Note from the Editor

 

Folks, when we heard of the Manhattan Project, we didn't expect it to go off in fucking Manhattan.  Needless to say, average life in the city, the state of New York, and most of the country came to an abrupt end last week,  and while we regret the mountains of tail that we've lost as we were slowly starting to edge our way into the New York art scene, we're happy to be alive, several stolen identities later, content with our fresh supply of cocaine while continuing to write this Godforsaken paper that has less public support than the average park bathroom, yet enough private support to give all but the most concerted Republican fundraiser effort a run for its money.  Whatever the reason, we're quite grateful, as the costs of switching to a new printing press, laying down new cement for our new underground coffin complex and our new state of the art security system (read: broken glass) was vast.  Nonetheless, we're proud to give you issue V of the Long Island Enquirer!




War Engulfs Eight Cities, Sources Claim Ozzymandias to Blame

 

Hundreds of men and women are reported missing or dead after a war tore through the eight cities, bringing the economy to a grinding halt as a result of massive car bomb attacks, gang shootings, bodies flying from skyscrapers, and several reports of an anthropomorphic dog viciously mauling people throughout the country.

The Long Island Enquirer's sources claim that Ozzymandias was the sole reason for the bloody conflict, referencing his call for a peace treaty in the streets (other sources claim that it started in part due to a no name Captain in New York who died several millennia ago who may have assisted in the removal of another crewleader who's name is heavily faded in the book of Over 9000 ago, but we won't get into the murky details of what is clearly blatant, ridiculous hearsay) only exacerbated the tensions between the two Superpowers, culminating into a bloody Thursday war that saw the deaths of Gaius, The_JesTer, Whatsername, doogle, Sho, Big_Fat_Salvatore, and many more - including what is most likely the most influential death that rocked the Eight Cities to their knees, DarkAvenger1991.

The massacre has also brought to life the plight of the average bodyguard, who, for the victims of death, can now be seen standing with their comrades in a straight line, in what some are calling a makeshift abattoir, with shot-hungry hawks eagerly taking their chances in the attempt to become more than just a number on a giant spreadsheet attempting to prove themselves to their crewleaders, in the desperate hope that they too will enjoy the benefits of owning hundreds of meat puppets bodyguards in their doomed to wackback or die-in-a-war-sleeping existence. 

At the height of the conflict, some of the more desperate and less fortunate Mafiosos could be found pandering on the streets, begging for any Kittie, Sprozza or Telkin with a gun to fire at them in the vain hope that it would send them to a highly secure emergency room.  Sadly, the majority of these efforts went unrewarded, as members left and right routinely engaged in large, drawn-out firefights that left some cities partially or completely destroyed, with bodies littering the streets.

The violence lasted for the better part of 15 hours, with firefights frequently erupting in the streets, slaying thousands of meat puppets bodyguards in the process.  
Citing national security, the Federal Government has been tasked with removing the myriads of dead bodies from the area, setting off a congressional debate over the restrictions passed under the Posse Comitatus Act.  When pushed for questioning, a senior government official from the Justice Department replied with "lol, executive order, brah." 

With the war leaving several thousand dead, officials expect a flurry of newcomers to drag down the enormously successful wack rate that the community has enjoyed over the past few months several percentage points down, in an effort to desperately cling on to the former glory of their past bloodline.

With War Over, Children of the Fallen Stalked by Anonymous Godfather

With the dust finally settling over the war that swept the Eight Cities, reports have slowly emerged that a persistent, anonymous stalker has taken to harassing the sons and daughters of the fallen, offering "help" and "advice" wherever it is required.


Sources indicate that police have received an increasingly large number of sexual harassment complaints from the anonymous stalker, who refers to himself in the third person as a Godfather, who, for the most part, offers unnecessary advice, sexual advances, and unwanted literature to sex manuals which, to take an excerpt from one of them, teaches you how to "successfully wack" and how to commit a "FUC", a now ancient term for a depraved act involving several individuals working together for the same sick, perverted reward.

"It's like, he wouldn't leave me the fuck alone.  First, he showed up when I arrived on the boat.  He seemed nice enough." said a young up and comer in Las Vegas, who spoke on condition of anonymity.

