The Coconut Chronicle
Vol. 7

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

Mafia men, mafia ladies. What's up? Coconut Randy here. Hope things are totally tubular with you all. Getting a nice chill vibe from this letter so far? That's because The Coconut Chronicle has hired a new intern to help carry the load. Welcome to America's most unwillingly-read tabloid, VIPCreditsGrin. I dare say he may be the finest addition to this newspaper since my nephew Montague. His hiring, however, prompted by the worst thing that has ever happened to me, the death of my nephew Montague. Rest in Peace, Montague. For the final time, if any of our readers have any information regarding the whereabouts of his corpse, whether half-eaten by Ozark mountain-men or imbibed by patrons of the deceitful Slovak traveling-magician Dracula, again, inform me at your soonest possible convenience. In any case, it is quite clear he has been at least partially digested. I also must emphasise, and I really cannot overstate the importance of this, please, please forward all issues, complaints and non-positive feedback to my intern, VIPCreditsGrin. 

Without further ado, the latest edition of The Coconut Chronicle: no stone left unturned, no Randy left unstoned.

ARCHIVE:

The Coconut Chronicle, Volume 1

The Coconut Chronicle, Volume 2

The Coconut Chronicle, Volume 3

The Coconut Chronicle, Volume 4

The Coconut Chronicle, Volume 5

The Coconut Chronicle, Volume 6

Special Report: Invasion of the Right-Hand Babies

Special Report: Assume The Position

Special Report: Follow The Money

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THE HUMBLEST OBSERVER
By: Coconut Randy

Unaffiliated gangster, self-proclaimed "Humble Observer" and suspected mole-person elder Apocalypse appeared on the streets in a vision of top-shelf grandiloquence Friday afternoon, prognosticating over the unravelling of a "Great Game" played out of sight of the peasant class of mafioso that represents the majority of the population. Amidst talk of grown men bursting from the "loins" of others, he extended an invite to "the titans of our time" to join "Our" discussion, raising concerns over the kind of interest this primitive mole-druid could have in assembling the most powerful individuals in the nation together in one location. 

The Chronicle's resident cryptozoological scholar, Coconut Randy, suggests the royal "Our" indicates his intent could be diplomatic, likely involving the arrival of some high-level, hideous but well-intentioned morlock prince from the subterranean tunnels his oppressed, worker-society of light-fearing mutants have constructed beneath human society. If true, The Coconut Chronicle would like to ask Apocalypse to extend our own invitation to His Moleness for a visit to Coconut Chronicle HQ, where the dim and damp conditions of our office space should make him feel right at home. 

CROSS MY HARTY AND HOPE TO DIE
By: Coconut Randy

The MR Harty continues to propel indomitably towards exorbitant heights, as it blew by the 600 million dollar mark sometime early Saturday morning, putting it ever-closer to the record 756 million dollars won four years ago. Though eyes remain glued to the winnings, the amount of cash already invested by some individuals - which remains in suspension as they gallop forward towards the dangling gamblers carrot - are beginning to become the source of some tension. 

One shrouded figure pulled this reporter aside last week to inform him of a growing conspiracy involving The Soviet State, declaring that attempted suppression of individual involvement in the lottery had begun taking place throughout certain areas of the country. They went so far as to allege that lives had been lost in pursuit of the jackpot, stating that known associates of theirs had been "shot through the harty, and they're to blame, darlin' you give love...", before pausing and adding, "a bad name". 

We'll report more as we learn it. 

WORD ON THE STREET PREVIEW

A teaser from our upcoming Word on the Street special.

Don't know anything about any writing contests, but I do know that one time Destro challenged NotoriousBIG to an arm-wrestling match and NotoriousBIG wimped out in front of everybody. Embarrassing.

This tip, flying red-hot into the Coconut Chronicle anonymous mailbox late this week, alleges that the Philadelphia Don NotoriousBIG, leader of the Liberty Street Elites, avoided a run-in with Detroit Wise Guy Destro - who remains at the heart of several Coconut Chronicle investigations - in what one can only presume were fears over the supervillain's undefeated record in the underground combat sport. While it is unclear if anything was at stake besides pride, that alone is a heavy blow to a man seated firmly within the upper echelon of mafia society. 

When asked to respond, Mr. BIG declined to comment, wimping out in front of the gathered Coconut Chronicle press huddle. 

CORRECTIONS

In last week's volume, a dissonant phone line shared between myself and my now-deceased nephew Monty caused a significant misunderstanding, as it was initially suggested and subsequently reported that MikhailsWaaambulance had proclaimed me, Coconut Randy, a gibbon - which, as you are all well aware, is very much the lesser of the great apes. However, it has since come to my attention that I have in fact not been called a gibbon but a "gibbering buffoon". While I am glad to have cleared up that confusion, I do not understand what I have to do with a type of tropical storm either. However, I do hear the buffoons in south-east Asia are frequent and powerful at this time of year. 

LETTERS TO THE EDITOR

To: CoconutRandy
From: Dominic
Sent: Nov 08, '19 12:44
Subject:

When will you publish the tips you get?

Dear Dominic,

Our 'Word on the Street' special, in which we will recklessly and irresponsibly print all of the conspiratorial, embittered and raving public submissions entered into our anonymous mailbox, will be released imminently. 

