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| No Country For Old Friends | Started by: FrankCastiglia on Feb 13, '25 14:54 |
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Frank sat alone, gripping a picture in his hands from years ago as tears welled in his eyes. The picture of Bobs_Burgers, BBB and himself felt like a weight in his hands. “If only it could have stayed this way…” Frank trailed off, hugging the picture to his chest before tossing it in his nearby wastebasket. It has been some time since Frank last went away. His term upstate had left a void in his life. Not only had he had withdrawals from making forced withdrawals but he had missed the friends he had built this life with. Of course Bob was dead. There was no changing that. BBB literally bashed his head in with a pistol. But BBB himself… now going by SantoRubio was still around. Even if his fake alias sucked. Not only was he around but he was thriving. Don and acting Godfather in the Bronx, goat hoarding super playboy. He had it all. But when Frank came home it wasn’t like before. Santo almost overshadowed him even in conversation between the two. It was less of a duo and more of a guest spot for Frank since his days away in the penitentiary. Standing from the wood floor that lined his upscale apartment, Frank felt his heart beating faster as he made his way to the oak desk that was pushed up against the interior wall. “I wish it didn’t have to come to this BB….” He spoke as he opened the long pull out drawer of the desk. Inside Frank fumbled around until he found it. His writing pen. The very same pen that he used to write his classic, best selling stories with. Fumbling around further until he found a piece of paper that he placed on the desk, he began to write. “There. That should do it.” Frank remarked as he picked up the paper and a nail and hammer and exited his New York City apartment building.” It was an abnormally snowy February night. When Frank stepped into the brisk snow fall he shivered as memories of his friendship replayed in his head and a song came across his heart….” “The snow glows white on these city streets tonight, Not a footprint to be seen. A kingdom of isolation, And it looks like I'm the King. The wind is howling like those stupid goats he keeps inside. Couldn't keep it in, heaven knows I tried. Should have never let them in, don't let them bleat, Be the good gangster you always have to be. Conceal, don't kill, don't let them know Well, now they knowwwwwww!!!! Fuck those goatssss, fuck those goatssss, Can’t hold it back anymore. Fuck those goatsss, fuck those goatsss, Turn away from the HQ reinforced door.” Frank dances down the slick stoop to the sidewalk near a light pole as he continued. “I don’t care, what these streets may sayyy, Let the storm rage onnnnnnnnnnn. The cold never bothered me anyway….” Frank took a deep breath to settle his struggling breathing, having just stretched his vocal cords in the frozen tundra that was New York City. Taking the paper and a hammer and nail from his pocket he began to hammer the paper onto the pole. Having finished Frank again sighed deeply before making his way back toward his apartment building, his head hung low. The paper read: Wanted: New best friend for funny and entertaining adventures. Serious inquiries only. See FrankCastiglia for more details. P.S.- Must hate goats. -Frank |
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Otis hums along with the merry tune. It was catchy, that could not be denied, but the message was another story completely... "Hello there, Frank. I spent some time in the joint myself. Being released and entering a completely changed world is jarring, but you shouldn't let it cloud your judgment. There is no place in Cosa Nostra for goat haters. Goats have been integral since our days in Sicily, when they used to charm the local authorities and provide a distraction while we hid the incriminating evidence." "Santo is a good man. Perhaps the two of you should sit down and discuss this aversion to goats you suffer from and find some common ground. There's no reason to throw away a long friendship just because Keith pissed you off one time. I wish you good luck." |
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| Reply by: Otis at Feb 13, '25 15:19 | |
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You’re laughable. Truly. I’d continue to entertain you. But it’s what you want. I don’t need to boast things my lineage accomplished to give myself a big head. People who know, know. People who are irrelevant are well, still irrelevant. And you sir, will forever and always be known as that annoying guy who writes poorly and gets shot. Tootles! |
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| Reply by: FrankCastiglia at Feb 13, '25 15:47 | |
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Only one allied prowacker, Molotov, but how many allied bodyguards, hmmmmmm? You conveniently leave out THAT part. |
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| Reply by: Otis at Feb 13, '25 15:48 | |
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Otis, you're an oldtimer. Can you recall knobhead FrankCastiglia being known from anything other than being killed by Hobbs for circulating a demand for all CLs to deny Kuku a home?
He supports a terrible soccer team as well, but given his personal style, that's not surprising.
He's like Percival in many ways. FURIOess. |
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| Reply by: Molotov at Feb 13, '25 15:51 | |
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What do you have to say against these accusations, Frank? Why do you support a terrible soccer team? |
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| Reply by: Otis at Feb 13, '25 16:35 | |
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| There is no single allied prowacker. There is only one allied prowacker, who is us all. The organic unity of allied prowackers dies and lives infinitely. | |
| Reply by: SpiritualLeaderOfMR at Feb 13, '25 16:37 | |
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| Otis because blue is truly the color and football is the game. I cannot deny that I am a blue. | |
| Reply by: FrankCastiglia at Feb 13, '25 16:38 | |
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It seems like speaking out against Frank is a lethal endeavour. Three good men lie dead, and yet Frank remains alive, physically.
Spiritually, and in terms of any semblance of dignity, he has died a thousand slow deaths.
Let me shout to you, the people, what should be done with Frank? |
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| Reply by: Kuku at Feb 14, '25 14:12 | |
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