 "I mean, he did steal my seat, and he did have two gigantic hunks at both sides of him..  I'm not sure if they were his partners or not, but they were pretty fearsome.  Then, out of the blue, he starts handing me all of this old shit - he claimed they were notes.  One of them was a fucking Junior Mint wrapper.  Then, he had the audacity to give me this gigantic, unmarked book.  He said it was the key to success.  I open it up, and what the fuck do I get greeted with? The Kama Sutra." the gangster said with eyes rekindling the flame of disappointment and appalling harassment. "I remember thinking to myself, "Who the fuck is this guy?""

"Then, not even a few minutes later, when I'm doing my first few crimes, he starts doing these "check-ins".  He gave me a mountain of other shit to read that I'm sure is all sex related - I mean, the first book he gave me was "Ten Ways to Please Your Boss".  If that isn't sexual harassment, I don't know what is.  I threw it in the trash."

The anonymous Mafioso also recalled several other instances where the stalker confronted him several days and weeks apart, each time being longer than the next.

"I think his interest in me just evaporated.  I grew older, and each time he saw me, he always had this twinkle of disappointment in his eye.  The other day, I saw some kid being talked up by a guy who looked like him.  It probably was.  To think I was just some piece of young meat that he could flirt around with only to toss me aside kind of hurts, to be honest.  I mean, I obviously didn't care about him - he was an annoying, dirty old pervert.  But to be dropped like a hat at the sight of some young blood - that hurts.  But I'll get over it. I have to."

God Hospitalized After Deadly Fall During Funeral Service

 
With God approaching nearly a quarter of a million funeral attendances as part of his 12 year, $500,000,000 contract, (which also includes no less than a minimum of 100,000 new followers a year for his organization) it was only a matter of time before an accident reared its head and plagued the Almighty himself.

Sources indicate that God suffered a heavy fall after speaking at the funeral of a useless, no-name member who was most likely killed by their boss for being more scarce than food in the impoverished Soviet Union.  Witnesses claim that after giving his closing statements, the all-time high score leader in kills tripped over his robe getting caught between his sandals, causing him to immediately fall, sustaining injuries which included a broken hip, several torn ligaments and a mild concussion.  Driven to the hospital in the City of Angels by his alternate personality and/or son, Jesus, God was successfully treated for his wounds and is undergoing rehabilitation, which should see him back to announcing the ending of more lives in as little as two weeks.

At his bedside, the controversial omnipotent leader seemed cheerful of his physical outlook, although weary of what he'll have to return to.

"You know how difficult it is to rush to each funeral to read the same damn thing, every single time? Not even mentioning the fact that I'm the priest at my own church?  I'm allergic to white roses now.  I created the damned things, and I'm allergic to them.  And if I see one more grieving widow, mother or that same guy who always just says "rip bro" at the ceremony, I'll be happy to send them off to the grave, too.  Hell, I'm already going to presiding over their funeral anyway!"

Despite being the one to rush him to the hospital, God's alternate personality and/or son, Jesus, was surprisingly less than thrilled to hear of his father's miraculous recovery. 

"You know, I wasn't born in a barn to just die and serve as a designated driver.  He didn't lose balance from being exhausted.  He was completely drunk.  You didn't see the bulging flask that was underneath his robes, did you? The man takes more shots than all of these mindless gun-training drones who wander our streets combined, putting these people in the ground in the first place.  I'm happy not everything is on the deep end for me, though. My new advertisement firm and creative consultants have just started rolling out our new "Jesus is Coming" ad blitz, so hopefully I'll be able to gain traction on the big man soon."

A Break for Our Sponsor

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Happenings of the Street

Too lazy and apathetic to read anything but this?  The Long Island Enquirer will be providing commentary from the editor relating to the newest discussions hitting the eight cities, keeping you on the cutting edge of every long, drawn out argument and backroom dealing that finds its way on the streets.

LoveGun recently struck up a discussion querying others about their ideal qualities and dealings with their right hand, with the bribe of free rum.  I don't know about you, but what I do with my right hand in the throws of the late night with a bottle of vodka in the other is my business.

