The Star Underworld Examiner, Issue One - 1^st June

Welcome to the first issue of the Star Underworld Examiner, which will hereafter be known as The Star.  They say that necessity is the mother of invention, well necessity paid me a visit today, stabbed me in the back, and then abused my prostrate wounded body verbally, with insulting broadside after broadside.  They (a different they) are a shadowy group of people that until recently I would have considered friends.  Let's just say they (the shadowy group) taught me the difference being "friendly" and "friendship" - and let's just say that I'm now friendless.  Now I've got that off my chest, let's get on with the newspaper, and remember that this is an objective, fact-based newspaper, which employs only independent journalists.

UPPER MIDWEST CRIME BOSS RESPONSIBLE FOR INCREASE IN INTERSTATE TELEGRAMS

We received a tipoff from our contacts in the US Mail that messengers employed by notorious Upper Midwest crime boss "BrainTeacher" (we are using a pseudonym to protect the guilty as well as the innocent) are having to send dozens of telegrams a day to a hapless mobster who has fallen out of BrainTeacher's favour.  Sources say that the hapless mobster was framed for a contract killing he knew nothing of, and that, for unknown reasons, BrainTeacher has been terribly triggered by the accusation, and has resorted to sending numerous telegrams alleging numerous misdemeanours.

It is unclear why BrainTeacher has not simply executed his quarry.  We can speculate that the mobster receiving the telegrams has contacts, or monetary resources, which have thus far impeded BrainTeacher from taking the lead-through-the-head option. 

We will monitor the situation.

COMPETITIVE WRITING COMMUNITY STUNNED BY PUBLIC RESIGNATION OF STALWART, ACCUSATIONS OF MALPRACTISE

A man we are not naming has given us a lengthy statement detailing the truth being the recent writing competition, hosted by Jaws, and won by Hobbs.  We are reprinting it here in full:

"It was a scam from the start.  My lineage ran various competitions through the years, and in all that time, I doubt any more than a dozen or so Made guys were killed.  Maybe double that in associates, but they generally lost the run of themselves and more or less got themselves killed.  So, I was known as being able to put together and run a competition.  So this group tell me to do the PR (Public Relations), and it was them that came up with the dressing down theme.  Stupid if you ask me, but I was simply helping out who I thought were friends.  Anyway, they asked me to send them the $35m prize money, and I should have suspected something was up, as they had said to me that they would provide the prize money.  But I trusted them, so sent the $35m.  Then, they told me that I had to award the $35m to someone who hadn't entered the competition.  I was like "excuse me?"  and they said yeah, give the prize to *******.  I said that ******* hadn't even entered, and that I'd already sent to the prize money, which I was told I would be given, to the group asking me to put the competition together.  They said to send ******* the $35m, and that they'd reimburse me.  I said I didn't have it, and they said to borrow it off loansharks, but not to say they were backing it.

I began to suspect something was up.  So, I said I wouldn't do that, and that I was instead going to make the top prize the Herald of the Underworld, which is the only thing I own, and the only thing in this world I care about, particularly since my boss constantly sends me abusive telegrams accusing me of this, that, and the other.  I then got an anonymous letter to my accountant which read 'YOU DON'T OWN THE HERALD' - and that was that.  

So, I contacted the winner and said I'd pay him off at $4m a week for the next 12 weeks, in effect imposing a form in indented servitude upon myself.  Thankfully the winner, who I am not naming here (and isn't the winner announced on the Streets - Hobbs won fair & square and I got his prize money from the only remaining friend I have) was OK with this.  

So, that's that.  That's why I'm basically a serf.  I was broken down by this group who I considered friends.  I'm done with the competitive writing community.  I have my heart and soul to it, and scores of people gave their lives, and for what?  The enrichment of a bunch of scam artists?  To Hell with that!"

We asked for the identities of this supposed shadowy group, but our confidante would not give them.  He then asked for payment for this article, and we said we would split any contributions from our readers.  Please give generously.

COMING IN THE NEXT ISSUE...

Danger, Suspense, Mystery: An UnGodly Series of Incidents?

There is a story of such magnitude, such intrigue and scandal, that it will probably lead to as many deaths as a mid-range writing competition not managed by the traditional organisors.  I'm currently trying to work out if society can manage the level of carnage that this revelation may ensue.  Let's just say that those who complain of receiving monetary donations for street speaking (of whom I am not one) should perhaps draw less attention to themselves.

