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Gwarbley Barbleing
Sometimes you just have to roll with it. Sometimes you have to take to take your time. Sometimes you have to say what you say and don't let anyone get in your way. The Barble has made a habit of getting on with the job over the years and no matter how depressing the story, no matter how harrowing the circumstances, no matter how heart wrenchingly painful the tittle-tattle is that needs reporting, shelly will definitely be able to unhitch his braces, pull down his trousers and show them that it could be a hell of a lot worse.
We're starting to show signs of age, the high profile life in the limelight is beginning to lose its charm and the Barble is looking weary from its superstar lifestyle. The bags under shelly's eyes are carrying bags of their own, filled with tins of food just in case he can't make it out again. Hoopi is curled up in front of the fire, with his head resting on his hands like that tired old dog that you keep around, even though it smells, can't really raise itself off the ground anymore and looks at passing cats hoping that they doesn't attack him instead. Once upon a time it may have been useful and now he's more than served his purpose, but it just wouldn't feel like home without it. Almost like killing a member of the family, albeit an extremely old, lazy and repugnant one.
Even I'm a little bit jaded although not nearly as green as PoisonousJelly is over all the attention we're getting. Some may suggest that he is green anyway, but his jealousy has been off the charts lately. He tried to tell us off for talking to DirtyLittleSekrit at the bar, he punched the table when Lucretia_Borgia gave us a hug for a little longer than was friendly and he was rolling up his sleeves when Kates asked us out for dinner. The Barble can't be locked down in a relationship though, we're a wild animal, made to walk unbound to the edge of the world, stride gallantly through the plains and roar at the heavens themselves. You could say that when people see us they say that they see a tiger that walks like a tiger, purrs like a tiger and deduce that we must be a tiger. We aren't though. We just reckon we can do better than PoisonousJelly.
Fear not about our tiredness though faithful followers, the Barble is made of sterner stuff than that and like the old showgirl who nobody really wants to take off her clothes anymore, but with a mixture of revulsion, arousal and self-loathing, can't help look at once she has, our nipple tassels are still twirling and we're peeling our lacy thong down our cellulite ridden thighs.
We've had our ears firmly pressed against the ground, Cow had himself a sly chew of the grass whilst he was down there hoping nobody would notice and we've only gone and cooked up a veritable feast of juicy prattle to serve up for you. Unfortunately, like every mediocre restaurant meal, where you're sort of hungry but not really properly hungry and you end up ordering a starter that fills you up so that you don't enjoy your main course - Hoopi's opening up the Barble this week and he's got a side order of Bob Liar that you should probably send back.
Try to power through it and think of the special People-we-wish-had-died-Creme-Brule waiting for you at the end.
Feast on friends, it is Barble time.
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The Liar - He Can Handle The Truth
by Hoopi
Where as I can't. Handle the truth that is....but then, not many people can when the truth is this disturbing. Knowing the truth about what lies under ScipitaRourke's skirt is about my limit, thank you very much (I'm on about Tiger fur you filthy-minded heathens). Right, where do we start? A little background seems fitting; "Friend" of Los Angeles - and very clearly a wannabe Barble writer - The_Liar recently made his way to our streets with a couple of gritty, gripping, and enthralling exposés on some of the Godfolks this world. Well, lets be honest, you weren't interested until the Barble got our hands on the scoop, but for his sake, we'll pretend.
(These can be found here: http://mafiareturns.com/comm/thread/84765 and here: http://mafiareturns.com/comm/thread/84921)
Unable to handle these apparent truths and eager to disprove them, I grabbed my brown trench coat, trilby and the Gwarble-Cam, and promptly sent shelly out into the long, dark, rainy night for some far from top-notch, and frankly amateurish, reconnaissance in order to put the story straight once and for all. As expected, he/she/it (Answers on a postcard to Gwarble Towers) turned out to be utterly useless and turned up 4 days later asking how to get the lens cap off, so I had to end up sourcing source some of my contacts and managed to get my hands on the pictures we all want to see.
