Grooglez sat in the passenger seat to listening to the parade of roars from the revving engine as Premier pumped the accelerator multiple times. while stopped at a red light, causing a mother with groceries and a stroller crossing the path to jump unexpectedly, dropping the contents from her hand before bending over collect them back them up.

"So which way we headed now? I thought you we were going to the dessert, isn't that east from here?" said Premier, amused with himself as he was able to control the actions of the woman bending over in front of them, like a puppet master.

"Once the full moon in front of us sets, head down two blocks and make a right. Then an immediate left.." Grooglez began to instruct, before Premier cut him off.

"...just past the gas station into the alley. Care to explain why the fuck are we going to the garage?" Premier toyed with the idea of shooting Grooglez right now or awaiting a response first.

"Did you want to drive 400 plus miles to Utah in a fucking bumpy ass truck? We'd run out of gas with that thing." - Grooglez

"Once again. That's lovely, Grooglez. Can I ask you something? Do I look like your fucking driver? Why the fuck am I driving us back to the garage? How about you now figure out where the fuck we're going beforehand and I'll take care of the navigating while I lay across the back seat."  Premier then thought to himself, a bullet wasn't worth all of the trouble.

They quickly approached the alley which ran along a row of body shops, mechanic shops, and junkyards, before pulling into an open warehouse at the end of the alley. To be honest, none of this really matters, as all they did was change into a much more suitable car for the journey. Driving 400 miles with that sort of mileage would involve far too many gas station stops, and most of those are just uneventful. Aren't you thankful you don't have to read about rows of cars lined up, waiting to be stripped for every part to then be sold to junkyards for inventory purposes? Yep, I think you get it know. It's a chop shop and those cars are all stolen.

FAST FORWARD 5 HOURS.
The drive is absolutely boring. It's literally just fucking desert. Grooglez and Premier spoke very minimally during the drive, but Premier mainly just slept since the first leg was fairly simple. We zoom in as the car exits the highway in the middle of nowhere,  towards a single gas station with an attached mechanic shop and a tiny store. 

Grooglez dug his hand into the slot between the passenger seat and the center arm rest and pulled out the folded up newspaper before throwing it at Premier to wake him up.

"Rise and shine princess. You need me to get anything from inside while we fill up?" Grooglez asked, desperate for some conversation after listening to the bombs bursting of Premiers snoring for the last 3 hours of the drive.

"I need a fucking midget so I can use it to beat you over the head with... why the fuck do I even associate myself with you?" Premier mumbled as he sat up. He rubbed his eyes before continuing, "Where the fuck are we?"

"We're just on the outskirts of California, nearing into the shitterhole of Nevada. These wonderful anal landscapes are the scratchy sandpaper like lining of Nevadas anus; and just like a 15 year old convincing his little cock jockey to let him into her panties, we're  almost at 'just the tip'"  Grooglez proudly answered, heart content at his beautiful illustration of the Mojave Desert. 

"We got few more hours to go before we get to a wonderful cuntstain of an area where Utah, Arizona, and Nevada line up, kinda like a young ^{(Insert Persons Name)} at a circle jerk" Offered Grooglez, as he parked the car next to an available gas pump and shifted into park. 

"Grab some waters and see if the gas station has a condom machine. If we're going to Utah, I don't want to leave with 8 kids. Those fucking mormons breed litters like street mutts. Next thing you know, you have to marry 3 broads and take in their dead ass bum brothers because little Becky didn't want to let someone shove a coat-hanger up her snatch." instructed Premier, as he motioned for the teenager working the pumps to hurry his ass over.

"My guy, what the fuck is wrong with you? A baby is a beautiful thing. What you should do is celebrate such a joyous occasion. Get a bunch of bottles of champagne, both of you sit around in a hot tub for like 5 hours, drink as much as you two can, and then go ride some roller coasters the following day to celebrate... I'm sure the little baby in there would love that all..", Grooglez responded, as he exited the car and made his way to the little store inside to purchase some refreshments.

"See my friend over there? He's a fucking idiot, so I need you to make sure this car isn't going to break down in the middle of the desert. Check the fluids. Check the brakes. Fill er up. Get this all done before my friend gets back" Premier asked the young attendant, who nodded back at Premier, while Premier slipped a crispy $50 into his shirt pocket, observing the name badge which read "Richard".
"and make sure you never remember seeing us here, okay, little Dick."
 

Not too long after, Grooglez and Premier hit the road again. Like Bonnie and Clyde. On their way to an abandoned building in the middle of nowhere. With a fucking radio tower. Jesus Christ, that's right, this whole thing is about a radio station wasn't it? Why are they going to Utah then? Did Premier really have to shorten the boys name Richard to Dick? Did Grooglez get the condoms? What's inside Premiers bag? Wait, what bag?... stay tuned as they get closer to their destination. Below are the transcripts of some of the things discussed during the part of the drive:

******************************************************************************************************************* ******************************************************************************************************************* ******************************************************************************************************************* ******************************************************************************************************************* ******************************************************************************************************************* 

Yes, it's all redacted. This is the fucking mafia. You ever heard of Omerta? You only get the parts you're allowed to know about. Nosey fuck.

The two traveled across the desert. They marked several locations as excellent places to hide bodies. Occasionally, they would wave past a lankmark that they would recognize, trying to remember who they might have buried there, imaging that they were probably lonely and waving back to them. 

"Prem, I forgot to mention. The guys said they would take care of that Ray Dio situation this weekend. You don't need to worry about it." Grooglez suddenly woke up from a zombie state of thought, realizing that they were less than 5 minutes from their destination.