Grin-22 - An Exclusive Interview

This isn't confirmed, and in fact I haven't even asked him, but if anyone does want to see this, send me some cash and a good reason why.

Henson finds himself walking the streets, looking for a decent place for breakfast. He's quite new to the sport of basketball and finds himself trying harder than the other, more prolific sportsmen he has surrounded himself with. This works up quite the appetite for the greedy, overweight basketball playing wannabee.

He spots a dodgy looking hotdog stand on the side of the road. The hotdogs appear to have been there for quite some time, maybe even days - so he only had 2. 

Whilst hungrily staggering his way down town, he sees what he can only assume is a local junkie, trying to earn a few bob for his next hit of whatever it is he may be addicted to - Heroin? Cocaine? Attention? 

The junkie appears to be handing out used fish and chip wrappers, with scribbled writing all over them. Based on the fact that a load of these were now blowing around in the wind, he could only presume some people felt too guilty not to purchase one and then threw it away after discovering it was complete rubbish. 

He approaches the man. 

"What do you have there young man? And how much money do you want to go somewhere else and stop dirtying these here streets with your trash? "

Jaws, first of all, good work. BrainTeacher sounds like the kind of person I would sit down and have a beer with. I know you can't reveal who he is, so I won't ask, but I'm sure I could spot a man like that in a crowd. 

More importantly, you know we're one big family in Detroit. That's how our organization is run. Sure, FrizzleFry and MikeTyson might combine for just enough people to operate a rowboat, but it's not easy graduating to the big leagues of mafia basketball coaching. What you have to remember is these guys came out of our roster. They're JFMAST graduates. Not like Hobbs, you couldn't roll a basketball into a laundry hamper without breaking a couple fingers. That guy is pure tuna juice. 

Jaws, you remember what we talked about in regards to a certain incident involving the hitlist. It looks like the daily tithes will continue.

I want you to apologize to Henson, and please make it sincere. 

I'm not sure I'd class that monstrosity as a newspaper. 

It is more the drunken ramblings of an attention whore, desperate for another fucking. I've produced better examples of writing on the back of my cigarette carton. 

Although the fame that you refer to does sum up your mentality. The self-centered, egotistical bit at least. 

I'm a very young man. I won't be celebrating my 1 week birthday day until later on today. But I have no doubt that I have more honour than you or any of your predecessors have ever managed to accumulate. 

I'd be amazed if you managed to survive to my 2 week birthday. 

I doubt you will if you keep offering duels to others like you did to me 2 days ago.

You see what happens when we take the high road? 

I'm not going to pretend we're all best friends here. I mug half of my crew daily, I don't hold back, it's vicious, I put these guys on ventilators. But I do it because you're not going to get better unless you train hard. We want practice to replicate a game environment and you're not making any besties on the court. So I like your apology, Jaws. Thank you. 

This is why Detroit is the strongest roster in the country. 

I would not consider that "apology" sincere but I will take it and appreciate you being the beta in our relationship. 

I am appalled that you would refuse any correspondence with a fellow city member. I don't believe this to be in the spirit of what our mighty leader and HeadCoach is trying to promote here.

I absolutely agree, Henson. We can't be afraid to receive rude mails from our friends and enemies alike. If you all take anything from our training sessions, it's that strong, wildly offensive verbal abuse is the key to true motivation. Why don't you two give each other a good sporting bum tap and hit the sauna for a good steam?

HeadCoach, I have tried to do this, in the very spirit that you have instilled in us all here in Detroit! 

I'm all about that motivation but it is like talking to the wall. I don't know where to go from here. 

I would hate for it to come down to a 1 v 1 like Jaws had previously requested from me. I'm a team player through and through.

I fear some "players" aren't quite as sporting as the rest of us. Maybe he is more interested in the saunas than the sports?

I am very proud of what you have achieved today Jaws, as I am sure HeadCoach will be too.

You are on the road to becoming a better man. Stick with me kiddo. I will show you the way. 

Jaws, Henson, I see something here that one, or maybe both of you, might be missing. It's something ancient. It's a little bit of yin and yang. I see two men pushing each other to be better, to be snarkier, to be more condescending to each other. Each of you grows a little bit more into a better version of yourselves with every comment. And gentlemen, that's good basketball. One day we might weaponize your talents, as considerable as they may grow, against our enemies, like Hobbs, who puts on his pyjamas at 6 PM and reads to his cats. Open the telegram dams.