Interrupting your totally exciting and not completely mind-numbingly dull day, the dashingly handsome yet ridiculously dressed Petey P strides arrogantly into the streets. You don't immediately recognise him given what an irrelevance he is, but as you have absolutely nothing better to do (as nobody has said a god-damn thing), you decide to hear him out.

It has been just over a week since I, the mighty PeterPerttits, made the ballsy decision to transplant my magnificently prestigious operation of collecting protection money from hairdressers and cobblers, away from the smog-infested concrete jungle of Downtown, Detroit, over into the sun-drenched paradise of (aptly-named) Paradise, Las Vegas. It is much nicer out here and my Mum likes the motel room I've rented for her now that I'm a big shot, so that seems like a second brilliant decision by me - the first, by the by, was positioning myself at the front of the long, long line of people queuing to spit on the corpse of RazorRamon.

Petey seemed to pause momentarily, as if expecting such a statement to encourage applause. The lack thereof encouraged him to hastily resume speaking.

Now, before I go much further, I should start by saying this is going to be something of a semi-regular update about the goings on of everyone's favourite Made Man turned Mafia Kingpin (that's me by the way) and after I've said my piece, you're going to be welcomed to have your say and tell me what you've been up to since my last visit to the streets. Or not, as the case may be, and if this isn't your cup of tea then I guess you should just drink something else. 

Something losers drink.

Which, FYI, is what you must be if you don't like this. 

Losers.

Pete gave everyone what he believed was an intimidating look but widely missed the mark.

So anyway, I thought I would begin [five minutes after starting] by saying it hasn't been easy becoming the aforementioned Las Vegas crime lord, but that would be a lie, as it really kind of has. Nobody seems to expect much of me, probably because I can't even make it to fucking Capo, but despite this grossly unfair eventuality, I have been determined to make this a success - and what a success it has been. A 40 man HQ and 7 fucking members! In a week! You see that, SpikeS? That's how the grownups recruit, motherfucker. 

Pete paused again to give himself an imaginary pat on the back. If anyone was still paying attention to him, they had the dignity to feel embarrassed on his behalf.

But how did I become kind-of-a-big-deal in such record time, I hear you ask? Well, pull up a chair my friend and I'll tell you.

I started out by acquiring the interest in a rundown shit-heap of a titty bar by bamboozling the locals with some smooth talking mumbo-jumbo whilst Swiss_Tony set about the place with a baseball bat. It was something of a miscalculation on my part as I devalued the joint via bat-attack to the point it was probably worth less than what I was actually paying for it. We then also had to tidy the place up after purchase and re-hire the grizzly old strippers we had just run out of there, as nobody in their right mind would pay to see Lerano take his clothes off considering they could get the pleasure of his shrivelled dumpling any night in Brum after he'd consumed two feminine bacardi-based drinks or a regular coke.

He waved his hand at the air, brushing off the bad mental picture he had just painted.   

That little snafu aside, and with a venue in the bag, the next project was to establish ourselves as a power player in the local area. Fortunately, word about our bat-beatings of Paradise's OAPs had quickly spread and we were met with little resistance at either of the two care homes we agreed a small but regular stipend from. We showed our faces at a couple of the casinos on the Strip, drunk upon our own granny-inflated sense of authority, but that particular exploit wasn't quite up to our usual high levels of success; once they stopped laughing at our demands, we were quickly ran off by actual tough guys.

With our tails tucked safely between our legs and occupying pride of place back at our titty bar, now affectionately named Pert Palace (which was ironic really as there is absolutely nothing pert on display in there), we took to counting our takings and planning our future endeavours. A likable young rogue by the name of Ragnarok came in looking for a dance and impressed us all with his wide-eyed optimism and generally positive outlook on life. He seemed like just the lad to head up our continued frisking of the elderly, so we convinced him to sign up with us by the way of lots of exaggeration about our own importance and less than appropriate suggestions about what Old Roxy could do for him out back if he rolled with us. At least that part turned out to be true.

Just when everyone seemed to be drifting away, ever the showman, Pete jumped into the air with his arms flailing wildly...

That, ladies and gentlemen, is when it happened!!

Nobody spoke/paid attention. Petey continued regardless.

