ℍ𝔸ℝ𝕆𝕃𝔻 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕌ℕ𝔻𝔼ℝ𝕎𝕆ℝ𝕃𝔻

QUALITY, FACTUAL JOURNALISM. HOT SCOOPS.
NEWSPAPER BOOM; WHERE DID CYRAX GO???; RIDDLE SWINDLE; PURGES; SOME RECOMMENDED READING

Detroit • Thursday February 22nd • Vol IIIIII, No. 2

Journalistic quote of the week:

I am a man, not a beast, therefor I think.

- WhereWasI

FRONT PAGE: THE STATE OF HAROLD'S KIN

HELLO LOYAL READERS. We were EXTREMELY PLEASED with the money tipped on the previous issue of 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℍ𝔸ℝ𝕆𝕃𝔻 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕌ℕ𝔻𝔼ℝ𝕎𝕆ℝ𝕃𝔻™ and will thus continue publishing more issues until our outstanding debt (currently totalling 87 million dollars) is completely paid off. Who am I you might ask? Why of course I am the next hellspawn of Harold's blood (look at my face, was there ever any doubt?).

What happened to my father Harold you might ask? I see you HAVE MANY QUESTIONS, have you ever considered becoming a Journalist™ yourself? Well I'll tell you. One day my father found himself a cozy basement to operate from, becoming ONE THIRD of BerZerk's entire workforce. His typewriter was clickclacking away, the lobster ravioli was boiling on the stove, the unpaid interns were cowering in the corner wondering when the next outburst of violent rage would come (you've got to keep them in line somehow, and an omnipresent fear helps with that), all was as it should be.

HOWEVER: Only a couple of days later the unthinkable happened. Right before this event my father had a very cordial conversation with Falka about what it means to be a Journalist™ of 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℍ𝔸ℝ𝕆𝕃𝔻 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕌ℕ𝔻𝔼ℝ𝕎𝕆ℝ𝕃𝔻™, was told that he had been very respectful after a public disagreement with Godfather Transistor in IRC Avenue and that this had impressed his handlers. However when night fell suddenly my father mysteriously wound up dead in The Streets, with the signature gang signs of "Grove Street" carved into his clean-shaven buttocks.

Why exactly my father died we will never know as no whisper was overheard upon his killing nor were any cryptic declarations made at his funeral, however I am certain that the shot was called by Gillian who seems deadset on destroying my paper and ridicules me wherever I go claiming I am some sort of feathered bird preying upon corpses of newspapers???

THE STATE OF THE NEWSPAPER INDUSTRY

Gone are the days where there was only one or two newspapers being peddled around the streets, with only the occasional skirmish of defamation and shitflinging. Enter the current age where Journalists™ are at each other's throat on the daily, a Free For All of HOT SCOOPS. The ultimate reward for whoever is last left standing being infinite glory, fame, a monopoly on news and enough tips to sustain a lavish lifestyle of lobster ravioli BREAKFAST LUNCH DINNER AND DESSERT.

THE COMPETITION

We have the MR Gazette releasing issues with such lightning speed that nobody is really able to keep up anymore, TommyVitale taking the obvious "push away the competition through sheer numbers" approach. A clever tactic, but one that's unlikely to work unless about 6 more issues surface withing the coming 2 days. Step up your game, sonny, don't half-arse this shit. Put some backbone into your Journalism™.

Next, The Saddle Newsflash starting off promising by being consistent in putting out new issues and updates on time (a real rarity in today's day and age, the delay of A CERTAIN OTHER NEWSPAPER even lulled 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℍ𝔸ℝ𝕆𝕃𝔻 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕌ℕ𝔻𝔼ℝ𝕎𝕆ℝ𝕃𝔻™ into releasing a couple of days late following complacency and disinterest). However this all went south quickly as, in an act of misplaced bravado, SaddleFlashing tried to buy out all other newspapers. Then, failing to do this, he instead opted for a more cunning scheme by pretending to auction off newspapers he does not own, eventually planning to claim all the newspaper brands for himself with fictional 80 million dollar bids from an anonymous source.