First up, in a jealous rage, I was given this little piece of post-action action by ScreamingButterfly, who added, "Look at him, he's not even happy with her, he's clearly raging that she's snubbing him and blowing smoke all over his funky bedsheets. That bitch."
Exhibit A - http://i45.tinypic.com/23vm6f6.jpg
That's that confirmed then, nothing more to say, except... eurgh. HE'S AN OLD MAN, SCIPITA, THAT IS DISGUSTING. WoodStein's offspring will not be happy about this development either, he had plans for a war sometime soon.
Secondly, this was taken by Don JellyBelly himself just before he succumbed to his kleptomanic urges. Even through the medium of photo, you can really feel the intensity PJ was feeling for that burger. JellyBelly had this to say, "God, I love big burgers". About 0.9 seconds later, the camera was to be found lying on the floor in bits as he swooped in for the steal. Thankfully, the picture survived to tell the tale.
Exhibit B - http://i46.tinypic.com/2csgftu.jpg
As it turns out, Iota looks to be cured of his long suffering metabolic medical conditions. You're probably as surprised as I am that he's also black and wears a safety helmet when he's out, but then again, we weren't to know were we - before recently no-one's seen him for months.
Thanks to ScreamingButterfly and PoisonousJelly for the live-action photos above. How about upgrading your cameras though? You're at the top of your cosa nostra powers fuck sake, put your hand in your pocket for once. Come on eh! Sheesh.
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Page 3 - 'Horrorscopes'
by Bob Liar
(I've read these and that isn't a typo of horoscopes - Gwarble)
Capricorn
Capricorn you are a beardy weirdo with a Jesus complex. No one likes you. There is no doubt that at some point during in the week your own mother will call you a twat. She will be right. Sunday is a good day to attempt suicide.
Aquarius
Aquarius you are retarded. Normally I wouldn't bother writing this as generally speaking aquarians can't read, however there are a few that can. They will suffer a serious head injury this week.
Pisces
You will come very close to losing your virginity this week, but won't quite get there. Bad luck chief. It's home alone with the tissues for the rest of the week. Thursday is a good day to cry yourself to sleep, although to be fair, you'll be doing that every night anyway.
Aries
You will be mistaken for a prostitute several times this week. But that's hardly surprising if you are going to dress like that and wear your hair in a Croydon face lift.
Taurus
You will be kicked in the face by a horse this week. Only your mother will be able to tell. However, even she will concede that it has improved your looks. There is a sale on paper bags at your local dollar store this week. You'd be well advised to take advantage of that.
Gemini
You will be shouted at by children this week. They will shout at you because you will smell bad. You will smell bad because you will have soiled yourself.
Cancer
Crabs. You have them. It's no great surprise to anyone other than your wife. She thought you were on a business trip to Dallas. Friday is a good day to consult a family lawyer.
Leo
You will be fired from your job for embezzling this week. You will have been set up by that smug bastard from accounts that tried to touch you at the Christmas party. Wednesday is a good day to plan a bloody revenge. Avoid the colour blue and cats.
Virgo
Virgo you have a cracking arse. But be warned Cancer is out to pinch it with it's grabby little pincers. Try and stay seated for as much of the week as you can. In fact don't leave the house this week. With your face that will be doing everyone a favour.
Libra
You will spend your first night in prison this week. Hopefully you will not be one of those prettier Libras that won't be able to sit down for a week after wards. Thursday is a bad day to drop the soap. Avoid men called Susan with tattoos on their faces.
Scorpio
You will lose your keys this week. That in turn will lead to you being locked out of the house on Thursday. As a result you will not catch your wife in bed with your brother. Friday is a good day to return next doors lawn mower.
Sagittarius
You will lose a toe in a mouse trap this week. Two sagittarians will get urinated on by a tramp. They will quite enjoy it. It will more than make up for the loss of the toe.
