twigs had been urgently pulled away from a business meeting with Hobbs when he was told of an announcement made by the Detroit leadership. Despite his success in planting a Forest in the middle of the desert, twigs had been accused of running a filthy city. He quickly started drafting a public retort:

"It has recently come to my attention that HeadCoach, the leader of a second-rate basketball bunch whose complete lack of competence, coordination and discipline would only allow the most generous people to refer to as a team, has made inflammatory about the ray of light in the dark that is Las Vegas. Said coach has only managed to harness pure entropy out of the disarrayed residents of Detroit. To all the aspiring basketball players: I do not blame you for this escalation; one does not blame the Headless chickens in the coop. There is but one person responsible for the consequences of calling Las Vegas a "filthy city without charm, home of vagrants like Ricky_Starks".

I see his statement as an act of war. Not a conventional one fought with bullets, but with words. And words can hurt, you know? As a result, I see no other option than to retaliate. I call upon every mobster to grab their concoctions of soap and lye, acids and drain cleaners, and to clear the nuclear fallout that is located in the 12th Street Public Toilets. HeadCoach has personally admitted that the development of smallpox is fast underway, so your participation will help us prevent an epidemic. I would have preferred to blow it all up, but as the toilet seats have been reported to be able to sustain the sheer density and mass of HeadCoach, perhaps only second to that of a black hole, I don't believe it to be feasible.

I am confident that the disinfection of these toilets will crush the last bit of pride left in Detroit. And the spectacle of watching Coach' legacy scrubbed away will be worth watching, much unlike his ball games. So make your way to 12th Street with your mops in hand. Scrub away his tears. Make history."

This is an outrage! Don't any of you dare come near our celebrated landmark that is the 12th Street Public Toilets, unless you come there to socialize, drop a load of heat, or get yourself a quick handy. Cleanliness is a subjective standard. We in Detroit feel that it is "clean enough", and when it requires a bit of maintenance, CancidRunt has it well under control.

Keep your detergents and cleaning products where they belong - in West Detroit. God knows you will need them to tidy up after a soiree with the local LV women. We like Detroit just the way it is - a beacon of hope for the future in an otherwise dim world. A place where an athlete can mug a non-athlete without fear of public sobbing from the victim. A place where one can take a healthy dump without worrying about tracking Lysol into the basketball court (it really screws up the waxed hardwood floor).

Nice try, Twigs. Your thugs will not even get past the doorman.

I stand by what I said, twigs. The other day I saw Ricky_Starks take a seat at a bus stop bench, untie his plastic bag of raw fish, and gorge on his disgusting lunch. That's what makes him such a proud and valued member of the Las Vegas scenery. That public toilet is the heart of Detroit. It's where we meet after enormous, fiber-maximized post-practice meals. It's the only spot in the country structurally strong enough to process the prolific force of a JFMAST deposit at the porcelain bank. It's where we go to soak our blood-stained clothes and count the number of teeth we managed to recover from the floor after vicious beatdowns by our fellow Detroit colleagues. During hot, summer days, we sit in the shadow of the small building and tell stories of past glories.

You'll get as close to our toilets as I get to my wife, which is at least a dinner table length distance at all times, except on my birthdays. I would rather die than let an outsider take a scrub to the blessed sanctuary where Coach takes the Browns to the Superbowl. 

After each of my twenty four muggings, I've washed the blood from my barely visible face, picked myself up and dusted off the latest mauling in the 12th Street Public Toilets. Has anyone survived twenty four life-threatening beatings before with such good humour? Has it been acknowledged as such? Impossible to know. More than a little piece of me is floating around the wash-hand basin at any given time and more still is infecting the u-bend. In fact, there is probably enough floating around that vicinity at this point some Grin-23 to come striding out of the bowl the next time the cubicle is free.

Now that those toilets are practically a natural habitat for a fledgling species, it would be unethical to disturb them, like bats in your roof void or Jaws slobbering nonsense in your mailbox. You've got to just let them get on with it and then slap the stupid out of that sorry sack of shit in round 10 of a duel. You don't want that on your conscience, twigs. Nobody else needs to take a Hobbsing here. 

"You are lucky twigs is a man of wisdom and peace who would never lift a finger against authority else he'd have levelled that literal shithole to the ground."

Hobbs let that sink in. twigs was a man to be admired, not the kind of man who used a wartime struggle for the hearts and minds of the country to sneakily register a Mafia Basketball team before it could be opposed.

"He's taking the approach that will see your temple restored to it's former glory, whilst also halting a pandemic. A pandemic, Headcoach. Would you want to be locked in your houses for six months? One year? TWO YEARS? I, for one, can not imagine a society repressed in that way, forced to socialise with their own family and nobody else until science (nerds) develop a vaccine to save us all. That, to me sounds like hell. That's the future the current iteration of the 12th Street Toilet is promising us. A future we must all work to stop."

