The Tabloid News: Delanified

From The Editor of The Moment

What's that, you say? Delaney heading up The Taboid News? Indeed I am. Pickles decided that his publication was in dire need of a little spice and so, given that he asked me so very nicely (ten bouqets of lilies and lilacs, ten bottles of Jamaican rum and a pleading pair of puppy-dog eyes, not to mention the promise of a neck massage whenever I want one), I kindly agreed to help in his hour of need.

And so here we are: The Tabloid News, Delanified. Enjoy, my legions of admirers.

Brave New World?

No mobster with a modicum of intelligence can possibly have failed to notice the recent upsurge in paid protection of late. In fact, some sources state that our seven cities have been flooded by no less than 7.7429 bagillion-million bodyguards, causing untold chaos throughout our nation. Traffic congestion has become so unmanagable that most mobsters have taken to travelling on the shoulders of their hired help, while others choose to crowd-surf with no top on. Every crevice of every street has been filled to the rafters with beefy, mean-looking savages.

Worse still, these bodyguards keep forgetting exactly which bodies they're supposed to be guarding. In recent days, the air has become heavily polluted with their plaintive wails as they desperately seek out those who employed them. Lilac, our celebrated and multi-talented field journalist, took a trip throughout the streets of Chicago and bore witness to the madness:

''It's sheer insanity,'' she said, trying in vain to catch a breath while swinging from lamp post to lamp post and trying to preserve her fragile bones from getting crushed beneath the stampede.

''Beneath me is a sea of bald heads, poorly maintained beards and what I can only describe as a cacophony of homing calls from these poor men who have lost their leaders. Some mobsters have opened up their business to provide food and shelter while aiding the bodyguards in their search; others have taken to kicking them in the shins and pelting them with crusty socks for cheap entertainment between organised crimes.''

Adrenaline Rush Epidemic Sweeps Mobsters Off Their Feet

If the human tsunami of bodyguards wasn't enough to excite you, then please turn your attention this way as we reveal the latest in a series of stumbling blocks to befall mobsters as they go about their day to day crimage.

Not so long ago, we heard of how crime syndicates everywhere were stricken by the perils of the Poignant Cigarette. Harrowing times indeed. But now, something with even greater force is quite literally pulling the rug from underneath the feet of our men.

Any time, anywhere and without a moment's warning, men and women everywhere are being struck down by intense spasms of adrenaline coarsing through their bodies. Such is the power of these attacks that the victims are often vollied several hundred yards through mid-air; adrenaline rushes strike ferociously and without discrimination for their prey.

Some of the side effects are even more concerning. We spoke to Raoul_Silva, who has recently been accused of lewd sex acts involving robes that he steals from the washing lines of hot young men. In light of his current indictment, he revealed that the truth can be found in his own experience with adrenaline spasms, citing them as the true cause behind his disturbing behaviour:

''It all started when I was helping Joey Rasca get dressed after a particularly passionate night of love-making. He was weak, understandably, so I was guiding his trousers onto his legs. Next thing I knew, I was launched into the air and ricocheted off the ceiling, only to land arse-first on Joey's head. I could have broken his neck...I don't think I will ever get over the shame. Since then, it's been happening to me at least four times a week, sometimes more. My crew members give me a wide berth. It's becoming so lonely. I can't even stand next to SquidMaster any more; just last week, I was overcome with a charge of adrenaline-fuelled electricity throughout my body and started slapping myself with his tentacles.''

If you have been affected by this momentary - though terrifying - spectacle, please get in touch with us so we can ridicule you.

Streets Seized By The Season: Musical Mobsters Unite

Mafiosi aren't typically known for their festive natures, but there appears to have been something in the water within the last few weeks as numerous mobsters descended upon the Streets, inspired by the power of song.

Much to the delight of onlookers, Pickles himself chipped in with his own version of The Twelve Days of Christmas and enjoyed much acclaim for his poetic efforts. Lilac Delaney observed with some bemusement, stating:
''He deserves his moment in the limelight. I'm feeling the joy of yuletide myself and so this year, my gift to Pickles is to refrain from stealing his thunder.''

