|
Gwarbley Barbleing
By Gwarble
As January slumps quietly away and the miserable embrace of February leaks out into MafiaReturns, the Barble continues to handle its duty as your primary source of news and reliability with all the petulance and maturity of a 5 year old child.
Hoopi had thrown his toys firmly out of the pram again and no amount of time on the naughty step was going to make him unfold his arms, wind in his lower lip and stop sulking. Similarly Lilly_'s mad dash to Godfather Kates ended in tears, with her holding up a copy of our second issue desperately raising her arm, shouting, "Miss! Miss! Look what they've done!" with nobody actually caring about what she had to say.
GaryBusey has been seen pushing over girls he likes in the playground, before giving them a dead arm and running away before they can talk to him. DirtyLittleSekret said she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so adored. Who says romance is dead?
shelly's crayons have been ground down into mush, with the majority of them ending up in his mouth, but not before the walls at our offices were covered with penis drawings and swear words. PoisonousJelly was reportedly furious with the theft of his crayons, so desperate was he to finally complete the unicorn drawing in his "Little Miss" colouring book that he had all of his button men out on the streets of LA looking for them.
You didn't mishear me there; we have offices now and everything. We've been moving up in the world since Deimne gave us his sponsorship. Although admittedly, his invitation to his house and offer of sweets did leave us bewildered and wide eyed, shouting "stranger danger! stranger danger!" and running in the opposite direction.
Once we verified his intentions and sat down for a meeting with the Godfather it was easier than dropping our collective dummies (pacifiers for you former colonists and to continue our child theme) to talk him out of paying us a substantial amount of money like he wanted to and instead settling for a cool dollar. I'm sure you'll agree our negotiating skills lack for nothing, just like Arsenal's acrostic skills (http://mafiareturns.com/comm/thread/83211/page2).
Our funding secure for another week, we stopped standing in the garden with our arms out, spinning round, pretending to be helicopters and got down to the serious business of delivering the news.
Then we decided against that and produced this rubbish instead.
----------
Reaper Deadly - Issue X
By Hoopi
Settle down, settle down, this isn't another issue of everyone's favourite worst paper (ever). No, it's a wake. The Reaper Daily is dead. I use the term wake as loosely as possible and, in fact, now I think about it, I really should've used the word celebration. Yeah, that was the word I was after. That word - celebration - comes with many connotations, not least reminding us of Godfather Tallien's death. The celebrations lasted longer than his reign itself in fact. Good times, good times.
Still, let's not dwell on that, we've got, erm, mourning to do. At 21:34 on the 28th Jan, Godmistress Kates shut down Reaper HQ after buying it for a dollar, its rightful price. Such was the quality of the publication in question and the strength of feeling from the naysayers, that The-Reaper was shamed into taking an oath, albeit whilst ducking the crowd's lobbed tomatoes. An oath that his bloodline will never again put pen to paper in a journalistic capacity. A question...did his bloodline ever put pen to paper in a journalistic capacity in the first place? I'll pay a million dollars to the first right answer. No. I win. Sweet.
Anyway, it was all over. After all the effort he'd gone to providing us with daily, yet absolutely useless, gems such as drug prices, jail listings and the last few obits, it was over. Still, at least these bits were factually accurate, unlike the rest of it. Clearly distraught at the turn of events leading to minute upon minute of work being burnt at the first opportunity, The-Reaper had this to say, "I was getting tired of it anyway".
Wait, news just in, she actually paid...SHE WHAT?! A million dollars! Jesus. Let's be fair here, credit to The-Reaper, he's played a blinder. He's done Godmother Kates up like a right kipper there alright. Hook. Line. Sinker. Congratulations The-Reaper, the easiest million dollars ever made.
(In the highly unlikely event that you are interested, you can see the penultimate issue and oath here: http://mafiareturns.com/comm/thread/83502 . The final issue and burning can be found here: http://mafiareturns.com/comm/thread/83527.)