I am willing to put a stop to this, as is my hero twigs."

Hobbs would wave the flag of Las Vegas if he wasn't nursing his arm from another unprovoked vicious beating.

Hobbs talking the biggest of games when neither of his six-toed webbed feet are even in Detroit. Men like you aren't built for the 12th Street loo, Hobbs. It'll eat you alive. Maybe literally. Men like you should stay at home in Summerlin giving it the big one, pretending that their dump of a town is famous for something. Name one good thing about Summerlin. I dare you. And before you grasp for the only saving grace of that pit, you can't name any of the 3 Detroit-funded businesses keeping the high street alive either. 

As I mentioned before, this was not meant to harm you, Skidmark. I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but your coach has dropped the ball and forced my hand. Your distasteful comment about has ensured that I will be applying extra elbow grease when I get to your favourite stall.

Such a conceited response was expected from you, HeadCoach. It's clear to me that you are a former basketball player. Basketball players have big hands, and as extremeties tend to be sized proportionally, you've become too big for your boots. The only fiber your toilet will be getting is the soft touch of my microfiber cloth as I wipe the soap-doused remnants of your so-called throne. Soon enough, the 12th Street restrooms will be drowned in detergent. It will become a modern version of Pompeii.

Don twigs has been scrubbing, for what seemed, forever at the Detroit's 'throne rooms'. He has tried to get them sparkling and smelling sweeter than sweet could be. There have been countless times that he got messages sent to his right-hand lady, Daiquiri, to get supplies sent to him. The Forest funds were being flushed down the toiler on Don Twig's latest of bright ideas. 

Daiquiri knew she had to act, to try to make up for the losses that they were beginning to experience. "At this rate, we will not be able to afford the mayor's taxes," she said to Treebeard, who was looking through the accounts books with her. Pages and pages of expenses spent out for disinfectant, bleach, cloths, brushes and air freshers. It all just went on and on and on, to the extent that Treebeard's beard looked shorter than short.

As Daiquiri slammed shut the books, she stood up "Hold the fort Tree, I am off to Detroit!" she blurted out as she made her way out of the office for the journey.

As she made her way to the city, she had already decided on her plan of action.  It wasn't so much that she didn't admire Don twigs 'need to have it all clean' stance, for she too was also known to suffer from 'cleaning obsessiveness', in having everything as neat as possible. But, she did know when something was a lost cause and this was one of them. Don twigs was way out of his depths with his attempts to change the quarters of the laboratories in Detroit. His quest with turning it into some pleasant place to visit. After all let's face it, he would get better luck with setting down some dynamite. Still, she had no plans to stop him, that was way above her pay grade since he was, at the end of the day, her leader. All she could do was somehow make it sweeter for the sake of the family. 

After her plane landed, Daiquiri made her way to a supplier to pick up what she needed and made her way towards 12th Street Public Toilets. She was barely a few feet away from arriving at them, when her eyes started to water. The combination of smells, that she could smell, was truely impossible to even put into words. It truely was potent. It was like every negative scent you could think of rolled into one. No 'smell the roses' air freshener was going to save that. No amount of bleach or distinfectent was going to solve the problem. She could not help but believe that Don twigs was some kind of superhero for even attempting to fix it. Hell, even being in there was deserving of a statue built in his honour one day.

Refusing to walk even closer to the stench, Daiquri stopped. "Here will do" she muttered as she got the boxes of goods placed down onto the ground. She pulled out a knife to open them up and wote up a sign on one of sides. 

Gas Masks

$10 Each or $18 for two!

After putting on a mask herself she then proceeded to do her sales pitch. "Do you wish to be nose blind? Going cheap, Gas Masks for sale, Just $10 each or two for $18!" she shouted out and repeated everytime someone walked on by. As she hoped her boss would not mind at all.

Though Detroit has experienced a flurry of activity as a result of the current Mug Bingo taking place, still I have made sure to keep an eye on the public toilets at all times, knowing that even a single pump of a plunger or a swipe of a soap-soaked brush could send the entire ecosystem of our city spiraling out of control. I caught Hobbs sneaking in with a pair of nails and a thin piece of cardboard to block up the gloryhole but I think he must've gotten distracted because he left an hour later, a little bit sweatier, but it didn't look like any work had been done. 

Right now, I've got a full practice squad of JFMAST juniors practicing their man-defense around the perimeters and I don't think there's a person in the world untrained by Detroit gyms who can put a move past LarryLardass, whose beefy ankles generate such an enormous amount of momentum while power-strafing he could slide through reinforced concrete and not even take his eye off the ball. Good work, Larry. 