Premeir reached between his legs to open the black leather bag that nobody had mentioned before. 
"Don't worry Grooglez. It's already been HAND...led" Said a grinning Premier, as he pulled out a severed human hand, with its middle finger sticking up as, just as one would  expect from these two. "Aren't you glad I went now?"

Grooglez rolled his eyes before noticing it was a humans right hand. He recalled observing that most of the severed hands Premier would keep were always left hands.
 
"Why'd you do the right hand this time? I thought you only collected left hands. Like some sort of signature move to appease the ego of a short bus riding kids fantasy... that fills your heart" asked Grooglez, intrigued by his friends sudden change in procedures. 

"Most people are right handed. That means they wipe their ass with their right hand. This fuck was using his fork with his left. Do you want a shitty hand?" Premier replied, as he adjusted the hardened fingers to form a semi circle, as though the hand was holding an object. 

He then reached towards Grooglez crotch with the hand and added  "That would lead to a shitty hand job...Do you want a shitty handjob, Grooglez?"

Smacking the hand away, Grooglez suddenly perked up even further, his mind reminded of something which he didn't understand much.
"No, what the fuck dude, Jesus, stop it. But hey, Prem. You heard of that Morty Musclesless or MartyMuscles beef head out of Seattle?" 

Premier shrugged

"I had some actors tell me they went up to Washington state to work out with him. To get into shape for some films or something like that..." Grooglez continued,
"They said that he would spend most of his time in the public showers. Every single fucking time some other dude headed towards the showers, Sporty Morty would skip out on the last reps of his set and make a dash to the showers, shoving every and any one out of his way to go take another shower himself.... and it was said that he always seems to drop the soap. Poor grip or something. Maybe too many sets have loosened his muscles and weakened his grip? Anyways, that got me thinking and... well... How exactly to do guys have sex? I never fully understood it... Grooglez stuttered slightly as he spoke, afraid of Premier laughing at him for not being famlliar with the topic. However, that didn't stop the bumbling idiot from continuing...
"Like.. does one dude ram his cock into another guys piss hole? Or do you like need.. one of them to not be circumsized? And then the circumsized dude just sticks the head of his cock inside of the other dudes foreskin?" Grooglez voice began to pick up with his second suggestion, sensing that he may have finally figured it out himself.

"Grooglez. When two men love each other very very much, they go to the shower and wash each other squeaky clean. Like, work up an amazing lather and make sure every inch is nice and squeaky clean. Then one guy would lead the other guy to the bedroom, lay him down over the bed, and proceed to passionately tongue punch his fart box." Premier explained calmly... before he was able to proceed Grooglez thankfully interrupted him

"Uhhhh.. right.. hey boss, we're finally here!!!" The tone in Grooglez voice exploding with excitement, unsure if it was because he didn't have to hear the rest of the explanation he so regretted asking about.... or the fact that they were finally MOTHER FUCKING THERE!

"So this is your big plan Grooglez? Waste our money putting together radio stations out in the middle of the desert so that we can broadcast about fucking aliens to nut jobs sitting around in their trailers wearing armadillo hats and tinfoil suits? Why the fuck did we waste an entire day to drive out to look at a fucking rundown radio station in Los Angeles, and a fucking giant anal probe in the circle jerk of Utah, Nevada, and Arizona? You're smarter than this Grooglez. Are you suicidal? You realize you just wasted my entire day, and took me to a location where I could get rid of your body and nobody would ever fucking have a clue?"

Premier continued to dig into Grooglez, making sure his protege was well aware of idiocy.

"Prem, dude. Give me a second to explain this shit to you. Radio stations broadcast at a frequency that is assigned to them based on the geographical location they are broadcast at. The reasons why all of the legit companies have to have different stations in different locations, different staff, different radio frequency signal, all that shit. Uncle Sam wants to boggart the neighboorhood slut and control who gets to fuck her. Unlucky for uncle Sam, we're the mob and we don't give two fucks about his rules."

Grooglez channeled his Los Angeleno soul. He knew that his pitch was slowly starting to peak Premiers interest. Or at least that's what he was convincing himself as he laid out the details of the operation.

"We can control all of the operations out of the base in Los Angeles. That towers signal is strong enough to reach where we are standing right now on a low frequency signal on AM radio. And, since we don't have to worry about the government controlling which band we need to use, all we need to do is use this tower here to amplify that signal from LA. This signal will then be able to reach as far as Colorado... where I've already found a property similar to this one.... tower included. Hell, all we need to do is continue to line up property across the midwest with towers, and we can amplify our signal across the entire fucking nation." 

Premier offered a solution to Grooglez hypothetical suggestion before Grooglez could proceed with his pitch, "We could reach out to families in Chicago to see if they can help provide locations and protect them from local cops... but how the fuck are we supposed to make these towers communicate with one another? You couldn't even fix the headlights on the truck..." Premier reminded his friend.

"Dude, you served in the fucking war. I'm sure you had to have met some radio operations or communications guys. All you have to do is tap into some of those contacts, and I'm sure they'll be able to figure this out in no-time. I got the idea from a necrophiliac crack-head in Hollywood who runs an underground radio station where he reads erotic literature..."

The two men continuing to talk into the night, with Premier slowly beginning to concede that there may actually be something to this. If they're able to bring the right people together, there would be no reason why Mob Radio couldn't be broadcast across the entire nation, replacing the tired, out-dated, un-entertaining and unreliable ancient artifact called print media. Finally, the sweet sweet words were finally said.

"Fuck it, Grooglez. We're getting into the radio industry. I'll figure out the logistics in getting your towers operational. But besides that, we're going to need to get staff in place to run the station, and ultimately, we'll need to figure out what in the flying fuck we're supposed to broadcast with this radio station..."