It is with a heavy heart that I come before you all today. Partly because I don't like any of you, especially Rhys, and partly because one of Detroit's own has fallen fowl of the incredibly high standards I demand of my city and must be punished. Bring out, WaffleStompingChamp.

The disgraced LHM turned RHM is dragged before SimonTheSwanHunter, dressed in the swan-feather sack all accused must wear, and flung into an ugly heap at his feet. His hands are bound behind his back and he flops face first into the mulch. If anything, it improves his appearance.

Look at the fucking state of you. Simon shakes his head in disgust. Three charges have been leveled against you, Waffle. I will quickly list them now for the pleasure of our audience and the likely arousal of EIkmilk.

1. Failure to recruit the offspring of big_jason to Detroit 

2. Sending a mass mail to the crew about something nobody did or even could possibly care about - an LV auth announcement - AND then apologizing for it 

3. Asking for the opinion of the public about regulation defence audits 

Before I give you the opportunity to defend yourself, I will lay out the evidence against you in relation to each accusation.

Firstly, big_jason is not working for and likely receiving a payday from, a Detroit family. Chicago big mouth TomJoad, around trying to flog me all of his unwanted members like Illuminatiated and Isabella, has been quick to attempt to lord the fact that jason's son is working for one of our sworn enemies in our sister city over me for some time. I hate a lot of things, especially Rhys, and old decrepit pig-gloat is certainly very high on the list, which is directly attributable to your failings. 

To the second matter, below is the erroneous mail with the irrelevant update:

To: SimonTheSwanHunter
From: WaffleStompingChamp
Subject: Fwd: Changes in Paradise

***Mass Mail to crew members of SimonTheSwanHunter***
To: WaffleStompingChamp
From: ElenaCataraga
Subject: Changes in Paradise

***Mass Mail to all Upper Structures***
Greetings all,

Within the next few hours, Oblivion will be setting up his own crew in Paradise. This is an authed move, please don't shoot him.

Once he is established, my members will be moving over to his crew and I will be stepping down once they have safely transitioned.

Feel free to reach out with any questions.

Thank you,
ElenaCataraga

--------------------------------

To: WaffleStompingChamp
From: SimonTheSwanHunter
Subject: Fwd: Changes in Paradise

Like these idiots care

And the pathetic apology thereafter:

To: SimonTheSwanHunter
From: WaffleStompingChamp
Subject: Apology

***Mass Mail to crew members of SimonTheSwanHunter***
Hello crew,

Recently I forwarded a mail about someone in LV being authed.

I know LV is a city that is very far away that nobody really cares about, and I know we've all got much more pressing matters to attend to such as emptying the pockets of New York and Chicago vermin, so I want to apologise for spamming your inbox with such unimportant nonsense.

Let it be known that I am making this apology purely on my own initiative and that nobody coerced me to do so at threat of another 12th Street Public Swirly, least of all our swanhunter di tutti swanhunti Simon.

Yours sincerely,

WaffleStompingChamp

Whilst I am confident the evidence speaks for itself you should also be aware that unwanted HQ lurker, twigs, was quick to bring this to my attention:

To: SimonTheSwanHunter
From: twigs
Sent: Jul 22, '25 19:17
Subject: Apology

Surely this is grounds for a demotion?

Finally, and perhaps the most egregious offence of the trio, you have called upon the idiotic members of the public, gathered in an assembly such as this one, to pass judgement upon an in-house trivial near assassination. I had no choice but to convene this public hearing as a result of your behaviour so that everyone could see just how poorly you're behaving. Lest we forget that discussion took place on a Street corner nearby and was something I personally had to brush the puny shoulders of New York mobsters aside with ease to witness for myself. UglyInbredGeorge was even there, the darkest of all of our black sheep, and you know how much I hate being seen near to him. 

If there is one thing that we do not do in Detroit, besides shy away from skull-rattling beatings and squat until we drop, it is disclose private family matters to the general populous. Which leads me to now, this airing of Detroit laundry, and I therefore put it to you, WaffleStompingChamp, that you are guilty of three counts of bringing this mighty city into dispute.

