina, before you rush off to fed the big guy, as I have summoned you from up on high to the lowly streets, allow me to make one thing clear. You are absolutely correct, I am upset. You're big mistake though is that I am not upset about the events of today. I was expecting this, I was waiting for this. The only shocking thing about it, is I had thought that he's have waited until after the recent competition prizes were award. Its almost a bad case of premature ejaculation. I'm also upset that when someone comes to the streets, people automatically assume that they are upset. Believe me, after 16 years of my family coming to these streets, dying in their sleep does not get them upset. You know Mr Pratt was a nobody, he had very little interaction with anyone before last week. However, things weren't going well in Chicago, despite our best efforts, there was no one willing to join the smallest city in the country. For some reason everyone wanted to go where they felt safer, with more targets to hide amongst. 

Having assisted the rebuilding exercise earlier, and creating a crew for a former colleague in Detroit until such times as he was old enough to take over the reigns, Pratt returned to his humdrum life of not giving a fuck about pretty much anything. Alas, assisting you people in your Ivory towers had brought Pratt to the attention of phillistein- (GRHS), so when he decided that expanding would perhaps bring fresh blood to Chicago, he asked Pratt to run the crew. Pratt had zero interest in being one of you people. Pratt no more wanted to be a CL than he wanted to shit concrete mix from his lily white ass. But do you know what? He accepted, and did his best to fix the mess that you guys had created with your little war. In fact he brought new blood to the streets to act as his LHM and RHM. Then due to some other worldly shit, the leader of South Side had to stand down, and Pratt was thrust into South Side to take over the reigns, what was left off them. Shannon's crew was all but gone, apart from one infected little pimple, who popped of to DT instead of remaining in the city that had tried to support him. Her crew systematically gunned down by hungry little gun whores with nothing better to do.

So you see, I'm not upset Pratt died, because frankly you did me a favour. I can retire back into mediocrity, doing enough to get by, and spending time with the only thing that has ever counted in this world or the previous world over the last 16 years, the friends I made here along the way. 

Thanks for your indulgence oh purest of souls, and 'bacon' of hope and all that is beautiful in this world. You may return to your Ivory tower.

"there was no one willing to join the smallest city in the country. For some reason everyone wanted to go where they felt safer, with more targets to hide amongst. "

There was one, someone who didnt know it was the smallest city. He didnt know anything when he made that city home. He didnt know anything when a very helpful fellow took him in. He learned a lot on his own and with their help and rose quickly. He did and would have done anything for his family, whatever it took to keep them safe he would have made it happen. That seed got buried under 6 feet of dirt and will never grow now. 

(its supposed to take 60 days to get 750 kills?? I guess I was too dangerous to live :P )