Kuku steps out of a car, angrily, and steps onto a podium...

Friends, it is with anger and dismay that I talk to you today.  For the streets have lost their way.  And for singular crime, those responsible must pay.  

I didn't serve a long stretch in prison, come back to these Streets and attempt to create some order and excitement only for it to be derailed by the ramblings of overgrown children, fantasists, and frankly disturbed oddballs.

Earlier, I noticed someone named Sisyphus talking to himself for literally hours.  I got in touch with him, to ask that he treats the Streets with respect, and offered to help him shape his ramblings into something people would actually be interested in.  And what did I get in return?  A load of abuse, and other things, which I was forced to report to his CL.  It's being looked into now, and for that I am grateful.

ScottMcCall, Sally and Sully - what are you trying to do?  This is the fucking mafia, not the local nuthouse.  We are not interested in werewolves, aliens, or whatever other fucking fetish is getting you excited today, so kindly, all bandy together and attend your local munch, or open a dungeon, or create a wildly successful international franchised shop selling little make believe figures, but back the FUCK off and leave us fucking MAFIOSA to be the fucking mafia.

Seriously, if you are on the Streets, and give an epic lengthy speech and NOBODY REPLIES it's because NOBODY CARES!  Stop talking to yourself.

Crewleaders, seriously, shoot those that hang around talking to themselves.  Is this how you want your family represented?

I didn't ask to be leader of the Streets, it just sort of happened, because of what my father did.  I'm trying to build on the positive parts of his legacy, and the fantasists are making it hard.

Do we want wizards and aliens, or fucking men and women of honour, and Teq?  

Seriously, it's time to decide what we want: Streets full of crime, rumour and subterfuge, or the ramblings of inadequate fantasy boffins.  If we choose the latter, it will lead only to systematic immolation of thought. 

Who is with me?

Wait.. You are not a self-proclaimed Leader of the Streets.. But you are the leader of it, because your father was self-proclaimed leader of the Streets?

Tops wonders whether such a title is inheritable at all, looks around him and continues

I don't like the way you bring it, but I do support your vision in The Streets being there for interaction.

Tops, I don't want this to be about me.  I can't remember who it was that proclaimed that my father was the leader of the Streets, possibly Destro, but I believe he earned that title from running the writing contests and basically being so popular.

I'm not at that level yet - my father was really quite something special, but in the face of no credible competition, I feel I can assume his mantle fairly easily.

But can we focus on the fantasists who preach make believe on the Streets?  Maybe calling for their immediate execution is radical, perhaps harsh,  but we must deal with them somehow?

They Sully the streets for everyone.  They must be dealt with.

The angry elemental stood and watched the irritating man make his speech. Predisposed to annoyance, a softening of expression crept across the normally angry face. Eyes of war opened with surprise. When the speech was finally over, the broad shouldered kimono elbowed its way past various onlookers, leaving most with freshly sore ribs. Eventually it stood in front of CommissarKuku. The scowl bristled across the furious face, for the sake of maintaining standards if nothing else. 

"Misser Kuku. You asshole, this remain true. But you have point. Good point. If I no aknowredge vis, I am as pafetic as you. So yes, you make good and nobre point."

The Commissar recieved a formal nod and Nipper turned to face the gathering faces.

"Make no mistake, vis man terribre dickhead. But he make sarient point about rising trend of deprorabre idiot. Society farr down when cock faces rike cis are torrerated! Force shit speak somewhere erse or make coffin. One or other. Make street a better prace for arr!"

With a wave of the flesh coloured hand, the blue face bowed and walked back down into the huddle. Stopping just as the gold silk garment was about to disappear. 

"No more dickhead!"

A flick of gold sleeve, the grunt of another unfortunate rib-dig victim, and it was gone.

Nipper, I literally can't understand you, and you seem very hostile to me, but still, despite that, you make more sense than the fucking Sully ScottMcCall Sally fantasists.

Fidd too had heard of the tales being told by a particular mobster who was pretending to be a werewolf. Howling at the moon and thrashing around, snarling at passers by. Fidd had looked into finding the individual and found him one day pissing up a tree with his leg cocked. He then began approaching one or two others and started sniffing their butts. Fidd had shared this with some of his crew back at the headquarters recently.

"You have to wonder whether the guy is mentally stable. There's no place for that sort of embarrassment. Who on earth wants to pretend to be a dog?"

Hands Sisyphus a beer

Mate please tell me how you bless these streets with such grace, I am a fan! Do not be disheartened by the threats of the Special little kid, he likes to throw tantrums and make  a fool of himself in the streets as you can see.

Guys I present to you, the new and improve, Sisyphus  the Leader of the streets!

Waits to be reprimanded by his Crew leader... oh wait. 

More to the point, Fidd, who would actually want them working for their outfit?  

“For someone who spends an inordinate amount of time saying that they are different and changed from their cheating father, you sure do speak of him a lot. Almost as if you haven’t changed at all. It really isn’t your place to decide how someone spends their time here. If you don’t like it, you’re free to stay away from it. You are most definitely the self proclaimed leader in the streets. Most of us only put up with you because you are the loudest voice in the room.”