Yours,
 Coconut Randy

ADVERTISEMENTS

Do you like money? Head to The Iron Bank for offers on loans and financing. Keep an eye out for The Coconut Chronicle's exclusive interview with bank representative CommissarZverev in Volume 8. 

SUBMISSION HOTLINE

All columns, letters, tips, scoops, smoking guns and general hearsay can be submitted to the inbox of CoconutRandy.

Anonymous submissions can be sent in HERE.

You may also visit our intern, VIPCreditsGrin, at his desk in the Las Vegas Business District. 

Dear CoconutRandy, I cant help but feel that the term 'Gibbering Baffon' was perhaps meant as a term of endearment. After all, gibbering is a 17th century initiative meaning to speak incessantly often foolishly, and no one can argue that you atent omnipresent in our streets. As for buffoon it's an amusing person, a clown from the medieval Latin buffo meaning a clown. Again, your entertaining rag erm newspaper is certainly amusing. So from a certain perspective I believe MikhailsWaaambulance was calling you a prolific entertainer.

Mr. Editor, may I enquire the cost of posting an advert?

Intern VIPCreditsGrin Grinbini listened to Dominic's question. After turning it over in his mind for several seconds, he decided it wasn't quite a complaint, issue or non-positive feedback so ignored him.

Another excellent issue, Sir. I am so honoured to be part of this fabulous publication. I know I wasn't technically part of this issue but I did write a column that might be able to make our special edition? Oh yes of course, assuming it isn't dogshit, yeah. I'm sure making you coffee counts as being part of the issue though. I'm pretty sure it does. Like being part of a gang even if you don't carry the knife. I'm the getaway driver; I didn't rob the bank, but I helped us make our escape.  

Dom listens to the intern's response and isn't sure how it answers his question..."But hey, he's a customer at my tailor shop, so whatever..."

Neil, you have a gift for interpretation. Very perceptive work. Are you sure you are not a Humble Observer? I'm positive Apocalypse would take you on as an apprentice, though I suspect moleman society is difficult and joyless. 

Dominic, we evaluate advertisements on an offer-by-offer basis. I will pencil you in for a sit-down at Coconut HQ with our Senior Director of Advertising, Coconut Randy. Please have a cash or credit offer prepared and bring a tribute of meat for the dogs.

Grinbini, without coffee, I would be dead. Literally dead. And instead of this issue launch, you would be at my funeral. And instead of witnessing the joy of our readers soaking in our serious and important journalism, everyone would be crying and grieving and wondering how life could possibly go on after this. The church choir would be singing an acapella version of the Coconut Randy & The Coconut Bandy B-side ballad I'll Love You From Tomorrow Until Yesterday, and the priest would say, 'Before Randy died, he gave me this prepared statement to read to all of you' and 45 minutes of laughter and sorrow later my ex-wife would arrive late with our children whom she moved to upstate Michigan to be near her mother.

You would say something like, I am so sorry for your loss, Mrs Ex-Coconut Randy, and she would sort of shrug and withdraw herself from the gathering until everyone had left. And then after darkness fell, she would return to the gravesite in which my recently-deceased body rested, dig up the fresh mound of dirt with a shovel and the aid of my two early-teenage children, and they would steal all of the Coconut family gold I have specifically requested in my will to be buried with, before returning back to Michigan. 

Needless to say, Grinbini, you have earned every penny of your paycheck. 

Dearest CoconutRandy I'm not sure at all what you mean. Whilst I am most assuredly an observer, there is nothing humble about me, nor have I ever implied that there was, I am proud of who I am and where I come from, and am happy to discuss this with anyone who enquires. I do not know this @Apocolypse fellow you speak off, but I doubt that he has anything to teach me, given that I already out perform him, and am most certainly likely to make my bones with Godfather BringmeLuck and Godfather Chairman Mikhail's blessing as long as I work hard and pay my dues. I simply thought that perhaps you were feeling a tad sensitive about what on the face of it, appears to have been a throw away comment, and therefore thought that I should endeavour to offer you an alternative perspective on the meaning behind said throw away comment. I was so tempted to apply to be your intern, but alas I had already accepted employment from Godfather Bringmeluck when I saw your advertisement, an employment which saw both Bringmeluck and Oblivion go head to head, tête-à-tête if you will for my limited services, which saw the former only marginally edge out the later by sneakily employing the help of their RHM. You should get to know Brother Oblivion, he's a really nice guy for a soul sucking demon fiend. Perhaps you could interview him for one of your Special Ed... itorial editions? Still, for better or worse you now have the stellar VIPCreditsGrin on your books, and I'm sure he is everything you wanted and expected an Intern to be. 

Finally, I would like to point out, that moleman society is indeed difficult and joyless having spent the last 4 days digging through freshly filled graves, not unlike your ex-wife will be the evening after your unfortunate demise, in an attempt to make a living. I can but hope that I get there before her. Until that happy day, I look forward to your next edition with bated breath... A quick side bar, I always used to think that it was baited breath as in fish bait, but I could never reconcile why one would bait their breath and what one would hope to catch by doing so, its not as if baiting my breath would bring your next edition to the streets any faster. It was whilst pondering this misnomer that I realised that it was actually bated, a derivative of the word abate, meaning that you are so excited at the prospect that you are almost holding your breath. Silly I know, but completely true I assure you. So, until next edition, I will continue to plead the 3rd amendment.