A harangue from the late Gaius on the erosion of values, the esteem of being a crewleader and the urging of people to "SPEAK THE FUCK UP" was well received.  On a side note, either the man has a promotional deal with a tobacco firm, or his bloodline really, really likes using cigarettes for dramatic effect.

Ozzymandias called for a historic peace treaty between the Godfathers, signaling his desire to end the months of fighting that has devastated the eight cities and left thousands dead, missing, destitute or homeless.  Unfortunately, shortly after his proposal, the eight cities decided to engage in a bloodbath of epic proportions, sending the economy into a tailspin and leaving thousands of bodyguards left to fend for their dead employers.  

Unidentified terrestrial beings were discovered by Zerk, who was eager to share his sightings in a suspiciously familar third person account of the event.  With a name like Zerk, how could anyone refute his claims?

In an attempt to stir up debate about the issue of the now almost ubiquitous practice of sending out thinly veiled help-mails, Huxley inadvertently irked the crowd, who promptly stoned him and used his body as horse feed.  Like Spirit, hopefully you're now free of the shackles of society!

Obituaries 

Due to the incredible amount of deaths that have plagued the nation from the past war, the Long Island Enquirer has decided to publish only the top five obituaries that the editor feels profoundly affected the entire community as a whole.

Gaius

The late head of Las Vegas and soon to be Godfather was supposedly slain by a Welsh Corgi, who reportedly jumped off of a several story building, landing on the crewleader, viciously mauling him.  Reports indicate that the dog was quickly euthanized after Gaius succumbed to his wounds.  Rest in Peace!


Whatsername


The nameless and ageless Godmother of New York was reportedly struck dead in an evening night raid which also left the bodies of several other high-ranking members dead.  However, sources indicate that the body was never located, leading to speculation and rumors that the Godmother roams the streets with her real identity, which infamously remained anonymous during her tenure in New York.  Rest in Peace?

The_JesTer

The Chicago crewleader and famous socialite was found slain in a New York penthouse after laying claim to the city as Godfather.  Police sources and security tapes indicate that a firefight broke out between the Chicago powerhouse and Sho, who, unbeknownst of the new occupant, arrived at his penthouse with an escort.  Unexpectedly finding the Chicagocrewleader in his bath, a vicious firefight broke out, resulting in the death of the call girl, The_JesTer, the destruction of several antique furniture pieces, and a missed DVR recording of America's Got Talent.  Rest in Peace!

Sho

 

The body of Sho was discovered among several hundred bodyguards killed in an explosion on Manhattan Island.  Easily one of the most prolific serial killers ever to grace the streets, Sho was known far and wide for his high rank in New York, serving as right-hand to the Godmother of New York.  An accomplished marksman and rudimentary surgeon, his reputation was solidified for the number of victims he claimed - over a thousand.  Upon inspection of a small plot of land that hosted only a simple barn and a freezer, police discovered hundreds of bodies - chopped up, dismembered or placed whole, in shallow graves.  Some were discovered in the freezer, along with several packets of Heinz mustard and Worcestershire sauce.  Authorities have exclaimed it to be one of the largest murder counts ever recorded, with police dumbfounded as to how he got away with it for so many years.  With the books on this case closed, we can finally lay rest what some called the King of "Pop".  Rest in Peace!

DarkAvenger1991

The death that rocked the entire community, DarkAvenger1991 was seen far and wide as one of the most prolific gangsters - and writers - of this generation.  Sources claim that he died in an all out firefight, heroically slaying, by some accounts, approximately two dozen would-be assassins before finally falling to a lone shooter who DarkAvenger1991 missed.  As well as being a legendary beacon of strength for any man or woman to look up to, DarkAvenger1991 set the bar in terms of human achievement.  If he was any more perfect, he would likely be on par with the only other bloodline that has had more success - bigmac's.  Rest in Peace, you legend.  

Final Notes from the Editor

This work is presented to you as (mostly) fiction and jest. Only a fool would take all content at face value.

Continuing the tradition the Priscilla Press set, if you're a fan of the Long Island Enquirer, consider contributing to Obscura's Cocaine Fund. For just the price of a cup of cocaine a day, you'll be ensuring that you receive cutting edge reporting, content and hours on end of entertainment for the head writer. 