----------
Page 3 Pin Ups
By Gwarble
Here at the Gwarble Barble we cater to all audiences and all tastes. Well, maybe we try to and fail miserably, but that's half the battle right? My mother always told me that it is the thought that counts and deep down whether you turn out to be a total waste of space is kind of by the by. Am I right Pedro?
Anyway, since we've been labelled as "a disgraceful publication" and "barely worth calling a newspaper" just by our own writers, we've bought into our image more than Cryptic needs to buy an image, which is a fucking shed-load judging by that profile picture.
I digress, but here on page 3 we've decided to go with the traditional page 3 approach and show you some delectable and beautiful people. Obviously not PoisonousJelly's ugly mug. Pin up time. Go us.
Something for the ladies.
We could think of nothing better than inviting the devilishly handsome CrazyNine down to our offices and we launched a steamy photoshoot to honour this Adonis. I'm sure you'll agree that the Don of New York showing off his guns in his sailor suit is a rare bright spot in your otherwise dull lives.
He is available ladies, but you'll have to wrestle him away from a life out at sea. You could say, he's a Makareloso. We wouldn't though. Because that is dreadful.
Something for the men.
I bet you're salivating over that tasty number - we have been all day.
Go on, treat yourself. You've earned it.
Something for the children.
For legal and health reasons, I'm just joking about that last one.
-----------
A Day in the life.
By Bob Liar
This week at the Barble sees a new (done to death) and exciting (pretty boring to be honest) feature that chronicles a day in the life of one of the more respected (hated) members of the national mob scene. In this the inaugural episode of a day in the life we follow Ire around for a day and ask just what it is that she does each day. Seriously, though, what does she do? Most people tend to think she is dead anyway, and when I told the editor I had written this dynamite (lazy and poorly researched) piece of writing (drivel) the conversation we had went something like this:
Me: "Hey numb nuts I have written something for your snot rag"
Gwarble: "God man you are so awesome. Can I touch you?"
Me: "No"
Gwarble: "Just checking. What's the scoop?"+
Me: "I have spent the day following Ire to see what a day in the life involves."
Gwarble: "Who the by-line is Ire?"
Me: "Stop it now."
Gwarble: "I'm sorry. I have a problem."
Me: "I know."
Gwarble: "Do you want to get a drink after work sometime?"
Me: "Fuck off idiot."
And so it is that through his tears of rejection, Gwarble gave this piece of writing some space in the latest issue of his esteemed (worthless) newspaper (printed toilet paper).
+It is worth noting that Gwarble has taken to trying to drop newspaper industry terminology into his conversations in an effort to give himself some journalistic credibility. It doesn't work however and most people around the office hate him with a passion. Of course I say most people. I mean everyone. I say office. I mean world. I just thought I should clear that up before we went any further together on this voyage of discovery.
It was to be an early start. Ire's mum had told me that the little scamp (not exactly the words she used, but one should never print a mother's hatred) usually wakes up for morning milk around 6am, and comes into her mum's bedroom with a heavy nappy and dragging her comfort blanket. Mrs. Ire then gets up, lights up a Camel (she smokes. This isn't a piece about pachyderm arson), and kicks whatever man is in the bed that night out.
Ire and her mother then head down stairs to enjoy breakfast together. I had moved a pile of old newspapers out of the way so that I could observe this family moment from the corner. A good journalist should never interfere with the environment he is reporting on. I am not a good journalist however and had no qualms in smacking Ire's mothers back side as she sashayed past and agreeing a pretty reasonable price to come back later for a Swedish massage with happy ending.
As always, mornings were a rush. The young Ire had to be washed dressed and ready for pre-school. Lunch money had to be found, and luckily that morning the milk man came early (in more ways than one) and Ire's mother was able to give the young girl the few dollars earned there so that she could pay for her lunch that day. And with that, dragging the young snotty Ire behind her, mother would be out the door and heading for the day nursery in the Bronx as fast as her legs could carry her.
Once at pre-school, Ire would involve herself in the usual morning activities. A little painting (all her pictures of mummy seemed to show a woman lying on her back) some song singing, and story time. Lunch, kindly paid for by Cecil the Milk followed by an afternoon nap.
