"So what is it that you want to do with your life Rocco? What are your goals?"

"Well to be honest Doc? To fuck and pimp out every girl in the world."

Rocco 'Mr. Poonani' Pussone sat talking on a couch across from his therapist Dr. Friedman on a gloomy Brooklyn evening. Thursday, 9:00 pm: Rocco always made sure to make it to his appointments on time and that night was no different. He had showed up, donning his usual purple chalk-striped suit with the poorly matched red shirt, tie, and fedora, giving him the sleazebag look that he loved. He was a pimp no matter what material wrapped around his small impish and pale body. Friedman, on the other hand was just the opposite. The young native Manhattan Jew sported Yale colored suits and ties that complimented his blonde model-like features.

He was the one women really wanted. However, Friedman had chosen the holy route by staying loyal to his much older wife. If only Rocco could stay loyal to one of the many women he had kissing his feet. The two were nearly polar opposites with Friedman's honesty, calmness and peaceful like nature contrasting with Rocco's duplicity, hot temper and violent nature. However, the two had gotten along fine since Rocco helped convince Friedman's then-mistress to go away, using his rock-hard sexual prowess as a persuasion tool. Since then, Friedman had gone 'straight', and Rocco, even more corrupt.

Rocco checked his gold Rolex watch: the time had passed quite quickly and it was now 9:45. His appointment ended at ten. He crossed his legs and pulled a cigarette from his inner jacket pocket. He looked at Friedman for permission but the Yale grad just waved him off. Rocco placed the cigarette in his mouth and lit the tip with a match. From there, it was just badass inhaling and exhaling that filled the rather large New York office.

"That is quite the goal Rocco, but let's talk realistic goals. I know you've had a hard life Rocco. People have said some bad things about you, but let's be realistic, so we-I can help you better." Friedman said smiling.

"What?" Rocco's voice and temper heightened and he stood up. "Ya don't think that's realistic? It's very realistic Doc. My fatha Hyman Rot- I mean, my fatha did it! How do ya think he got me eh? I don't even know who my motha is! For all I know she could be some piece o' ass walkin the streets right outside this office. I know I'll 'sees' her one day. I know that, but DON'T YOU TELL ME I CAN'T DO IT! I'M SMA'HT! I CAN HANDLE THINGS! NOT LIKE EVERYBODY SAYS! NOT LIKE 'DUMB', I'M SMA'HT AND I WANT RESPECT DOC! YOUS'E KNOW WHAT? I'M OUTTA HERE! I DON'T NEED THIS SHIT." Rocco raged on before storming out of the office.

Seconds later he returned, head down. "So I'll see you next week..."

Friedman flashed another smile. "Of course Rocco. Remember to get the Prozac."

"Thanks Doc." Rocco said before sheepishly removing himself from the office. The middle aged pimp exited the office and began walking down the dark street, his bony hands placed inside of his brightly colored jacket and his thoughts passing easily as the night-time chill which swept through the streets around him.

Suddenly, as Rocco was passing the alley, a hooded bear-shaped man jumped out in front of him wielding a .38, sending him flying up against the brick layered alley wall, crying like a woman.

"Give me your fuckin' money now!" The large man demanded, pointing his loaded snub nose at the temple of Rocco's head.

Rocco cried even more and pleaded. "Come on, I didn't do anything! I don't want to end up like Fredo, please! PLEASE! Rivers flowed out of Rocco's eyes as he lay almost defenseless against this bull of a man.

The man tilted his head and raised the gun to scratch his head. "D-Did you just say Fredo?"

Rocco nodded.

The man then broke out in laughter, muttering some words in between each gaping breath. "Wow, I tell you. I've robbed a lot of people, but this just tops it. Fredo Corleone? Just wow, just look at you, cowering like some pussy at the sight of a gun. You big pus-" Suddenly the robber felt a rush of pain surge up from his groin and leaned over, screaming in pain, before he felt a mean right hook connect with the left side of his face, spewing blood and spit all over the sidewalk before he plummeted to the ground. As he looked up, his vision blurring, he saw Rocco standing above him wiping his tears away and now wielding his .38 snub nose.

Rocco smirked and said, "That's Pussone to you, asshole." He then squeezed off a shot into the robber's head and sent blood and pieces of brain flying onto the cement. Rocco grinned devilishly, loving the new found power he had wielding a gun, gazing at the .38 with demented brown eyes. No more would people pick on him. No more would harass him. He had the control. He was in control, and it felt great, ecstatic even. "Finally, visitin' the Doc actually helped me. Now I can start buildin an empire bigger than anything Michael Corleone could." Rocco remarked with a smile before scurrying off into the night, ready to continue his lifelong ambition to fuck and pimp out every girl in the world and to get paid while doing it.

Very interesting concept. In my opinion, anyways. I quite enjoyed it.

I hope to see more stories from you.

Very interesting point,I could say that this caught my attention.

Is very very interesting point