"RoboCop? More like RoboCop-out. I used to think you were a man of the people. A man of principle. Now I see you're nought but a wet lettuce.

I didn't write that by the way. My friend SassyPeach did, and then he pointed a gun at me from behind and made me say it."

Hobbs being bullied by a Wise Guy, this sounds like a very sad state of affairs for Las Vegas if this is one of their Godfathers. As someone from Las Vegas myself, I promise to strengthen up this noodle of a man and train him into someone that would actually scare pirates, instead of kowtow to their every whim.

Let's go, Hobbs. That's enough books for you, we're off to the gym. 

Frank was unable to satisfy his curiosity 

“I’m with Stan on this. I just can’t work out why some low end schmuck without any moves, would tip themselves one hundred and fifty million dollars, just to make themselves feel important. Nothing about it makes sense. 

I mean, imagine all the fine wines, shiny suits and coconut cocktails? Years and years of high living there my man. Why waste it trying to convince no-one that you carry any weight? Life’s too short my man, save the boollshit, spread yourself around a little.”

Whilst like everyone I'm distracted by LonelyWolf describing his posterior as beautiful, I also heard this speech:

"I just can’t work out why some low end schmuck without any moves, would tip themselves one hundred and fifty million dollars, just to make themselves feel important. Nothing about it makes sense. 

I mean, imagine all the fine wines, shiny suits and coconut cocktails? Years and years of high living there my man. Why waste it trying to convince no-one that you carry any weight?"

Surely if someone tipped themselves $150m they wouldn't have wasted the money?  It would still be owned by the person who both gave and received the tip.  

But it seems to me that this low end schmuck made himself a wedge of cash and accurately predicted the downfall of an IWP Don. 

Looks like he had quite the selection of moves, whoever he was. 

Ah, ha. So I see you are working for a man, but not "The Man." 

A small but important fact. Have you considered doing palm or tarot readings? Clearly you are some kind of oracle with the ability of sight. Perhaps you could tell me my future as well one day? 

Hopefully it'll be good news, I desperately need some good news. 

Business had been weird on this particular day. A pickpocket of a non-tattooed pickpocket stanced man ended in a confrontation. Where Paddy's wit and experience had been challenged in a demeaning way. The fuck ever happened to respect anyways? Paddy thinks to himself as he wanders down a sidewalk of a thoroughfare. 

He approaches a gatherin' discussin' his old boss. Intrigued he stops by to listen in. He pulls a pre-rolled spliff out of his tin cigarette case and sparks it up. Payin' attention up to a certain point. Paddy didn't really believe in payin' for art, and the ol' sayin' 20k for your thoughts only really applied to quality ones.

With a shuck and a jive line drive down his throat, the spliff smoke returns to the air. Paddy begins coughing at the Fareham jab shot towards the bow of the Bow of a certain type of wolf breed. Fuckin' champ this guy must be, the Pit of the true zello-jello shot Paddy smiles to hisself as he takes another drag. 

Paddy finds himself a stoop nearby, with a slight slope in his back he saunters over towards it, continuin' his spliff. Eyes dart at every car that passes, just countin' on and on. Half tuned into what was goin' on in his near surroundings.