Now, I am not sure what they did at the day nursery in the afternoon as I had an appointment to keep for some stress relief, so let's just say that they all learned how to play twinkle twinkle little star on the trumpet. Which was quite a co-incidence as after some time of my own trumpet being played I was seeing stars myself.
At some time during the late afternoon Ire was collected from school and taken home where some activities were enjoyed presumably. I think it's pretty safe to say that at some point she will have had some dinner and gone to bed. Probably (going on the little accident I witnessed during story time) having wet herself at some point. As for me. I had by that point headed home, grabbed a shower and gone out for the evening.
To keep life exciting, and to satisfy our lawyers, we are also running a competition this week. The winners will be notified in the next edition of A Day in the Life, which will be due for publication sometime between next week and never.
To be in with a chance of winning the opportunity to kick Gwarble in the orchestras, simply answer the following question:
How much of the above article is actually true?
A) All of it
B) Some of it
C) Just the part about the massage
D) None of it
Please also fill in the tie breaker question:
I would much like to kick Gwarble in balls because..................
Submit your competition entries via Mob Mail to Evangeline with a subject line of Gwarble's Nutzzz.
-----------
Naming the Nameless
By Hoopi
Ignacious. That's the answer to the hot question on the lips of literally ones of people, just who is the mobster formerly known as ______. Thanks to Deimne, who took time out from his curtain twitching, to give us the answer. No, not that kind of curtain twitching you filthy minded gits, he's way too old for that. This is the plain old window upholstery kind. Anyway, back on topic, it's Ignacious on Monday to Saturday at least; on Sundays it's Veronica. Think of him as kind of like shelly, but Ignacious only does the tranny thing one day a week as opposed to seven.
A revelation I know. That is, unless you are important enough to actually know Ignacious' forefathers, in which case this article is about as much use to you as a copy of *Untitled* (RIP. Oh, what? It's still running? Retract.). For those of us who aren't quite connected enough and had spent well over a week unable to sleep through fear and wonder, we can now catch a bit of shut eye - safe in the knowledge that Ignacious isn't going to do much, other than maybe put a bit lippy on us whilst we sleep. Hopefully JackMacLeod remembers to take his off before he goes to sleep, that could get tricky otherwise, LIPSTICKS DO NOT MIX.
One final snippet of information for any of you horny gangsters building up a picture of some top breed Asian Lady Boy. He's English. This most likely means a beer belly, shaved head and breath like a badger's arse. Enjoy!
(For the one guy that's interested, naming the nameless was inspired by: http://mafiareturns.com/comm/thread/83521)
-----------
The Bank Job - Gone Wrong (RP)
By Gwarble
It was quite the crowd that had turned up for the job. Gwarble could see all of them arriving as he skulked out in the bushes, rather like Deimne did before a certain order was passed keeping him a certain distance away from certain Schools. Still, Gwarble had to admit this gave him an excellent vantage point and some of the faces he saw had seldom been seen by anyone before.
Giovanni_Bontade swaggered towards the street lamp where the other dignitaries had gathered. He nodded politely to each in turn, his first respects went to Godfather PedroRourke, then he nodded to Godfather Iota, as was befitting their status. He shook hands with MarcelloCaifano, Pixxie, TheDean, JackMacleod, Return_Of_Ghost and Jim-Levenstein.
Their hushed conversation escaped Gwarble's ears but much gesticulating towards the bank gave him the impression that these established figures had decided to risk it all for a thrill and get in on the dirty work themselves. He hid his surprise at this, capturing it all on his photographic memory. It only took a matter of moments but Gwarble held his breath, one of Pedro's men rolled up in a Buick, he thought it might have been PaulVidi at first, but when they popped the trunk and began arming themselves, it was clear they meant business.
Unfortunately for them the 5-0 had been watching this display just as keenly as Gwarble had, but with far more sinister intentions. Just as the elite of the underworld began to step towards the bank, the boys in blue burst out from some shrubbery, not unlike Deimne had when the boys cross country team had dashed past him, charging towards everyone in sight.