"Was I distracted when arriving into the 12th Street toilets? Yes. Did I leave without accomplishing my initial goals? Yes. Was I happy, satisfied and fulfilled? Ding ding ding. Yes I was. At the end of the day Headcoach, we all make sacrifices in life and there is more than one way to skin a cat. I will be back today, after a busy day

my criminal empire one petty crime at a time. I also spent over six hours in Philadelphia taking on an uprising. I didn't see you there again, but I did hear that your undisclosed upper body injury has had an unfortunate recurrence that may keep you of such action for quite some time. Sorry to hear that sir. Did it happen when D0m3n1c threw you out of various establishments?"

Hobbs paused. It was well known that Detroit refugee D0m3n1c was now running quite the criminal enterprise and was far more successful than the Detroit city he left.

"I think he did threaten to kill you, but we'll leave that for another day. For now, there's only one task at hand and that's cleaning that shithole from the streets. I will be back there tonight with 180-200 of my closest (and paid) friends. We will force our way into the building and begin to make right all the wrongs that CancidRunt and his fellows have committed. But, fear not people of Detroit. Should you be caught short in the future all you need do is make your way to the Detroit Public Library and make sure of everything on offer there.

JFMAST and associate members need only scrawl an 'X' in lieu of not being able to write their own name to gain entry."

Hobbs, the pinstripe suit wearing lothario tipped his hat to twigs. twigs was a man of action and bravery willing to step up once again to cleanse the world of filth. He refused to make eye contact with Daiquiri. Here was a frightening business women, willing to support her boss, and also profit in the process. Hobbs was certain nobody in Detroit was able to match some commercial acumen, especially someone like MikeTyson who's eyesight was known to cost him a few dollars here and there. Another terrible day for ole MikeTyson.

Hobbs, our very own Mike Tyson did not become heavyweight champion of the world by being timid.  He punches first and asks questions later. It's a formula for success, and if it costs him a few dollars here and there, it's well worth the price of admission. Mike is a champion and we are proud to call him a Detroit Mafia Basketball player.

Just recently Void had experienced a stern talking to by Hobbs, the Summerlin Captain was not pleased with Void's continued politeness during his vacation in Motor City. Void had tried to "Do as the Romans do" in Detroit, joining in on the local bingo night and visiting some of the city's local establishments.

His friendly demeanour and attempted participation in the local bingo bonanza (which by the way had been a total failure for him since all the thieves sticking their fingers in his well-stocked pockets were stealthy goons) had now even earned him the nickname of "Peace Pervert" by the Hobbs. Void was unsure how to feel about his new title.

He was now forcefully given the assignment to clean out the 12th Street Public Toilets. A bucket was shoved on his head, a mop thrust into his hands and a belt lined with several containers of cleaning detergent was fastened around his scrawny and unsportsmanlike waist.

Void had desperately wanted to grab a gas mask from the kind Daiquiri but Hobbs had grabbed him by the back of his collar before he could make his way to her. He forbade him to shield his nostrils, something about building character. Void's stomach turned.

He looked over Hobbs' shoulder at Daiquiri with pleading eyes. Dejectedly staring back at the man in front of him again and made one final attempt to overturn his fate.

Is this really necessary? Isn't there some other assignment that I can do to better our beautiful Las Vegas? Have you seen what happens in those stalls?

He got answered by being turned around, and being given a harsh but encouraging shove in the back. Slowly but surely Void was now stumbling his way towards the much feared den of filth. The smell? Unbearable. The line to get in? Very very long. The barrier of defence from the JFMAST juniors? Impenetrable. The closer Void got to the entrance the more he was convinced that this had been nothing short of a horrible mistake.

Hobbs nudged twigs as Void was sent into battle. It was a great show of strength and unity from Las Vegas. United in the face of disgusting and dangerous balls of all types, shapes and sizes. Hobbs had a vietnam World War II style flashback and shuddered as he remembered the horrible things he'd witnessed in that place. 

Hobbs had identified Void as a sympathiser early on and looked to stamp out fraternisation with the enemy. He'd been a little too kind to Coach over a successful Organised Crime venture, and followed it up with pleasantries in public as well. It was not what Hobbs wanted to see when at a war for the hearts and minds of the country. If Hobbs had to burn every single cubicle in Detroit to make his no ball policy a success that's exactly what he'd do, and he couldn't afford people not working towards that vision.

"Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more" Hobbs uttered like the magnificent leader of men he was. He looked resplendent as always in a crisp pinstripe suit and fedora. The black ribbon around the fedora made him look dashing and he knew he was the Pride of Summerlin for sure. 

As he looked around he was sure he could see and smell fear on Headcoach's face and that of his followers, but that could just as easily be last night's dinner seeping out.