A great period of peace has come to an end.

A regime at methodological odds with one (of the many) in which I have pulled the strings. 

But a thought stands tall.

Is murder better for business?

Is a world in which innocent people are being killed constantly more exciting for the average sad brain than one where people have a chance to grow stale and boring?

A leader like luciano_lucky, who I am unassailably loyal to, would never last in a world where the cream rises to the top. There is no question that my incomparable boss would have been murdered with great prejudice in any environment in which survival is the domain of the fittest. 

Are we better for it?

You tell me.

In a past life, I may have leveraged my unparalleled wealth and influence to have these people knocked off.

Does chaos make for a better mafia?

Would we benefit from the systematic massacres of the HyperVentilate's and Quetzalcoatl's of the deadweight ranks?

Or are we better off letting otherwise unqualified leaders take space where mystery box replacements may also falter? 

He sang a song a while back rhymed with we didnt start the fire and included my kin Killshot in it. lol

Wow, Mr_Kuku a man and possibly my greatest ally (besides MrKuku) was murdered almost immediately after making a heartfelt speech.

Even though the alliance has only lasted a day, the Kuku and Fareham Lineages have accomplished much during this timeframe. All of which I cannot as of yet disclose, but much nonetheless.

The gears of fate have started turning.

The plumbers have been recalled from their slumber.

I have applied for a job.

An interesting debate started here. Callously shutdown. 

Isabella shakes her fist at the sun claiming that night is a conspiracy, meanwhile I propose a worthwhile debate and get shot.

COWARDICE

An unenviable trait. 

The facts speak for themselves. The Streets were terminal during peacetime. Isn't it true that chaos breeds content?

Both MrKuku and Liz_Truss have also mysteriously disappeared now. I am convinced this is no longer a mere coincidence.

Members of the Kuku and Fareham alliance are being hunted.

I have stumbled upon mysterious writing in the stalls of the 12th Street Public Toilets, which I think can explain the mysterious murders that we've seen the past day.

My evaluation is that it's some sort of epigraph, and that somewhere there's a madman trying to actually carry it out.

Five little Kukus, a quarter of a score.
One disappears, and then there were four.

Four little Kukus, a miss by FMP.
Two of them duel, and then there were three.

Three little Kukus, one knew what to do.
But before he could duel, suddenly there were two.

Two little Kukus, who both thought they won.
A CL cleans house, and then there was one.

One little Kuku, left all alone.
He Systematically Immolated his Thoughts.

And then there were None.

What does it all mean? Is this the work of The Plumbers?

Members of the Kuku and Fareham alliance are being hunted.

No one needs to hunt. Kuku & cohorts are obvious. Keep telling yourself that though.

Victoria was concerned and stepped forward, "It was wise of you to see the writing on the wall LiquidFareham and I for one commend you. I had been pondering this very issue recently, so recent as the last minute or so, and I believe we need to find the man."

"He has no name that I know of, but he has a brother, and possibly a sidekick. His words, they were important and shall lead us to him if we listen." Victoria said.

"The words were as follows, "Letsa Go." and I strongly feel that if we listen for those words we will find the man, and possibly the plumbers we're looking for. Or perhaps we'll have to look in another castle." Victoria said before shrugging. "And some say a man's bathroom is his castle, for there is his throne." 

"Its all tied together, I believe we can flush out the problem and work together to wipe clean the streets."

BasketCase is that a threat?

Victoria I am mercilessly hunted in the streets, as is evident by the threat uttered by BasketCase just now and you make a mockery out of it. Doth thou not know empathy'eth? areth mine trials naught but edutainment for thee?

I take epigrams written on bathroom stalls very seriously.

It is a fact as is evident by the obituaries. 

Ignore him LiquidFareham. He's clearly forgotten to take his medication. He said so himself.

There's one dwarf Kuku in Moria Mafia still taking breath.

If I were to die unexpectedly, please know that BasketCase is likely a leading suspect, though I doubt he is powerful enough to fell me. 

The gumption I possess is God-given. 

Given the demise of FatherMackleKuku, which was followed by a statement by from his superior during his funeral, I am morally obligated to point your attention to this line in the 12th Street Public Toilets epigraph once more:

Two little Kukus, who both thought they won.
A CL cleans house, and then there was one.

It is playing out exactly as the epigraph says.

Now onto the next lines:

One little Kuku, left all alone.
He Systematically Immolated his Thoughts.

And then there were None

Am I going to magically go up in flames soon?

No because you're a fairweather Fareham. 

You are not from the noble House of Kuku.

You are a slanderous where who's never read a newspaper in his life nevermind written one.

I demand you stop slandering my associates and take your own life.

John_Kukham have I ever implied that I am a kuku you dimwitted buffoon? I have always said that I am a Fareham, which has VAGUE genetic ties to the kuku lineage.

But that's not what the person who wrote that epigraph on the toilet stalls would know/think, seeing how often I am lumped together with kukus, a typically systematic immolated train of thought.

It's an identity crisis of sorts

I demand you stop slandering me and take your own life instead.

If you don't watch out I'll unleash my best friend Basketcase on you.

LiquidFareham. You don't have the money to extort a used apple salesman at the side of the road, nevermind anyone else. Your attempts to bribe me with a very generous and healthy financial settlement are as hollow as your skull. 

I don't want your wet money.