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The Death of *Untitled*
by Gwarble
The Barble has always been a fighter. We can't help it. It isn't that we look for trouble, trouble just wanders up to us and we give it a crack right in the mouth just as Evangeline found out last week. That's how we roll; like the sun rises in the East and sets in the West, the Barble has a right cross that could fell Jesus. These are facts. Not like the "facts" that WoodStein tried to pass off as facts. Actual facts, you know truths and such.
It was with this cold, detached, confidence bred from years of honing our journalistic skills to their peak, that we began popping our jab right into *Untitled*'s face in Issue II. It wasn't long before his eyes began to puff up, only a matter of time thereafter that his nose would begin to bleed and his head was soon being rocked back by the Barble's fabled right hammer.
It was a mismatch from the start, a Braddock and Baer repeat, but without the fairytale outcome. This would be no cinderella story for *Untitled* and sadly as the Barble sent another glorious right into *Untitled*'s exposed jaw, the challenger fell to the canvas.
Nobody expected him to make the count as he lay sprawled out like the Reaper Daily had before him. Everyone was wishing he'd stay down to avoid further punishment - a bit like when MississippiMobMarley and MickeyTheAnimal were knocked to the ground by Deimne, before CrazyNine and Mux piled in with kicks to the ribs in Respect the CODE!
We all cringed as miraculously *Untitled* managed to regain his feet with all the grace of Hoopi after a particularly long session with mittens and produce another issue of his paper. Admirable, tragic, fatal. The Barble took a deep breath and steeled itself to the task.
The barrage from the Barble that followed proved too much and as another viciously witty left hook, was followed with a dazzling combination of amusing anecdotes, before a final catch phrase stunning uppercut thundered into *Untitled*'s chin; he buckled, crumbling to the floor, one leg still kicking lamely as the light drained from his eyes.
*Untitled* was dead.
The Barble has always been a fighter, but nobody can say we don't have some class.
We only pissed on the corpse once.
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Respect The CODE - Irony Alert!
by Hoopi
There was much fun to be had the other day as MickeyTheAnimal, who we're now more accurately referring to as MickeyTheBunny, took to the streets to air his gripes about pickpocketing. Whilst asking where the "FUCKING respect" was, he threatened to kill any chump that went into his pockets without asking first. A happy bunny he was not! Word on the street* is that he wanted prior notice of any incoming pickpocket so that he could take his fly down and turn side-on at the last minute. I like my pickpocketing as much as the next guy, but fuck that for trauma, I ain't going in there. Like any rabbit worth his salt, MickeyTheHarmlessBunny would probably only do the toilet all over you once you handled him anyway. Shudder.
You'd have been forgiven for making a sharp exit not long after this as the first few retorts, including one from Oldfather Deimne, put him in his place whilst pointing out the obvious flaws in his quest to eradicate disrespect. If you had though, you'd have missed the best part. Enter stage right, MobFloyd. For want of a better and more accurate term, we'll refer to him as, erm... loyal. Shrug. Rather than do the obvious thing and put MickeyTheHarmlessFluffyBunny out of his misery, Floyd decided to lock handbags with the New York leaders and proclaim that he would be bringing policy changes to LA pretty soon. Real soon, infact, he said. Depending on how soon he meant, he might've been able to squeeze them through before head of LA, PoisonousJelly even showed up. He had the authority after all. I think. Or so he made us think. Or something. He's got a degree from University of Mississippi don't you know?
Anyway, back on track, the debate really got interesting (funny) when MickeyTheDisrespectfulHarmlessFluffyBunny made generalised sweeping statements about pussies not voicing their opinions. Was he for real? Has he ever seen a cat and a bunny fight? I have - we've got a weekly gambling ring at Gwarble Towers - and let me tell you, it never ends well for the bunny. Not much of a gamble now I think about it. Must remember to address that. So, needless to say, everyone waited on PoisonousJelly showing up knowing full well that the Made Man now known as MickeyTheDeadDisrespectfulHarmlessFluffyBunny would soon be taking his place in the obituaries. Before his death, he was found on a kerb rescinding his threat to kill anything that moved, surrounded by at least 5 dozen people all trying to pickpocket him and test his mettle.