Kuklinksi Claims It's Time To Put On Big Boy Pants

It seems the miracle of Baby Jesus has infected even the most unlikely of souls. The Kuklinski bloodline, known to many as the haemorrhoid of this thing of ours, has taken a public vow and promised to put his ego in a box (hopefully not as a Christmas gift) and join in with the big boys' games.

At this time, it remains unknown whether the prophecy has become tangible fact or was indeed another bad joke from a Christmas Cracker.

* Arnold adjusts his big boy pants and adresses the crowd "

Friends, I am, ahem, new to this world.  I am but lowly Earner, doing what I am told, wary of the men with guns and of the men with the power to direct those guns.

I stand tall in a solid crew, staffed by talented individuals and led earnestly by an impressive man.  It's truly an honour to serve.  And serve I am, and serve I will.  For this is what I have chosen to do with my life and I am grateful to be allowed to do so.

Lilac has written a good newspaper and I applaud her for it.  

This thing of ours is fun, isn't it?  I intend to be here for a good while longer.

Friends I have not yet contacted, come and say hello.

But . . . where's the update on Big Foot and CashMoneyMillionaire's baby?  Or your own dalliance with the Wolfman?  Although, you did mention me, so I do give this edition a passing grade.

I hope the Swedish Children and French Maids treated you well.

Pickles, I'm not sure the masses are equipped to deal with the enormity of those tales. Perhaps, in time, and with a ittle dilution, I can adapt the words to make the news a little more palatable.

Your Swedish children and French Maids were nothing short of delightful, aside from all the spit-polishing. You have them well trained. I'm a little less Draconian with my own staff, of course. I hope you enjoyed the aroma of Chanel #5 throughout the offices; I had them all wear it especially.

And as for Wolfman, it's a touchy issue. I'm still applying cream.

The French Maids already do.  But, I certainly hope you didn't tell the Swedish Children about child labour laws or anything ugly like that!  I wondered why the Swedes didn't smell like mackerel and printing ink.

No, no. I took no such liberties. They were a little taken aback by my small acts of kindness, such as a cup of warm milk and a reasonable bed time, but I told them I was really an angel on business to visit the Baby Jesus. I did find it a little strange that one of them repeatedly called me Sandra.

You've ruined them!  I'll have to tie them all in a sack, and dump them in the river!  Now, I'll need to import a fresh batch.  Damn you, Lilac!

Larks! Well that means you'll have to manage your own labour for a few days while you wait for the arrival of your fresh child-slaves. How very dare I.

They are NOT child slaves!  They are Printing Press Operators First Class.  Their tiny nimble fingers fit so well in the complex machinery and what not.  Slaves indeed!  If you want to talk about slavery, you should tell people what you do to poor Vince!

Everyone knows that Vince is an extremely efficient slave, so much so that Rayden and I share his services on a daily basis. He doesn't mind in the slightest; he gets to take his orders from two very impressive womenfolk, and he likes womenfolk. I don't know of many men that would complain in his position.

It's hard to complain with a ball-gag in your mouth.  I remember the last crewmember you had who complained.  You cut his tongue out and fed it to a rhesus monkey at the zoo.

I did NOT cut his tongue, he wanted to have it pierced and I offered to oblige as the tattoo parlour was closed! It simply went wrong, that's all. He signed a waiver, I've got proof of my innocence. And I certainly didn't feed the monkey a tongue. It was quite a different appendage belonging to someone who overstepped their mark with me. Silly, silly man.

You can tell whatever story you want, but we all know the REAL TRUE Editor of The Tabloid News always knows the truth bheind your lies, and the lies behind your truth, and the truth behind the lies behind the truth behind the lies you tell!

I demand info on CashMoneys baby. I demand it now! This gossip rag must give the public what it deserves