It was late last night and I was drinking at a bar, chatting to a solid 5/10 who to my inebriated state was an otherworldly 15/10, when twigs burst in. Womanless, sober and cramping my style, three common twigs characteristics, and I was annoyed to see him. Again, this wasn't uncommon but something about the way his bottom lip quivered gave me pause. I said, “don't go anywhere, Queen, I'll be right back”, which for some reason came out as vomit all over the floor and onto her shoes. Someone slapped me, I assume playfully with lots of lust for intercourse behind it. It was twigs. I assumed correctly. 

“Boss, terrible news. Ted suicide-swirlied himself in George’s stall in the 12th Street Public Toilet,” twigs said, the words coming out in a rush, thick with emotion. The grief was immediate, killing any lingering arousal and continuing to rise like Dice during a world renowned Esquie competition (at least 4-5x more grief. Source: trust me bro). What a waste. TedTheSwanHunter, drowned in a skiddied bowl of corruption. My heir. The man self-appointed to make Detroit great again. The one destined to finally douse the flames on the effigy of Hobbs. 

“What about BerylTheSwanHunter and little Winston? Has anyone told them yet that Ted’s taken the long nugget bath?” I asked, wiping the last bit of sick-slime from the corner of my mouth.

twigs shook his head. He looked like a dumbass. No particular reason, that was just his face. “Not yet. Interlude’s going to handle it though.”

I nodded. He was a solid Detroit slab of beef. Reliable, dependable, slightly mottled due to the corrosive air in Corktown. He was suited to the task, so much so that I strongly doubted twigs had been the one to suggest him for the role. “Good idea. Who thought of him doing that?”

twigs looked uncomfortable, “oh, er I did. Well suited I thought. Like Chloe and Made Man promotions! Ha," he finished lamely.

He was a terrible liar but I let that slide. My tolerance for gross incompetence was one of the many reasons the crew love me. That and how much I thanked BillyNoMates for all his donations, which could probably be improved a bit honestly. The room was coming slowly back into focus. We would need to do something for Ted’s family. Big Si would need a new Little Si to take over the empire. Lots of decisions to be made. “Gather the troops, we need a quick brainstorm for things we can do to raise some money for the Teds. God knows they are gonna need it now he's u bend food.”

“Understood, Boss. Not GhostofHeadCoach though, right?”

“Right,” I said with a nod. “What a fucking disaster. Ted gone and you scared that hottie away too. Damn it. I hate you, twigs.” I said with a sigh, “let's go”.

If I was in the same family as twigs and WaffleStompingChump I'd probably kill myself too

Ted's bizarre toilet suicide reminds me of the time PlagueDoctor and FutureStealer combined to declare the following:

I said to "go live out your sexual fantasies in a library", which, for normal people, means finding the romance section, picking out the dirtiest, nastiest book they've got, then going and jacking off in a bathroom somewhere

What did they mean, Simon? Were they sneaking copies of A Christmas Carol into the Detroit Public Library urinals and getting crazy? Did Middlemarch get their rocks off? Was Lady Audley's Secret something they just couldn't keep contained? What a pair of nasty boys. Ted was a good man. But I think he may have taken the O in O Henry a bit too disgustingly. 

Make Detroit Great Again 

That was Ted's battle cry. Over and over again, across the HQ, down at the Detroit Public Library, in the famed 12th Street Public Toilets, Ted loved to quote that line again and again. If you didn't know Ted personally, you'd have thought he was a bit of a simpleton. Muttering the same thing over and over again is usually a sign of mental illness. Ted wasn't slow, Ted was obsessed.

Ted spent every dollar he had on signs, hats, banners, and Quad Agents to spread the word. It was his mission statement in life. It basically consumed him up until the day he decided that giving himself a 12th street swirly was the only option left. Sadness is the only word to describe seeing his lifeless body head down in Detroit's nastiest stalls. Even old pay day George wouldnt visit that stall.

As good crewmates would do, we had Chloe and Fanta carry the body down to Detroit River for a proper disposal. We dont bury our dead here, we throw them in the river to become someone elses problem. Detroit Love as we call it.

Ted is no longer with us, but we're stuck with BillyNoMates, WaffleStompingChamp, and Eala. Little Simon is pretty upset too, but until he reaches the rank of Godfather, no one really cares about his feelings.

Where ever you ended up Ted, I hope you make it great. Detroit was perfect until you showed up anyways!

It feels like only yesterday that Ted left this world to do bigger things. Wait it was the day before the day before yesterday? Explains that then.

Either way Ted wanted to do bigger things. Make a name for himself. Not be associated with the likes of GhostOfHeadcoach. Not to have to look at a half-finished statue of jason-profitt right next to the burnt down effigy of Hobbs. Released from 12th Street public toilets bouncer duty. The weight of being the Swansong Heir lifted from his shoulders. No longer shackled by the tyrannical single-linked chain of command.

The suicide swirlie? A coverup. I don't believe it for a second and nobody's ever accused me of being conspiratorially minded so I don't pluck these things out of nowhere. Ted wanted nobody to come looking for him, to be left to his own devices in the old country.

Will Ted find the greener pastures he's looking for there? I don't know. But with other prominent Goombas such as Melis following him there I'm sure he will accomplish something.

I miss Ted. He had a certain je ne sais qoui. No wonder Big Si appointed him as the Swansong Heir.

I eagerly await the return of our Messiah.