There was then some very, very, very brief chat of blanket rulings for pickpocketing before everyone swiftly decided that would indeed be mental.
*this street may be fictional
("Respect the CODE" can be found here: http://mafiareturns.com/comm/thread/84949)
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A Day in the Life
By Bob Liar
Well the week has been long and, by long I mean boring. And, by week I mean Hoopi. And by boring I mean gay. However as gay as Hoopi had been, and by gay I mean boring, and by Hoopi I mean week, it hadn't been boring enough to persuade me to interview the offspring of WoodStein as Gwarble had requested. What a cock. I'll leave you to decide which of the two I am referring to there.
And to that end we will start with the competition this week. For your chance to win a $6 half hour session with Ire's mother, simply send a mob mail to Evangeline with the subject line "Gwarble is a cock". A winner will be chosen at random by an expertly trained pigeon called Geoff.
Anyhoo. Back to the day we followed this week. I was a little suspicious when Gwarble had first come to me to do an interview piece for the paper for several reasons, not least of which was because I had drunk about three pints of brake fluid by then, and I always get pretty suspicious after that shit kicks in.
I realised then that the greasy swine was trying to distract the barble staff. Hoopi had been sent on a long term mission to say something interesting. No one had seen or heard from him in weeks. I decided that the best course of action was to follow him for the day and find out exactly what he was up to.
What follows is a mostly true account of a day in Gwarbles life (if you can call it living).
The day had started relatively early. Gwarble was up and around the house early in his pink velour robe with the nipples cut out skipping around his bedroom full of the joys of spring. To be fair mind Gwarble was always pretty happy. That's one of the more common side effects of retardation. However this day he was positively bouncing off the walls.
I wasn't aware why, but being the seasoned professional that I am I stayed on the case. It didn't take too long before the reason for this gaiety (not in the Hoopi sense) was known. The detailed plans littered around his room and the crude drawings on the walls had revealed to my trained eye that Gwarble was planning a wedding. This was a bit of a shock for many reasons, not least because we at the office had always assumed that there was a little of the Hoopi about Gwarble.
Gwarble got himself dressed and headed downstairs. His mum had left him some toast and cereal, and a note asking him to stay out of her underwear drawer. He ate his toast, slipped a hand down the front of his trousers and headed over to the phone.
"So much to do" He trilled. He has a pretty high pitched annoying voice it has to be said.
He punched a number into the phone with his free hand and sat him self on the edge of the table rocking back and forth. I listened intently to pick up as much of his side of the conversation as I could.
"Yes hello. Is that the little pink chapel?"
"Excellent. I was hoping to arrange a date in the near future for a wedding."
"Yep. MM hmm. Yep. I understand."
"Excellent. A cancelation? When is that?"
"Next Tuesday OK. What time?"
"Brilliant. I'll take that."
"Yeah of course. Grooms name is Gwarble Harrington-Bowels"
"Yes that's right"
"Two R's"
"Brides name is Evangeline Braces Billington"
"Yes."
"Uh huh."
"Yes"
"Seventy dollars on the day"
"Great. Thanks."
"See you next Tuesday" (that was part of the conversation, not a reference to Brian)
"You too"
"Thanks"
So Gwarble and Evangeline were tying the knot. This was a surprise. Not least because the last I heard the restraining order was still in place. I pondered that for a moment and realised that old Gwarble had fled the coup (again, not another Brian reference). I quickly grabbed my notepad and made off after him to see him flipping up the kick stand on his "Iron Horse" before peddling off down the street as fast as his fat little legs would carry him.
I climbed into my car and set off down the street after him. He stopped at a tailor shop on route. I watched through the window as he pointed a long tailed suit in a dark in stripe whilst waving a piece of pink leather at the tailor. It didn't take a genius to work out what was going on there. This was just as well as there wasn't one available. There was only me.
After Gwarble had come out and jumped back on his bicycle I quickly poked my head round the door and shouted at the tailor:
"What was going on there?" He explained that Gwarble was asking him to make a pink leather wedding suit for him and stressing that it needed to be ready for collection Tuesday morning.
