It has been a tumultuous time for those fledgling families that have taken the brave step into the expanses of Detroit. We have been thrust together and tasked with building a city with little to fall back on other than our own abilities and resourcefulness. This challenge is made all the more formidable when you only have the shrunken arms of TyrionLannister to rely on for support.

Despite this, I thought I would regale you all with the tale of our time in Detroit. It is a sizeable yarn and so much of it remains to be written as it expands on a daily basis. I believe it will offer answers to those niggling questions you've always wondered; Why does WingWongWang have fanny eyes? Why does LudariusCane look like he got dressed by an eight year old? Is Tyrion in proportion? All these and more will be answered, but all in good time.

I'll start from the beginning and let your minds fill the child-sized pumps of our beloved Boss as he begins his quest to lead in Detroit. TyrionLannister is The Dwarf of Detroit.

The Dwarf of Detroit: Before We Were Famous

It was just a normal day for me, the Donbot. I was lazily shuffling through a wad of bills while Joey Mousepad repeatedly asked Clamps if there was anything that needed to be viced and pretending there was nothing amiss in that request. This obviously caused numerous arguments between the little scabs, but it was another little scab that would be bothering the Donbot today and that little scab was TyrionLannister.

Tyrion was a dwarf in all senses of the word and he had almost no redeeming qualities. If there was one thing to admire about Tyrion, it was his friend, the Donbot. Fortunately, Tyrion knew that too, which was why he had trundled his stunted legs all the way over to our haunt to ask if I would join him in running his own business here in Detroit.

Now, this had come as a bit of a surprise to me. Sure, I'm more sought after than a marketplace offer that is less than fucking 450k, but this plan was a long way from viable. We didn't have a bodyguard between us, we didn't even have a target for our guns, let alone any notches on them and the only HQ we had was the shitty storage space in the attic of LudariusCanesMom's old terrace, which we had started referring to as our haunt.

I could tell that Tyrion knew his plan was about as appealing as an assfuck with a crowbar, or "the Fiddler" as it was known on the back streets of DT. His usually calm demeanour was gone and he was decidedly agitated, flapping more than Revolve over his upper structure and the lack thereof.

By this point, Clamps and Joey had even stopped rough housing and had begun to listen intently. This further increased Tyrion's panic; his tiny little attempt at pacing began to piss me off too and he was starting to hyperventilate in the gaping, legthening silence.

This shit was getting ridiculous, I was about to end up with a dead dwarf on my floor and I didn't need any more hate crimes charges on my record. Halfway to throwing the munking out, I remembered what LudariusCanesMom had told me she had to do to snap Ludarius out of his numerous nightly terrors about the bed bugs getting him. The lad used to get himself so worked up that he pissed himself, violently screamed and thrashed about, lashing at objects, people, his mother's numerous lovers, anything really within reach. I decided to put it into practice. I casually stood up out of my chair, put down my wad of notes and repeatedly smashed Tyrion's head into the wall until he blacked out.

A few minutes later, once we had plucked him up off the floor, the noise of another heated argument between Ludarius and his Cousin drifted up through the floorboards.

"Why is it wrong to flirt with your cousins?" Ludarius was asking, his petulant, childish whine permeating any type of soundproofing. It sounded like he was crying. I sighed to myself as Tyrion dabbed at his nose with a handkerchief. It looked like one sheet of toilet paper and he could almost wear it like a cape.

Over the noise of Ludarius' relentless advances, it became apparent that we needed to get out of this attic and to make a name for ourselves. Was Tyrion's stupid plan better than sitting here listening to Ludarius' best efforts of making sweet, sweet incest? I felt confident that it must be and we decided there and then to head into town and see if we could find a real joint to start our operations.

I looked once more about our attic and picked up my coat. Was this the right choice?

"What do you mean incest is wrong? our kids won't end up with 6 fingers on each hand, I promise. I didn't, did I?"

Yes.

Yes it was.

I'll have you know, they don't call me Tripod for nothing ser.

WhereAml kicks the midget,

Oh great Donbot, I have one question. Why put the fate of you and your capable mafioso into the hands of a man whose ancestors struggled with having a set sexuality, shaving, and working his hands to the bone (reference to both PPing instead of Wacking and just generally abusing RHM/LHM)? I say you should start your own family and just be done with the half pint!

I don't have "fanny eyes" you bastard!

I's suppose "assfucks" and "crowbars" might be's quite painful their now won't it Donbot?

...

Wow Ludarius, calm down. Let someone else get a word in!

Ludarius's mom has to let him out of his room before he can speak.

Ludarius's mom has to get out from under DonBot before she can give him permission.

DonBot has to get out from Cory_Chase in order to let Ludarieus's mom out from DonBot before she can give him permission

Tyrion, nobody has ever called you tripod. You probably just misheard WingWongWang because of his accent when he was calling you an idiot. Don't take it to heart though, he does have fanny eyes.

Anyway, I've taken a break from servicing Cory_Chase my busy day and I'm ready to tell the next part of the story.

The Dwarf of Detroit: Somewhere To Rest Your Head

Tyrion was delighted.

