In every respectable middle aged member of the Mafias life, there comes a time when  your Father, or Godfather in this case will come to you and say:

"Son, it's time to leave. Pack your bags and get out my Headquarters before midnight."

That time was now. After everything I'd done for him. Dozens of murder attempts. Several failed organised crimes. At least $120,000 in donations, and only one diplomatic faux pax that required an apology.

Queens needed me, apparently. Too many good people had died or moved away and the barrel was empty. It could be scraped no more. We were so low at this point ole Elkmilk was being rolled out of the retirement sheds. I couldn't help but think I was rogue bait. I was the sacrificial lamb. I was going to be TAUPE'D? I was worried. What could I do? Everyone would die one day.

I thought back to the only thing that had given me success and pleasure in this life. I thought of ELKMILK. I thought of AMERICA. My blood was red white and blue, not that anyone watching or reading this play out in real time should ever test that out. Seriously killing Elkmilk would just not be worth it. 'POINT THOSE ROGUE GUNS ELSEWHERE. SERIOUSLY GUYS I'M NOT EVEN CAPPED' I would scream whilst putting the finishing touches on the paperwork and contract to form A.R.L.A. — American Raw‑Milk Logistics Alliance.

It would be a grandiose business and Elkmilk would be delivered to the masses. It was the perfect story for a criminal empire and far more believable than Mafia Basketball or Swan Hunting. Elkmilk would put Big Cow out of business once and for all.

"Come on DewDrop, the Dairy Queens are back in business".