Gwarble didn't feel the blow to the back of his head, but when he woke up everyone had gone. He looked around but there was no sign of MarcelloCaifano, Pixxie, TheDean, JackMacleod, Jim-Levenstein, Iota, PedroRourke or GiovanniBontade at all. In the subsequent days he searched the streets but they hadn't been seen very often, practically never. It could only be concluded that something had gone terribly wrong at the job and that all these leaders had been permanently removed from the Streets.
Any information that anyone has to the whereabouts of these individuals, given their absence from The Streets, would certainly be helpful.
I realise that many of these people are now dead, but it was done already. In it goes.
----------
Taxing life catches up to PedroRourke
By Gwarble
Communication is the key to successful relationships says the Barble; it isn't by accident that we are invited to everyone's birthday party and get to pick which board game the whole class has to play on our last day before summer. We worked damned hard to get the honour after all, listening to Mux by the swings sobbing his heart out over his lack of readers isn't easy, yet we still found time to ride the see-saw whilst Pixxie told us about how she kinda liked it when -V- told her that she was special and she 'could call him V'. This all fell by the wayside of our achievements though, as we saw a tiger that not only walked like a tiger but that also purred like a tiger and we subsequently decided to call it a tiger. Alarming logic I know, next we are thinking of calling a tree that has leaves, roots and a trunk, a tree. Stay tuned for that bulletin.
Playground prattle aside, it appears that the lesson in communication was one that PedroRourke missed (maybe he took Dutch or something instead?) as he fell foul Godfather/mother/tucker/otherstupidsuffix Lucretia_Borgia with his silence and greed, we were all told today. The most noble of the noble stewards heading Sin City, decided to take action after Pedro supposedly continued his extortionate taxation of the other cities and proved not only to be unwilling to compromise but chose to ignore subsequent conversations with the head of the House of Borgia. That's no way to get a girl to like you Pedro. Women are complex creatures and the dear Godmotherfathertuckerstupidsuffixer of Las Vegas is just about as complicated as it gets. She's practically a walking long division problem.
Lucretia said 'I and my business partners originally sent Godfather Rourke a letter in the spirit of friendship, asking if there was any way the tax could be waived. We made sure to point out that such a friendly action would no doubt endear us to his city and be greatly profitable in the future if there were any reason he would need to call upon a friend.' I can almost hear the invitation inside for "coffee". No wonder she was mad at being shot down.
"At that point, it was clear we'd need to do some serious negotiation regarding the matter. There was absolutely no way I was just going to walk away from the bargaining table with Pedro at a preliminary refusal." A second date. With "serious negotiation" being clearly needed. "I thought that perhaps appealing to his pocketbook would result in a counter-offer." I could tell you some stories about the appeals to my pocketbook. I won't though. This is a family show.
"I sat waiting eagerly for a response for several hours, but alas Pedro was asleep" We've all been there buddy. Nothing to be ashamed of. Whilst Lucretia may have said it was silence and greed, (she's a classy lady after all not one to kiss and tell) a little reading between the lines reveals the truth. Casualties of love we've deduced. I'm sure you'll agree.
Anyway, many of us felt it was only a matter of time before the other cities had finally moped about the house long enough, made themselves a greasy fry up with a cup of tea and cured the Riot hangover from Detroit once and for all. The Death Tax was shrewd business for the city for many months, but without Godmother Marietta to continue to enforce it and with the ever changing dynamics of MafiaReturns it should have been realised that they no longer held a position that allowed them to demand this levy from the other Godfathers and leaders.
Still it was all wrapped up with minimal casualties from the aggressors in comparison to the damage they inflicted. The destruction to the city of Detroit is likely to require much development with bridges needing to be built and fences needing mending. Chicago are likely to do the brunt of the repairs, given that they spend the majority of their time in, around or on fences, they are likely to be deferred to in this, their area of expertise. The project is likely to be supervised by Don 'splinters' Levenstein, head of fence-sitting and key note speaker on continued dull neutrality.
