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| Goomba? Seriously!? | Started by: SammyGarcini on Oct 02, '08 16:19 |
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SammyGarcini, after 20 days of being the lowly rank of gangster, vowed to start doing things and get some criminal activity going to earn a new rank and some more respect. Two days on, and We see he has become a Goomba. Though only a Goomba, thanks to the extra pocket space in his new suit, he can carry twice the amount of drugs he could before, along with being that one step above the Gangsters. It wasn't a great achievement, but it was an achievement he had worked for, and he was proud of himself. After the Bank Job failed to go through, due to lack of accomplices and preparation, Sammy knew that he'd tried to start off with something too big, and that he should now just try to rob the local 7/11, or rob an old ladies purse. So he went on his daily walk around the local parks and business district, summing out what and when he was going to rob. Sammy, now equipped with a pistol and some bullets, had the upper hand against any un-armed shop keeper, but he knew that some of those creepy bastards kept shotguns behind the counters, so he had to be careful, and since he didn't know which ones these creepy bastards were, it was just a luck of the draw that he wouldn't get shot at. Sammy went home, and, planned out his robbery while he ate his Beans on Toast and sipped is lemonade. He didn't want to stumbling around drunk while he was committing the crime. He needed to have full focus and his wit about him. So, without any further thought, he set out of his house, and back down to the shopping district, taking a seat on a nearby bench, where he had perfect view of the perfect store to rob. He sat up straight, and after a couple of minutes, stood up, slowly walking down the street to the corner of which the shop was located. He loaded his pistol, and tucked it in to the back of his jeans, pulled his shirt over the top, and walked casually into the store. Walking up to the counter, he looked around at what he might think of stealing, uh, buying. When he reached the counter, a sharp voice alerted him. "What can I do for ya!?" Sammy looked round, and saw the shopkeeper glaring straight into his eyes. "Oh, thanks, but I'm just looking for the moment." "You sure you dont need any elp?" Sammy looked back at the shopkeeper, and put his left hand onto the counter, while putting his right hand on the butt of his gun. "Well, there is something..." Sammy took the gun out and pointed it at the shopkeeper, who jumped back startled. "Woah woah woah fella. No sudden movements now, we wouldn't want you to get shot now would we? Now, do me a favour and open up the register. Nice and slowly now" The shopkeeper nodded, and moved slowly towards the cash register putting one hand on the keypad while leaning down with the other. "Hey! What the fuck do you think you're doing, I need to see both your hands!" The shopkeeper withdrew his hand, a shotgun coming into view, Sammy looked left and right and dived behind a stack of shelves as a shotgun shell exploded releasing 15 bullbarings straight in Sammy's previous direction. Having a near escape, Sammy couldn't believe what bad luck he was having. Bank job failing, then picking the lunatic with a shotgun. He breathed deeply and tightened his grip around the gun, taking a look over the shelves to see if he could see the shopkeeper. And, sure enough he was waiting for Sammy to show his face. BANG! Another shell exploding, destroying the top section of the shelves Sammy was using as cover. He knew this job was too big for him on his own, and he desperately needed some assistance. He took out he phone, and dialed the first number in his phonebook, not seeing who it was, but hoping to god they would realise where he was and help him... |
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| LilWayne see SammyGarcini walk pass him quickly with his head down on his phone. So he carried on walking down the street and gets to the shop and goes to take a step in untill he see's the shopkeeper cleaning up the mess that had just happened moments ago. So he turned back around and headed the other way. | |
| Reply by: LilWayne at Oct 02, '08 18:24 | |
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| Noodle Catches Lil Wayne and slaps him...Preparing for the Rap Battle | |
| Reply by: NoOdle at Oct 03, '08 06:19 | |
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[MAJOR ANACHRONISM-CELL PHONES DID NOT EXIST IN THE PROHIBTION 1920-1933 ERA!] It was a dull, routine day as usual; Jimmy O'Donnell had woken up at near the crack of dawn in the cramped apartment, pulling back the blinds to reveal the blinding glare of the morning sun. "Ugggh! I sure could use a drink," incomprehensibly mumbled Jimmy as he stretched his aching arm muscles and slowly walked towards the gray, rusted sink. With a simple tap of his forefinger, he pulled up the faucet handle, grabbed a hazy-looking, fingerprint-covered glass sitting on the counter and placed the glass under the raging torrent of water. In a quick, immediate gulp, Jimmy swallowed the cold, refreshing water and returned the glass. He tiptoed into the adjoining bathroom, turned on the sink faucet, grabbed a bar of soap and a cloth and