He was giddy and excitable like a puppy, yapping at our heels as we searched for a worthwhile place that would serve as our centre of operations. I hadn't realised until now just how fucking annoying he was. I was kind of hoping that he would forget I had agreed to be involved, but the little bastard had followed the rules to the letter and notified the relevant personnel of his intentions and there was no going back now, for any of us. We were all together in his puny Arc hoping that we didn't get capsized by a puddle. I sighed to myself. Had it been better in LudariusCanesMom's attic?

Tyrion's Bosses had signed off on shipping the little midget the fuck out of Philly almost immediately and you could hardly blame them for that, after all, what were they actually losing? He earned about as quickly as a child's lemonade stand, his face looked like a pancake someone had stood on and I'm pretty sure I've scraped more intelligent things off the bottom of my shoe. A real family lynchpin, this one, and, as a result of Tyrion's numerous shortcomings, all of our other problems still existed. We didn't have any money, we didn't have any protection and we didn't have anywhere to start acquiring either of the former. I decided to send Clamps and Joey Mousepad out on their own to try and find us somewhere, whilst I kept walking our pygmy.

After several average strides from me, Tyrion was fighting cramp and beginning to whine about how badly his feet hurt from walking in his heels. Fortunately, I spotted a place nearby and decided to stop and recuperate. I read the sign; it was called "The Peach Pit". I looked at Tyrion, who craned his neck to look back at me, before pushing open the door and going inside.

Upon walking in, I immediately realised we had entered quite possibly the shittiest bar on the planet. It was so bad, it looked like a post-apocalyptic impression of a bar. We were the only people in there, the floor smelt like someone had taken a shit on it and I wouldn't have touched the tables in case something bit me. I just cut up laughing as Tyrion hopped around indignantly trying to see over scattered debris.

I knew right then that this shithole would be perfect for us, so I rounded the flea-ridden bar and headed into the back. As I took a step through the door, I was greeted by a haggard old man carrying a shotgun. He had it pointed square at my face with that easy confidence of a man who had pointed a thousand guns at a thousand chiseled faces in his time.

"Here to shit on my floor are you?" He croaked, staring me in the eye.

"Easy fella, we don't want any trouble. Do you know who I am?" I asked, raising my palms to him, nice and calm. Slow and easy. I plastered a smile across my mouth, a friendly, shiteating grin, like we were old pals.

"I don't give a fuck what you want or who you are. What the fuck are you doing in the Pit?" He jabbed the gun towards my jaw after each expletive.

I just kept on grinning at him, like he was handing me a bouquet of flowers and not pushing a firearm at me. "We just came in for a drink, we don't want any trouble" I said again, widening my stance.

This caught him off guard "What the fuck do you mean we? Who els-" He had just started to say, before Tyrion had come bursting from between my legs like LudariusCane from his mother all those years ago and he landed a head-butt on the old boy flush in the nuts at full pelt. There was nothing he could do; he fell to the ground like he'd taken an uppercut from Joe Lewis, the gun scattering harmlessly across the floor as he let out a feeble, high-pitched groan. Incidentally, that was also like Ludarius, but that's another story.

I picked up his shotgun and came up alongside Tyrion who was proceeding to kick the shit out of the groaning old bastard on the floor. I let this go on for awhile; the evil fucker was just pointing a gun at me after all.

"Right, here's what's going to happen" I said, eventually pulling Tyrion off of him, his stumpy little legs still kicking gamely at thin air. "Me and my buddy here are going to be running this place from now on. You, you hard old fuck, will stand over by the other door and point this shotgun in the face of anyone who comes through it, sound fair?"

The man didn't answer, he just looked at me like I had told him he had fanny eyes. I put my foot on his throat and pointed his shotgun at him. "Sound fair?" I asked again.

He took his time this one, didn't rush it, didn't seem afraid that he might be missing the back of his skull pretty soon, just lay there, staring back at me. He slowly lifted his arms and pushed my foot off his neck. I moved back, still leveling the gun at him, as he levered himself into a sitting position.

"Be good for the Pit to have some cunts in it again." He finally said, spitting on his own floor as he did. I looked at Tyrion and burst out laughing. He started to laugh too. The balls bearing on this guy were bigger than LudariusCanesCousin's tits.

For the first time I thought that maybe we had made the right choice in doing this and we had done the easy part; we'd found our Headquarters.

My great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great Grandfather visited an establishment in Detroit called the Peach Pit once. He got raped by a decidedly ropey looking chap who went by the name of Gordon.

You won't catch me in there.

Looking thoughtfully at the situation so far and thinking about past experiments such as Las  Vegas she smiles thinking at least they are all pulling in the same direction.

Altering her dress she smiles wondering how she would handle the challenges of building a city back to its former glory, looking round she grimaces thinking of the challenges to such a task too,

WingWongWang I have heard of that Gordon character before.   I was told stories as a child similar to that of the experience of Donbot....   Except in these stories the setting was a dark alley...   and also rather then a haggard old man pointing a shotgun at people chins, its was Gordon, in a trench coat, poking something else on peoples chins.    Needless to say these stories kept me up most nights shaking in terror.