Connor_McManus "You are most definitely the self proclaimed leader in the streets"

Thank you.  It is not a title I sought.

“It’s the title you handed yourself. Not many think as highly of you as you do of yourself. Most of us would be perfectly fine if we didn’t have to listen to your constant, obnoxious drivel. Just because there is no off button with you, doesn’t make you right in the slightest. That’s the same thing your father did. I thought you were different from him? At least that’s what you keep going on and on about. You’re the same snake that he was.”

“Yet you’ve got the same god complex that he did. Thinking you’re far more important that you actually are. Take away your mouth and you are nothing. If you’re stupid enough to think any of that was a compliment you need to get yourself checked into the nearest mental facility. I’m sure there’s a bed ready and waiting with your name on it.”

I've been framed. Set up. Attacked unfairly. Placed into a kangaroo court and sentenced to a life behind metaphorical bars, and I will stand for it no longer. While I was toiling away working with the lovely now deceased Van-Gogh who had took time out of their day to come meet me on the streets, I was shocked when I received a rather hasty telegram by one Mister Kuku who I personally have never had any dealings with and do not know at all.

This man accused me of talking to myself and tore down my hard works as an author and biographer. What makes him so much more important? His family line has spent so much time behind bars for white collar crimes that he forgets what it is like to toil under the sun and work for your money.

I am a man of the people, so when I responded to Mister Kuku I made sure that he knew that I would not be demeaned. But, being the kind guy that I am, I gave him a chance to stop me by letting him pay me 10 million in return for my street silence. Something that you would think a man of his stature should easily be able to come up with. Wrong. Maybe his wealth isn't as immense as he speaks these days, because he quietly slunk away to write a libelous hit piece instead.

I stand here gobsmacked. What I was hoping would be resolved with a simple money transfer was sadly cast aside, and now I must get back to work in the streets. There are many more stories to be told, I suppose.

Connor_McManus - "you need to get yourself checked into the nearest mental facility. I’m sure there’s a bed ready and waiting with your name on it." Why are you so sure of this?

And why do *you* care so much?  And why do you care about me, more than you care about the Streets?

If the fantasists are not interfering with the day to day life of the normal gangsters(I have checked a few posts and I can't find any such occurrence), then I do not see what the problem is Kuku. And this is not the first time that sci fi has graced these streets. I have heard of GFC's playing as superhero characters and animals.

No one is forcing you to read what others write. As far as I can see they are keeping the action contained in their thread. Now if these players you mentioned above were to mess with the other threads then it's a different story. That's my take on it.

“Mostly just because you’re a loud mouth with only your line to fall back on. I’ve got no problem with what any one does in the streets except you calling for executions just because you don’t like it. I don’t like anything that you do but I’m not calling for your head over it. But feel free to go right ahead and avoid the fact that you’re not as well thought of as you seem to think.”

Connor_McManus - I don't really know what I have done that is making you so upset, but what I do know is that I am trying to do something quite important here, and your hurt feelings, whilst important to you, are simply not relevant to the work that I am doing for the benefit of EVERYONE.  

Now, with respect, I will ask you to stop derailing this discussion.  If you have something to say about the fantasists, then please join in and I will respond to you with good faith.  But if you just want to attack me, then please go away.

For I am an easy target.  And I know that.  I'm the son of probably the wealthiest member of this society that ever lived.  I experienced wealth, privilege and power akin to that of a Pharaoh, and unjustifiably so.  My father made mistakes.  He lost his way, deafened by the roar of private jets, and blinded by the sight of unbridled power.  He could buy anything he wanted, including cities, kill anyone he pleased, and was protected by powerful bodyguards and even more powerful mobsters.

He was, simply, unassailable.  Until he wasn't.  And I think, for ordinary, simple people like you, that this is the most difficult thing to comprehend.  Just because a man owns a bank, a string of casinos, has several cities full of crime families at his beck and call, and has time, money and safety to indulges his literary ambitions, does NOT mean that he is happy.

And this is the truth.  Sure, my father enjoyed killing people associated with his enemies.  He liked setting up those he personally disliked.  He enjoyed financing families he liked.  But you didn't see the other side, the tender side.  The part of him that wept, when his friends were killed.  And sometimes, particularly during the writing contests, people died.  My father was hurt by these deaths.  He, as leader of the Streets, felt responsible.

And I, in penance for my life of luxury, which you and most other ordinary simply people can not even imagine, did a long prison stretch.

So judge me simply on what I intend to do, not what I have actually done so far, and definitely not on what my father did.

“And what exactly gives you the right to call for people’s deaths because you don’t agree with what they are doing? That seems to be part of the equation that you’re just glossing over. You may not have the same funds as your line but you’re one in the same. You are exactly what he was. Your fathers time in federal prison clearly didn’t get through to you. You can dress it up and dance around with your veiled attacks all you want but you don’t speak for everyone, you’re just the loudest.”

Takkar - you seem consumed with OOC-itis.  Can you sort this out, and make it quick, because you're risking my being deported to OOC Aveneue.  I can help school you on this, but this is a priority.

Thanks in advance.