You failed the petty.

Petty crimes. The bread and butter of organized crime; the ever-giving teat from which every mafioso suckles, in the hopes of finding those precious drops of nourishment. Purses are pilfered more often than the pockets of the unfortunate souls who, for some reason, have decided to venture into the cursed realm of Detroit. It remains a mystery how there is any money left to squeeze from those poor schlubs, and major insurers are left quacking and collapsing by the sheer amount of claims emanating from the shopkeepers and post offices of our cities. Yes, by all means, these small-time swindles and robberies are the cornucopia which lubricates, fuels and sustains our way of life. Where would we be without them? WIthout the seemingly limitless supplies of bobby pins, conveniently carried by the teeming hordes of old ladies, no lock would ever be picked. Through our endless toil, we gain the experience, the skill, the courage to dream of ever greater and daring crimes and heists.

Through these petty crimes, we can ensure that no great, era-defining works of art are left untouched by grubby hands. By ‘shafting’ hapless bums on the streets, we gain the expertise necessary to extort them more efficiently and ruthlessly. Without them, the indefatigable arsonists that roam these streets in great numbers would still live and act like the earliest of humans: fumbling around in the cold darkness of the night, without the warmth and illumination of the fire, communicating by grunting and pointing — of course, they still do as much in certain cities. Indeed, the petty crime, so unassuming and deceivingly simple, is the lifeblood of our peculiar business. Man does not subsist without food for more than a few days; likewise, our enterprises would not endure without the continual flow of these humble crimes.

Yet, as the volume of these crimes grows, and we grow stronger and bolder with each successful robbery, so the hubris of man is fed and grows. Men of great prowess look back at their past, and say, no, we shan’t perform such juvenile crimes any longer. They are no longer worth our time. With vain contentedness they gaze upon their great hoard of bobby pins. It is enough, they say. As they grow in stature and acumen, so their greed grows. The small shop-owners are no longer found worthy of extortion; they emit an audible sigh of relief and are once again hopeful for the future. We amass, through mysterious means, ‘tokens’ to commit these crimes on rainy days. Contemptuously, we say, no, this is not worth our time, but perhaps they will be again in the future.

The schlubs and dunces of our cities are left alone, their pockets, like David’s cup, runneth over. And with no-one to deprive them from their meagre means, they drink themselves into a stupor, covering our streets in vomit and excrement. Even in Detroit they must’ve noticed as much. It is the vanity of all vanities. Man pretends to be something greater than he truly is. We are given the sweet manna, and yet we still desire more. We always yearn for more, something greater. We remain restless, hungering for something that will satiate our greed. After ruining thousands of honest, unassuming family businesses, single-handedly destroying the postal service and being a menace to the old ladies of the land, do I, myself, not look at the stars, and wonder if there is more out there? No.

Oh, certainly, I have searched far and wide. I have tasted the forbidden fruits; indeed, I have gorged myself on them like HeadCoach gorges on an all-you-can-eat buffet. Speak of ruining honest businesses. I have performed most, if not all, of the nefarious acts and crimes that exist under the sun. Through this toil, I have amassed great wealth. I can hardly find an equal. In this state, some turn to bovine, barbaric habits. They turn back to beating each other with sticks. They pummel one another into meaty slush and call it sport. They pride themselves on these idiotic pursuits. Boredom has reduced them to animals. Others, more refined, lend themselves to intellectual pursuits. They orate to the masses, compose verse, and play checkers. Good things can come from such pastimes, and indeed they have. But they do not make a man happy. They do not give meaning to his life. What futility! Is there nothing to be gained in this world?

There is but one antidote. Ours is not to reason or question why. Now, and ever, again and again, we must return to that font of civilization as we know it. And, occasionally, we are reminded that even though we amassed great fortunes, grown strong and wise in our days, we remain susceptible to failure. We are but mortal men. The empires we build are as fragile as our flesh. We must rage against the dying of the light. Get out of here, go out there, and find yourself a defenseless old lady. Show no mercy upon that shop owner. Do not slow down, skippy! Ever.

Success! You grabbed yourself $712.

A gust of Wind'in up his pitch, the star'berd knee lefts up off the ground en'turnz off towards a back alley. MWTDa3 proceeded to hockey punch an old lady, knickers not in a bunch as he pulled the shirt over her head farther down and threw an upward knee into her jaw. He promptly gave the dumb old bitch the fattest wedge'ee she'd ever received in the entirety of her house. She was then thoroughly shot 16 times, 8 in the stomach and 8 in the kneecaps. The Wickett Sun of the South used his torn and tattered loafers to draw a picture with the blood that had sprayed everywhere. Perhaps this was only just the beginning of the end of a regime in Texass. For the Gypsys were cummin in everyones house and using the ol' IRA trick that gets a bit finnecky to say out loud in public. Knicker'th'uff't up the MadLad knocked his klobbers on the old galz ribs for a bit of poking dead shit fun under the sun of the sinnin organizin'ion'ay'shunzz

Each cities respective avatar in the respective places they chose to be in. More like a group of people with a bigger idea that just tolerated each other because of similar interests. As opposed to some weird gay shit like fucking your non'kin cousin'n'err stinkerrtonzeye of the black mamba numbuh 7en3/4's