WE WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS, 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℍ𝔸ℝ𝕆𝕃𝔻 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕌ℕ𝔻𝔼ℝ𝕎𝕆ℝ𝕃𝔻™ IS PROPERTY OF 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℍ𝔸ℝ𝕆𝕃𝔻 ℙℝ𝕀ℕ𝕋𝕀ℕ𝔾 𝔼ℕ𝕋𝔼ℝℙℝ𝕀𝕊𝔼𝕊™ WHICH WE WILL DEFEND AT ALL COSTS, AGRESSIVE TRADEMARKING BEING BUT ONE MEASURE TO DO SO. SaddleFlashing is deemed a most fearsome enemy, the "TheBeast" of our time, if you will. An enemy of The Free Press in actions, yet cunning enough not to be one in words.

NON-COMPETITION

Gillian's The Weekly Gazette released its first issue after many delays, finally feeling confident doing so after murdering most of the competition (RIP Cyrax, @CaymenislandsBanker, Cyraxx, SuspiciousFellow, Cyraxxx, Fluffy_Tummy). We did not feel our position threathened by the contents of the paper. Our offer for a Journalistic alliance between 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℍ𝔸ℝ𝕆𝕃𝔻 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕌ℕ𝔻𝔼ℝ𝕎𝕆ℝ𝕃𝔻™ and The Weekly Gazette against the less senior newspaper brands is still on the table, we think it could benefit you.

Journalist for hire Chance made a public offer to help strengthen other papers. He was mysteriously murdered despite being naught but an unpaid intern. Cheap, undercooked storebrand ravioli was found at the location of his murder. I wonder who that could've been.

"The Mafia Newspaper and Basketball Oversight Committee" publically represented by Gigantopithecus has been suspiciously silent the last couple of days. Did someone put the squeeze on them? Is there a new Sheriff in town? Did someone bribe them into silence? Are they silently waiting for The Free Press to implode? How many chins does Gigantopithecus really have? Is this committee an experimental branch of the seemingly defunct "Competition Commission"? Is The-Big-Joker (rumored codename: The Big Jorker) somehow involved? I HAVE MANY QUESTIONS.

THE STATE OF CYRAXXX

As we all know, Cyraxxx and his kin (of ill reputation) officially retired from these shores to pursue a life of peace and quiet, free from the woes of Journalism™, the enemies of The Free Press and the mafia (I almost forgot about that last one).

I never rejoice at seeing someone's bloodline retire from from our way of life (not even kuku), HOWEVER this also has the potential to clear out my outstanding 88 million dollars of debt since whoever has retired, will definitely not suddenly call on me to immediately settle my debts and force me to spend a nerve-wracking night at the casino gambling for either life or death.

If this was naught but a fib and his next of kin is still hiding among us however, then I'm sure either RufusWatchdog or @Gilian will find him quickly enough. They have a nose for this kind of thing.

THE STATE OF MY WALLET (A RIDDLE?)

Last week The Weekly Gazette held a competitive riddle guessing contest, a dashing and handsome Journalist™ by the name of Harold entered the competition, displaying his riddle-guessing prowess for all to see. The riddle was "What can you hold with your left hand, but never with your right?", the answer obviously being "your right hand".

HOWEVER: despite having OBVIOUSLY GIVEN THE CORRECT ANSWER Harold was deprived of the juicy 5 million dollar price (which he had an urgent need for, being plagued by scumbag loansharks). When he asked Gillian to demonstrate that his answer was wrong by grabbing her right hand with her right hand, it was waved off (with her right hand). Unacceptable.

Somebody else said "the right elbow" and SOMEHOW THIS WAS ACCEPTED??? We don't know what kind of weird plane of reality The Weekly Gazette lives on when they claim that you can grab your right hand with your right hand but not your right elbow, but it's made us seriously re-evaluate the Journalistic Integrity of all other claims in said paper.

For example, does The Weekly Gazette really admire all strippers like it claims? Did GrumpyDonald really say "Quack, quack"? Will the pasta recipe published in it really yield a delicious meal or would it just saddle me with digestive problems? Does Gillian even eat Lobster Ravioli?

I HAVE MANY QUESTIONS (AGAIN).

However all our doubts will vanish like snow before the sun should 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℍ𝔸ℝ𝕆𝕃𝔻 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕌ℕ𝔻𝔼ℝ𝕎𝕆ℝ𝕃𝔻™ somehow receive a 5 million dollar tip from The Weekly Gazette. Of course, we also welcome 5 million dollar tips from other sources as well. Don't be shy.

THE STATE OF THE MAFIA

Wow, even more families and districts got purged by Disorder. What a surprise. We've already said our piece on this in the previous issue but if one required any more evidence: you've been given it. Open your eyes. Disorder is hiding in the corner.