began cleaning his face and underarms of any grease and dirt. Afterwards, he cracked open the underside drawer and removed his handy toothbrush and paste, carefully cleaning his teeth and grinning at his smug reflection in the dusty mirror. After he was cleaned up, Jimmy pulled himself over to the closet and removed a white undershirt, a pearly-white dress shirt, and a pair of dark brown dress pants. Within a few moments he had secured the garments on his thin, slender body and then reached for a smooth, silken, red necktie and a dark brown matching vest. Jimmy slipped into the bathroom, tied the tie carefully and precisely, donned the vest and then grabbed the third piece, his dark-brown suit jacket and the fourth, his trusty, elegant, yet aged, black fedora. After carefully positioning the brim, he removed the firm, felt hat, tied a pair of well-polished, black wing-tip shoes and headed for the door. It was a short, but tedious walk down the green carpeted hallway before Jimmy reached the winding staircase down to the lobby, that almost made him feel faintly dizzy. On his way out the door, Jimmy was greeted by the George, the charming, but sometimes forgetful door guard. "Have a nice day Mr. O'Donnell. Take care," politely greeted the grinning, tall gentleman in his brass-buttoned uniform and tall, grey forage cap. "You too, old pal," replied Jimmy in a casual tone as he stepped out into the chilly, howling wind. Jimmy walked a few steps over to his car, a dusty, 1919 model T desperately in need of a few repairs. Jimmy took a seat inside, placed his keys into the ignition and with a loud, buzzing hum the engine started. He dialled in the radio to his favourite jazz station, his station, which was playing a delightful Les Brown tune, and made his way down the road. Up ahead the narrow, long road wound and wound its way down a maze of streets and shops like a serpent weaving its way out of the deep. The city was a blur of concrete and asphalt with the occasional colour as Jimmy made his way through the busy streets towards a small, brown brick building up ahead. He carefully parked the car in an open spot, turned off the engine and stepped out into the autumn cold. The building wasn't the most pleasant sight; it was dwarfed by the surrounding structures, covered in choking tendrils of ivy and showing signs of stress. Jimmy pulled out his briefcase from the model T, locked it, and proceeded towards the single, fog-obscured, glass door up ahead. With the subtle sound of a brass bell above the door, Jimmy could be seen by Jane, the receptionist and the few other workers scurrying about their business. "Good morning James. I hear the boss has cooked up somethin real special for your show today," remarked Jane in a courteous, cheerful tone as she smiled happily at Jimmy. She was in her early twenties with short, bobbed brown hair and thin-rimmed glasses; she was a real looker. "Oh you know me, Jane. Always the man looking to please," replied Jimmy in a calm, confident voice as he pulled off his fedora and placed it onto a brown, pine hat-rack. Jimmy then walked over to a small corner room with a foggy, glass window labelled, "BROADCAST ROOM-LIGHT INDICATES ON AIR." He placed his fingers firmly against the cold, steely handle of the doorknob and creaked open the door. Once inside, Jimmy closed the door, properly set down his briefcase and turned to the complex array of radio equipment scattered over the desk, much like a heap of threads and needles for the skilled tailor. After flipping a few switches, and grabbing the mic, Jimmy smoothly dusted off a record from the shelf, "Crazy Blues-1920," and popped it into the delicate phonograph machine that had been carefully set up on the left side of the desk. Jimmy sat back and relaxed as the record wound through, and then began his part. "Good morning Chicago, this is your favorite man speaking here, J.O.D. with WCKS radio. I must say folks, it's looking like a fine day today, 59 degrees and clear skies, apart from the city's famous blustery winds. The forecast for today really looks swell I must say. That's it for the weather folks, and now it's time for the format you requested, WCKS call-in, where you can telephone into the station and tell us your views live over the radio what you think of the upcoming municipal election and Mayor Thompson's plans. The man certainly looks promising as a candidate, but is that just because we haven't seen the competition in action? You decide folks, our number is 4653 Lakeview Terrace, that's 4563 Lakeview Terrace. You have the power to voice your opinions for the whole city right here, right now," stated Jimmy in a quick, polite and clear tone into the microphone. Within mere moments, the silver painted telephone began to ring on the right hand desk. Instinctively, Jimmy pulled the ear piece off the cradle and pulled the device closer to him. "Hello, WCKS radio you are now live caller number 1, go ahead," remarked Jimmy in a fierce, round-toned media voice. "Help, I'm... being shot at here, I need help, 2314 Garden Street, please...(intermittent guns shots) come right away," shouted the voice of a frightened, angry young man. |
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| Reply by: Jimmy-ODonnell at Oct 03, '08 22:43 | |
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