"Thanks chief" I called as I rushed back to the car.
"Fuck off" He chirpily called after me as I left. Tradesmen are so funny sometimes. Salt of the earth those guys.
Much of the rest of the day was a bit of an unknown. Largely because I lost contact with Gwarble for an hour or so whilst I popped in to a massage parlour for a quick back rub with happy ending.
As luck would have it. As I got back in the car and lit a cigarette, Gwarble went whistling past on his bicycle. He had to slow quite hard to take a corner at the junction, as he can't lean into them with the stabilisers on. I started the engine and headed off after him. He pumped those legs for a good 20 minutes heading out of town until finally, sweating like a pervert in a convent he arrived at an abandoned farm. He jumped off the bike and headed over to a barn. I waited till he'd gone in and then pulled up round the back where the car couldn't be seen. I jumped out and made my way over to the door to see what was going on, however, I couldn't see from where I was. I could hear though, and what I heard was Gwarble talking to his betrothed.
"Well Evangeline, everything is ready now. I have the chapel booked. I have the suit ordered. I have Hoopi and Bob Liar totally distracted, and I have even ordered a dress I know you will love. Yes. I know. I know I didn't have to. I love you too. I loved you since the first moment I saw you. You looked just like her in everyway. I had to have you. I'm glad that you were allowed to come and be here with me. Tuesday will be special. Finally we will be as one."
There was a silence. Maybe as long as minute before his true love answered.
"MOOOOO"
I ran round to the window on the south side of the barn, wiped some dirt from it with my sleeve and peered in. I saw him cuddling a heffer. To be fair, she was a looker as cows go. I found myself staring at her udders before reality snapped me back and I vomited up the side of the barn. I dashed back to the car and headed for home. I needed a shower.
So there you have it folks. The editor of this snot rag is actually going to marry a cow next Tuesday. Invites can be obtained from Evangeline at the normal address. And so concludes another day in the life. I am off now to slip into someone more comfortable.
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V-Day - How did you spend yours?
by Gwarble
Love is in the air and I'm not talking about FlyingPig's now illegal pulling technique. I'm also not talking about PoisonousJelly as nobody loves him, least of all us at the Barble. His desperate attempts to win our affection was evident to all, as he dabbed at his glistening pate hoping we didn't notice the sweat patches beneath his arms, sucking in his gut, offering us a quickly wilting flower and a half eaten chocolate heart, before launching into his cheesey chat up lines with something about un-dying affection, obsession and his un-bearable lust. What a spanner.
PJ's flop sweat and crash and burn aside, MafiaReturns was rocked by a massacre of epic proportions and when I say epic I mean it. Like chicago getting off the fence, standard of epic. One of those things that people make a lot of noise about, but you're pretty resigned to the fact that it won't happen in your lifetime. Well, naysayers be damned, because the world was plunged into more chaos than the ladies toilets when Godfathermothertuckerstupidsuffixer Lucretia_Borgia walks in, as the streets were engulfed by violence as every mobster turned into a maverick and began trying to rule the streets as the only person left standing.
The first round isn't worth reporting on, this is mainly because the Barble was catching up on its beauty sleep and didn't feel like doing the leg work to find out what went on. Ire was in it for awhile, so was PhelixTheSphinx, MrSimpson killed a lot of people, so did kong, Joe_Torro and a lot of other irrelevant people did a lot of irrelevant things for a reward that may or may not be a condescending dismissal in a wonderful paper.
The Gods rocked up at some point and decided everyone deserved another shot at life, waved their magic wands like Pixxie did over -V- that one night after dinner and restored everyone to perfect health. Teamwork, co-ordination and mass butchery was the order of the day and it didn't disappoint. Unlike Deimne. You know what I mean.
The Barble was a poisoned cupid, firing our deathly love arrows at anyone in sight - or not as our vision is shit. It wasn't long before in true high school dance fashion, after some awkward passing of the time at opposite sides of the room, the girls and boys from Las Vegas and New York finally summed up the courage to head to the centre, break out their finest moves and lose themselves in the moment.