Simon gestured and the bonds holding WaffleStompingChamp's wrists were cut. There was a gasp in the crowd, presumably from a Brooklyn native, at the thickness of the rope necessary to chain even such a lowly Detroit specimen as Waffle. It was enough to bind every wrist in Dixxon's crew together and leave room to spare. Big Si shook his head again with raw masculinity before continuing. 

What do you have to say for yourself?

WaffleStompingChamp stands up released from his bonds. Arched forward like the hunchback of Notre Dame. Black eye clearly visible for all to see, sweat dripping from his monobrow. A sore sight. Almost as sore as UglyInbredGeorge but not quite there yet. It is difficult for anyone to limbo dance beneath the incredibly low bar that is UglyInbredGeorge.

Clearing his throat, WaffleStompingChamp speaks up with his boomingly gruff and masculine voice.

I plead guilty to all three charges. I will not deny the events that transpired.

I did fail to recruit the son of big_jason, something that has haunted me throughout my unimpressive career. With big_jason we could've grown even more than we already have. I'm talking 200 mobsters under the banner of Detroit. But alas. I've beat myself up for this failure aplenty.

I did forward a message about some nobody getting authorised to set up their own operation, and then gallantly (who said chivalry was dead?) apologised for this grave mistake.

I did launch a public investigation into the mysterious events surrounding my now-dead bodyguards, the safety of the public against scoundrels like Fanta being a matter of public interest.

All of these are acts I have committed. Me and me alone. Nobody else. Responsibility rests solely with me.

Since we are in the court of public opinion, and thus ultimately the public will decide my punishment, I have no other recourse but to try and rouse people to my cause and against yours.

I will now use the most effective of techniques for this, an ad-homo-men.

Jul 30, 17:49:21     You tried to PICKPOCKET! SimonTheSwanHunter.

LOOK HERE, MY FELLOW STREET DWELLERS. YE MEMBERS OF THE PUBLIC. HERE IS SIMON PREACHING OF MY FAULTS BUT LOOK AT HIM. I (fail to) PICKPOCKET HIM YET HE FAILS TO GIVE ME THE DETROIT-MANDATORY MUGGING. A CITY-HEAD GOING AGAINST HIS OWN CITY RULES? PREPOSTEROUS.

I wouldn't listen to a guy like that. Would you? No, probably not. Forget everything he's said, it's all nonsense. I shouldn't be punished, I should be rewarded. Yes. You certainly agree, don't you?

I think we need twigs' opinion on this matter.

This isn't some sort of slanging match, WaffleStompingChamp, where you can simply cast about aspersions willy nilly to deflect the blame away from yourself over something you should have handled differently. With that said, I'm going to allow twigs to have her say on this. She was one of your original detractors lest we forget. SlimRagnarok, Fanta, BillyNoMates, Ted, and in the absence of literally anyone else, Eala. You're all fine Detroit stock. Please disregard everything Waffle said and stick only to the matters which I've brought you here to address. What do you make of this?

SlimRagnarok is right. The only fitting punishment for someone exemplifying the worst qualities you could ask for is to make them a crewleader. I don't believe there's anything else as viciously punitive. Imagine forwarding a mail about a Las Vegas auth? What a senseless waste of resources. We do NOT care. WaffleStompingChamp must be made to feel the full extent of his errors.

Ideally - long-term - I'd like to see this create a rift between Simon and Waffle that ultimately ends in a violent civil war that claims the lives of nearly every member of this city. And I'll laugh. I'll laugh and laugh and laugh, as I plunder the pockets of the dead for jewels and memorabilia from the safety of my place in TomJoad's family. 

What kind of circus are you running over there in Detroit? 

Why is twigs your left hand man? He makes one tyrant decision, rubs your feet, pats you on the back.... and you PROMOTE him? Out of all the offenses, this is by far the worst one. If anything, he should've been demoted for questioning the actions of a respectful right hand man of the family. 

What will twigs do next? Try to actually milk EIkmilk?

