People have always questioned the validity of swan hunting as a profession. As I stand astride the mound under which HeadCoach is buried, in view of the still smoldering 60ft effigy of noodle-armed Hobbs, and fully engulfed in the stink of the 12th Street Public Toilets, I see not a swan in sight. Is that because the ground has been so corrupted by the remains of HeadCoach leaking into the soil that no life can be sustained here or is it because I have ruthlessly annihilated them into extinction?

Life's great mysteries aside, what becomes increasingly obvious is that Detroit needs a new direction. You see this city has a life of its own. It cannot be tamed and treated like bricks and mortar as one would expect from buildings of such construction, bending to the will of the inhabitants. That is an outside perspective. That type of thinking might fly in Los Angeles where public swirlies are delivered from upon high but try to pull that over on 12th Street and you're more likely to locked in a death grip with the toilet seat as the stall door bangs you on the ass, trying to get you swallowed whole. This place is alive, you see. Alive with malice and watered with the blood from innumerable near fatal muggings delivered on a daily basis. It takes a true son of Detroit to keep a handle on the place and good Simon, with the cells and plasma of Mafia Basketball's best laundry boy pumping in his veins, has just the necessary level of callusing on his palms and fluid on the brain to take on that challenge.

What can you expect from SimonTheSwanHunter's Detroit?

Simple really, activity, opportunity and a beating within an inch of your life for any traveller brave enough to dip their hand in a pocket here. We've all seen the consequence of repeated purging, Burgerhousing and attempted Burgerhousing, that my faithful bodyguards Otis, Burgerhouse, Ranger and DeadQuackers can attest to. It sucks the soul out of this so completely a JFMAST cheerleader would blush. So we're not going to be doing that. We're going to be promoting on merit, rewarding commitment, street activity and mockery of the erudite. If that results in some bad dickheads playing on my famously good nature and subsequently going rogue and trying to kill me, then so be it. 

If that sounds like your type of thing, I'll be taking on new associates starting now. Simon 1, swans 0, doff your feathered caps, set fire to your Duck's Bills, Hunters Digest back on the shelves, mandatory muggings, spit on Hobbs memory; let's fuckinggggggg gooooooooooo.