(For anyone interested in Lucretia_Borgia's actual statement regarding the Detroit war, it can be found here: http://mafiareturns.com/comm/thread/83791)
----------
Obituaries:
I've decided that no publication of any sufficient calibre is complete without an obituaries section. In our walk of life people die and they will be honoured in this section. Unfortunately in our walk of life some people don't die and we wish they would have. They will also be honoured in this section.
People who have died
...can be found here: http://mafiareturns.com/news/obits.php.
Lazy bastards.
People we wish had died who actually died:
Shitbrick (Shitbreak) - Well, well, well Mr. Flashy, not so flashy now are you? In issue II we listed old two names here as one of our wishes to have died and lo and behold he went ahead and snuffed it right on cue. People made token efforts to mourn him, but only to maintain appearances. As we deduced from the last issue, or if you're Lilly_ the only thing you're capable of deducing from the last issue, was that the entire userbase was against him. You can't fight fate buddy boy. 1-0 Gwarble Barble.
Vitti - When it rains, it pours. Not only did Tommy Two Names go and meet his maker, Vitti popped off for a chat with him as well. Someone put the former LHM out of his slantless misery and dropped him for us. They have our thanks and the thanks of the majority of our community. Nobody wanted to see him sulking about his humiliating demotion. This euthanasia gets a big thumbs up from us.
Lots of people to the left of me on the 60 second list - Way to go guys, I'm striding towards top left. Keep up the excellent work.
People we wish had died:
Lilly_ - We have our critics here at Barble-central; fairly high amongst them are our writers and sponsors. We have no problem at all with people disliking our overall content, disliking our approach or even using it for toilet paper like our buddy ChumpinousJelly did. What we do have a problem with is where individuals have a song and dance our word choice of 'userbase' amidst our 3000 word production with no comment about any other aspect of it at all.
We are fairly thick skinned here though, so we didn't take it to heart. Instead we chose to pick out a word from Don Lilly_'s numerous street productions and focus on that. We're kind of petty and believe in an eye for an eye. If someone could be kind enough to direct me to those street productions, I'll get on it. Oh, that's right. She hasn't done any. Ha di ha ha.
Matterhorn - SpaceMountain is rocking the Peter Pan these days. Win.
*Untitled* - Whist it isn't strictly a person, but I think we can all agree we don't need this. We've already killed The-Reaper daily and hourly, I'm sure we can chalk another one up in our win column before long. People might tell you that Kates paid them off (we might even have told you that) but don't believe the hype. It was us. Us and a healthy dose of fear.
BrutusTheBarber - What? Not even a hello to your old chums at the Gwarble Barble? Nobody likes rude people Brutus, nobody at all.
Deimne - $1 sponsorship? Those deep pockets (with holes in) and all you could dig up for us was $1? I can already picture the dance I'll do on your grave. It'll be beautiful.
Tommy_Carroll - You owe me $3688 buddy boy.
People others wish had died:
SpaceMountain - Requested by: Matterhorn. Reason: I'd like to make this permanent. I hate this guy from the bottom of my shoes to the top of my head. Hate isn't a strong enough word to describe my entire loathing for this cretin, but I'm a bit of a tool and it'll have to do.
If you have someone that you wish was dead, who isn't, feel free to submit their name and your reason for this feeling to me via mail and I'll happily publish it in the next issue. Genuine reasons are encouraged as much as stupid ones.
----------
Acknowledgments
I'd like to say that I couldn't have done it without you, but I probably could. Still, input from the other writers was appreciated, although subsequently heavily edited as you aren't very funny or witty. I suppose we can say that you tried.
I've cut several sections from this that I would usually include for the length as I'm painfully aware of how long this is going to be when I post it. I had a lot more penis jokes that I haven't even been able to work in, much to my and I'm sure all of your, disappointment.
Something like a disclaimer:
If I've taken a pot shot at you in this, it is because I think you're big enough to handle a joke and may find it funny yourself. If I've thought wrongly and you aren't big enough to handle that, I'm a very expendable Wise Guy usually found in Philly. RIP Gwarble.
So concludes issue III of my Barble. Go me. |