I believe WaffleStompingChampion is fighting a fight for the greater good after seeing this evidence on public display. It was a test to the Detroit members on who their loyalties were with. And if anything, we should be looking at twigs behavior in this situation before putting Waffle on trial. 

twigs is obviously not a team player. He weaseled his way in being left hand man, and now seems he is coming for Waffles job. 

Waffle should burgerhouse him. 

Case closed

Eala had stayed quiet for as long as her nerves would allow, which, given the company involved, amounted to just under four minutes.

She’d watched WaffleStompingChamp shuffle through his defence like a man who’d accidentally buttered his shoes instead of his toast. There was a kind of clammy earnestness to him, the sort that only appears when someone’s too thick to lie properly and too proud to sit down. It was pitiful, in a way. Like watching a swan (FUCK SWANS!) try to operate a typewriter.

The charges were clear enough. The mistake, obvious. 

And yet there he was, still talking. Still explaining. Then came the part where he tried to justify his failure by inventing a new kind of insult and waving it around like it was going to win him a scholarship. He called it an ad-homo-men. Eala didn’t know what that meant. She doubted Waffle did either. 

Now, Eala had no issue with public violence. Quite the opposite. She welcomed it. Encouraged it. Mug city for life and all that. But this? This was not violence. This was the slow, tragic self-deflating of a man who had never truly been inflated to begin with. She watched George attempt some kind of moral arithmetic, SlimRagnarok pitch a city-ending civil war just for fun, and Simon... well. Simon appeared to be moulting under stress. Somewhere in the middle of it all, Waffle was still going. Still speaking. Still Waffling.

It was starting to hurt.

So Eala spoke.

Execution, she said, would be too merciful. Instead, she proposed the following:

Waffle would be locked inside a Portakabin somewhere deep in the 12th Street Toiles. He would replace the late CancidRunt (GRHS) as the new Stool Seer. Each morning, he would read fortunes from the bowl, interpret the patterns in whatever floated, and relay them over a faulty intercom to whichever poor fool had drawn the short straw that day. There would be no light. No food. Only prophecy and the faint scent of you know what.

That was the punishment she put forward. Not death. Not demotion. Something worse. Deep inconvenience. True Detroit Justice. 

Let this serve as a warning to all those who treat their mass mail like an open mic night. It's not a podium. It’s a trap. And yes, we are watching it. Closely.

Although, given how seriously tyrant Simon took her last recommendation of “Anyone but Twigs” for Left Hand Man, Eala suspected she was mostly speaking into the void.
 

"There are some things said here which I agree with, mainly that twigs should not have been promoted. As is Detroit custom though, I won't be discussing any matter like that in public and whether or not I had any say in the matter will remain firmly behind closed doors." 

"Anyway, amidst the commotion and nerdery," Simon notes Drieza's arrival with disdain, "it might have been missed by some that WaffleStompingChamp already admitted these charges and therefore we don't need to dwell any further on whatever nonsense twigs might try to throw into the pot, aside from to speculate just how nonsense-laden it would have been. In any event, as expected, the case speaks for itself. The support of Drieza only reaffirms my belief that you're out of line."

Simon snaps his fingers and his faithful creature, Eala, steps forward out of the gloom where she usually belonged. "Eala, despite your woefully inaccurate categorization of me as moulting, which is not the right verb at all to describe the peak masculinity on display in the way in which I dominate the 60 second list, I feel that some time divining the meaning in the toilet bowl of life would give Waffle some perspective. Coupled with a promotion to RHM and the prospect of future auth if he steps out of line again and I expect we'll see a fully functioning member of the Detroit hierarchy that Futurestealer might even stop clutching his pearls for. Lads, take him down."

Nameless Detroit goons grip WaffleStompingChamp under the arms and drag him away. 

Not nearly harsh enough for my liking but as a high-ranking goomba in the family I'm prepared to accept it so as to not cause a rabble with the other goombas. They look to me for wisdom and I want to lead by example. Perhaps we can all celebrate Waffle being one mistake away from the worst sanction possible (auth) by doing a competition that no one attends or comments on, as a homage to FutureStealer.