RECOMMENDED READING

A new item where we present our readers with thinking man's brain fuel, intellectual discourse or mafia-philosophy. We aim to stimulate the soul, enlighten your directing mind, tickle your curiosity, and have you learn from the great writers that came before us.

Today on the menu: Man: An Island with a mission.

Another one of philosopher-king WhereWasI's famous works, we think it speaks for itself and will thus provide no further commentary on it. Read it, disect it, study it, learn from it.

There is wisdom in those words, son. Put in the effort, and it will provide you with a philosophical framework to base your life on, your effort will repay itself in full

This concludes this Issue of 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℍ𝔸ℝ𝕆𝕃𝔻 !! Please Leave me Money and Tips (information)!!

Transistor arrives in his signature vehicle. He doesn't open the door. He has people who do that for him.

Many minutes pass.

"Niko, open the fucking door please."

"Oh shit. Sorry boss"

His driver opens the driver-side back door and Transistor emerges.

"Harold, I've just read your newest edition of my soon to be newspaper. As you know I've offered SaddleFlashing the incredibly generous sum of $100,000 to own the name to your paper. I wanted to come talk to you about this. I don't want to stop you from publishing your paper but I will require that you pay me 20% of all tips and earnings if I secure the name.

Now I don't want you to think I'm in cahoots with him on this, because it's just a business deal, and for what it's worth I tried to rig the ever important Bull-Sheet awards in your favor but there's so many checks and balances as an organization that has been around as long as this ceremony- there's no way I could do it. I hope you understand. And don't tell TommyVitale!

I've gotta go, but please consider your options carefully. I'd hate to have to get Gigantopithecus over here to fill out the paperwork."

Transistor stands in front of the door to his car.

Many moments pass. Embarassed, Transistor slaps the driver's door and Niko comes out to open the door before taking off.

I have read every word of this and my desire to own it has not abated and if anything, it is even greater than before. The insight into the purges committed by Disorder is investigative journalism at its finest and has been sorely lacking. It is no MR Gazette, but what is?

However my dreams of becoming some sort of media magnate are in tatters. I'll be looking over jealousy from the sidelines going forwards. This isn't over. 

Transistor I know you're a revered "60 times accoladed" Godfather and that I am but a Gung-ho Goomba, but that doesn't put you above INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY LAW.

We both know this auction is a total fucking SHAM, the fact that you're attempting to use this SHAM to pull of a SHAM of your own is disappointing to say the least and an indictment of your character (I should probably mention that mean this respectfully to prevent myself from getting exiled by every single crew around).

If you're really aiming for 20% of my tips then I do have a different proposal, but that is one that we'll have to negotiate in private. I'm warning you in advance though: the rights to 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℍ𝔸ℝ𝕆𝕃𝔻 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕌ℕ𝔻𝔼ℝ𝕎𝕆ℝ𝕃𝔻™ are not on the table.

The insight into the purges committed by Disorder is investigative journalism at its finest and has been sorely lacking.

Sometimes THE TRUTH is hidden in plain sight, yet people will refuse to acknowledge it. Much like the solution to The Weekly Gazette's riddle now that I think of it.

Click...

Click...

Click...

Why won't it light? What is this paper made out of? Fuck it. I'll have to improvise.

The hail of gunfire was loud as Sly Cooper attempted in vain to completely destroy ℍ𝔸ℝ𝕆𝕃𝔻 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕌ℕ𝔻𝔼ℝ𝕎𝕆ℝ𝕃𝔻 before it could unleash what it was going to. He had come from the future, and he had seen the world being ran in such a disarray. Harold's face was everywhere, and no one could question it. Disgusting. 

In a twist of fate that no one could have seen coming, the bullets set off the crude kindling he failed to light earlier and the fire engulfed him instead of the newspapers themselves. It was quite the spectacle, but not the one that Sly had hoped for. He had failed... for now... His next life would hopefully yield better results.

The fog in the roadway parted as the car slowly crept up to the corner and stopped. The door opened and a cigar was thrown out onto the ground as the Godfather stepped out and walked up to the young man selling the newspaper. He took a minute to gaze around the street nodding his head at a few people and then acknowledging the kid selling the paper who handed one over before being tipped a hefty amount by the Godfather

He took a few minutes to scan over the pages of the newspaper before he rolled it up and climbed back into the car closing the door firmly as it drove off into the fog