I just did, Grin-10.  I killed the man who was impersonating my friend, Billy Russo.

And this sham contest has been cancelled.

All my issues have been dealt with.

Jesus you’re a twat. I’m not Billy Russo but keep fishing. Billy and I are having a solid laugh at your expense though. It’s been quite entertaining. He does have quite the disdain for you. It is of course deserved Anton. 

Hey, maybe you’ll stop being a douche one day. I highly doubt it because clearly you’re a mental case. Work out your own issues. They’re clearly messing with your cognitive function.

Seeing Grin-10's charge to the street brought back happy memories for Grin-08. He recalled fondly his time spent in the family home with Grin-10 sitting at his feet, staring up at him, hero-worship etched in every crevice of acne-scarred face. You might be wondering why a small child would have acne scars, but sadly an accident involving an errant hockey puck hit by PhilipMarleauJr (he was aiming the other direct entirely) had left young Grin-10 with permanent brain damage. And now there he was 28, in diapers, still sitting cross legged at Grin-08's feet, hoping for a story to be read to him.

That was probably where his love of writing stemmed from, Grin mused, although now all he could really manage was a few crayon marks that looked faintly like "Not to be disrespectful to you in anyway, Sir Grin-08" on a piece of paper, or, invariably, his own face. 

Those were the good old days, thought Grin-08, as he watched the black sheep of the Grin family strike up conversation with his uncle Anton. He had always been fond of his uncle Anton, probably because the pair had spent a lot of time together with Anton's partner in crime Billy Russo. Those two were always inseparable, Billy and Anton, they hours they chatted. The letters they wrote each other. The contests they ran. And they still found the time to look after little pissy Grin-10; a friendship for the ages.

They apparently used to play pitch and catch together, the three of them, and Grin-08 had always found that surprising because Grin-10's hand-eye coordination meant he was barely able to feed himself, regularly spilling his muesli down his chin (all he could manage to eat since the accident), so any sort of sporting activity seemed a stretch. Still, he came home with a smile on his face and that was all that mattered.  

Is a man caring for his strange, stupid son insanity? It tells me he isn't the monster he is portrayed to be. Grin-10 was never cut out for a life of crime. He was too sweet. Too simple. 

"We could live of the fat o' the land, papa", he used to say, as Grin-08 began building his enterprise in Chicago. He will be missed greatly.