Current Funds Raised: $1,924,500  (An absolutely stellar surge in donations allowed the paper to move printing presses to Chicago, as well as keep our rampant cocaine usage in healthy supply.  The Long Island Enquirer would like to thank every individual who donates to keep this paper alive, even if it's treated like your private porn collection.)

Want to submit an article, promote a business or advertise? Contact the editor for details discussing your content.

Cassi carried her coffee and the latest edition of The Long Island Enquirer out onto the patio of her favorite cafe. She sat down and took a refreshing drink from her cup as she tilted her face towards the sun, soaking up it's warmth. After a few moments, she unfolded the paper and began reading, as she took several drinks of her delicious beverage. Upon finishing the paper, she chuckled as she folded it up and placed it on the table.

I must remember to send a donation along to support this amusing endeavor.

She placed the paper into her purse, grabbed her coffee and headed off to start her day.

Excellent job once again, and a very enjoyable read. Keep up the good work, sir.

Long have I been a fan of this publication.  I have always found it vastly superior to many of the nations other news journals.  I appreciate the effort that is made here to actually be humourus.  It is quite pleasing to know that the fall of Long Island has not caused the fall of this paper.  Thanks for another awesome read.

I also enjoy this paper. I am happy to see that one is still allowed to exist. Keep up the good work old friend

LoveGun regretted crumpling her copy of the Knuckle as it now laid on her bookshelf in a mess and it'd be the last copy. She reached for the bottle of rum and took a swig. Whoever said one couldn't drink away their pain was wrong, LoveGun couldn't feel anything. Anything except the pool of sadness in her heart. Who would make fun of Crawford now?

After raising the bottle to her lips once more, LoveGun tossed her blond hair over her shoulder and took a short walk towards Crawford's office. He wasn't home and neither was his revolver. When it wasn't on his body, it laid on the desk, but it wasn't their. Before Crawford left for the night he had passed her office, noticed her drunken stupor and deep depression over the loss of The Knuckle from her life, he took all of her weapons away. Even her African drums.

As her mind flickered over the thought of musical instruments she looked for his guitar. The strings, she could tie them together and make some sort of self strangulation. The world was no longer liveable without The Knuckle and she had to end her life some how. Of course though, the guitar was missing as well. Crawford probably took it to go make other people's lives miserable. As he aged, so did his playing. It was harder for him to make the songs sound enjoyable. LoveGun paused quickly as she realized the last five minutes of her thoughts were targeting Crawford and his guitar. This was terrible, he was her right hand for bloody hell. He was there whenever she needed anything.

LoveGun looked at the almost empty bottle of rum, poured the rest of the liquor into her mouth and wacked the bottle on Crawford's desk. The glass form shattered, but the jagged edges would make for a nice cutting tool. Just as she reached for a large piece that had a wonderful sharp point, LoveGun noticed something on Crawford's desk. Another newspaper! That bastard was holding out on her. He wanted her to kill himself! Well now LoveGun was certainly not going to clean up all the glass, she'd have a good time tomorrow morning watching Crawford step all over it, grinding it into the floor.

She snatched the paper off his desk and skittered back into her office.

Th' Long Island Enquirer

LoveGun mumbled to herself. It'd be her life saver. She flipped open the first page and began to read. Time passed quickly as it was a good read or maybe because most of the words dribbled and blurred together. She may need to read it again when she was sober.

Not bad, not bad at all.

She said out loud to no one before passing out in her chair.

Sits at his desk in his large office.. on the 50th floor of his HQ building, he looks out the window at the sunset.. smiling as he knew tonight he was off to party in Las Vegas.. the greatest city of all time but before that, he unrolled the paper he just got from an associate he knew by the name of Obscura..he was promised a lifetime supply for his generous donations to the paper

I enjoy it and mostly I enjoy the dedication and effort put into publishing this. The obits were funny in their own way and the add for my paper was well.. you know.. keep it up, it is people that do this and stand out that help us continue our way of life.

Jimmy moves the paper aside, writing a check and throwing it in the outgoing mail for tomorrow, knowing he has other business to attend to and couldnt sit around reading all night