Ragnarok had just come on board and was squealing with delight from somewhere out of sight, Lerano was fully clothed for once, obviously the off-licence was closed, and Swiss Tony had spent the past forty minutes menacingly tapping his bat against his own head. These things are etched into my mind because it was sort of, kinda, maybe, around then that the little messenger boy we all picked on (The Mollusk) returned with news that on account of our many tremendous exploits, we had been invited to a meeting of the actually important people in Las Vegas.

What was the meeting about?

WELL YOU'LL JUST HAVE TO WAIT UNTIL NEXT TIME AS THAT MEETING IS THIS EVENING WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Petey yelled at the backs of the few remaining people in earshot.

Man, what a cliff hanger to end the first instalment of "Pete's Las Vegas Funtime". Did you enjoy that? I bet you all did.

He put his hands on his hip and blew out more hot air.

I'm hanging around now to hear just how much you've all enjoyed it and to hear about what amazing weeks you've all had too. So tell me, what's cracking?

The floor was open as Petey waited, humiliatingly, for someone to step up.

Tony stood leaning against the deformed entrance of the titty bar squatting wood lice with the tip of his bat as Petey (as he liked to be called) stood announcing himself to the gathered masses in Paradise, Vegas. His audience was mainly concerned with making the last bus home or catching a warm vindaloo from Pappy Knackerrobi’s rather than Petey’s high pitched announcements but nevertheless everyone remained and listened intently to the bright new Vegas auth.

He waited for questions, comments, eggs or boneless chicken to be tossed his way and amid his disappointment made his way toward the frontage of his titty bar HQ and the majestic form of Swiss_Tony.

Has my mother got all she needs Tony?

Asked Petey

Oh yes, and some. She’s well settled in that motel Boss, especially with them three guys fr…………

Tony stopped short, whilst averting his eyes from Petey’s steely glare

Shut up! I’ll hear nothing more said about my fucking mother! Yelled the man of the moment.

Fucking mother alright………….chirped in Ragnarok under his breath, but it was heard, thankfully.

Petey awkwardly tried to cast his glare in the direction of both men, casting a shadow of menace between them, but failed miserably as usual.

I’m getting a drink, said Petey as he pushed his way into his twelve-foot square empire, the now battered and ruined titty bar.

Taking a seat beside an empty stool which now had Petey’s imaginary friend sat on it, he sidled up whispering suggestive comments and drooling quite openly whilst frantically touching himself in the groin.

Is that his mate Monica? Asked Ragnarok as Lerano appeared.

Yeah that’s her, replied Lerano with a deep sigh before continuing

The woman of his dreams. Sad old bastard really. Did you know he’s got the world’s worst “comb over” hidden beneath that enormous hat of his?

Petey was all over the empty bar stool as in walked TheMollusk spouting………….

Hey gang, what’s happening then? Big shit goin’ down motherfuckers? Guess who I’ve just seen takin’ a triple in the back seat of a Buick outside that cheap shithole of a motel down Baker Lane then?

An eerie silence swept through the titty bar as Petey stood up and approached his happy band of followers, obviously intent on directing their progress towards the next triumphant stage of their memorable Vegas venture.

It was a hot day in Paradise, Las Vegas. Kratos was aimlessly walking around the fine city, after some back alley transactions a few minutes ago. He've always liked Vegas, and was glad that the city was bustling with life once more. He stumbled upon a crowd that was gathering around a man who was speaking with such liveliness and clarity. Kratos stopped by and listened, only to identify the man as PeterPerttits. Being one of the newer Leaders in these shores, Kratos pushed his way to the front and listened closely. 

It was hilarous! Kratos couldn't remember a time that he laughed so much. He could barely breathe! After Peter was done talking, another man started talking and made the crowd laugh even more. Looking at his watch, Kratos realised that he had to leave for the airport. His flight was due to take off in an hour. He nudged the boy beside him and spoke,

"The next time this fine man has another speech, inform me." Kratos took a piece of parchment and wrote down his address and handed it over to the young man, along with a hundred dollar bill. Kratos smiled and made his way out of the crowd and hailed a cab down. He can't wait for Peter's next speech.