New York occupied St Louis and feasted upon any local residents, with all the self control of Gaius when he recounts the loss of someone special in floods of tears in the streets. The Barble was in the thick of it, living up to our *title as the best journalists since records began, but it was MattGordano who was the real star of the show. The way he ducked the shooters regularly available to be shot, repeatedly asked if he could shoot fellow NewYorkers and furiously announced his successes to anyone in ear shot, was beyond admirable. Awe-inspiring.
A special mention should also go to Joe_Torro without whom sleeping New Yorkers would undoubtedly have been safer. Way to go champ.
The real question on everyone's lips is who came out on top? The answer was -V-. Pixxie just likes it better that way.
*self-proclaimed title.
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Which leader is going to die next?
by Gwarble
This is business and business is always about business and never about anything personal. Business, business, business.
Now with that out the way, we've provided a breakdown of who is going to snuff it next out of our beautiful bold faces and why based on the Barble's entirely personal experience.
Bruiser - He's tough is old Bruiser, he is a bruiser after all. This increases his survival rating somewhat, but if word gets back to Ricin about those wise cracks he's been making about Mrs Ricin and the glug, glug, glug, it could be a tough few hours for man from Chicago.
Overall Death Likelihood: 4/10 - We don't expect Bruiser to drop. If his face is anything to go by he's taken a lot of beatings over the years and he's still here.
Iota - The Godfather of Chicago and Fatfather of the universe. If his heart doesn't give out first there is a chance that he'll consume the entire city of Chicago by June.
Overall Death Likelihood: 2/10 - God works in mysterious ways. Unfortunately he's decided to spare old bloaty for awhile yet we think. Maybe he'll choke on a burger. Hopefully.
Jim-Levenstein - After a fine performance in the VDay Round 2 before being expertly dispatched by yours truly, it can be said that Jim-Levenstein knows how to look after himself. It can also be said that he's been mentally broken by his expert dismissal from Gwarble and has been rocking backwards and forwards in the shower, sobbing quietly to himself, reliving the horror of the incident.
Overall Death Likelihood: 3/10 - He doesn't have the balls to end it himself. Prove us wrong.
RampagingFox - Easy to forget the ever furious fox is with us, mainly because he spends the majority of his time bin dipping. Does this mean he's more or less likely to die? I suppose it depends upon what he forages for. We hope it isn't love like PoisonousJelly does.
Overall Death Likelihood: 4/10 - Maybe he'll have a gun malfunction when he shoots at a particularly mean looking garbage can.
Cryptic - Former captain-ugly turned somewhat-respectable Cryptic, is inevitably going to die. We reckon it is only a matter of time before fate catches up with the leader of the Inscrutables.
Overall Death Likelihood: 8/10 - Everyone hates this guy. They told us.
Giovanni_Bontade - Giovanni is safe. Mainly because we wouldn't have included him in this list without the 'crews' section, so I doubt anyone has any designs upon taking him out.
Overall Death Likelihood: 2/10 - Take a shot at Deimne. He loves that sort of light-hearted banter. Or shoot one of his Captains. That always goes down a treat - ask Quirinus.
Lucretia_Borgia - Godmotherfathertuckerstupidsuffixer of the Universe 1934 winner Lucretia_Borgia is our hot favourite to not die. We reckon she might live forever like it feels Deimne has.
Overall Death Likelihood: 1/10 - Not going anywhere. Unless you catch his eye. Then she'll make a man out of you. Or woman. Depending on which eye you catch.
Ricin - Still struggling to come to terms with his wife's alcoholism, Ricin is down on his luck. We don't think he'll be down in the ground any time soon though. Sadly.
Overall Death Likelihood: 3/10 - Maybe it'll all become too much for him. We can only hope.
Youngsta - With how much ScipitaRourke frowns upon killing 'children' we reckon Youngsta's got enough time left to run that he might grown up into a fine young man that you wouldn't mind letting your daughter go out with, or so you'll tell her, all the while following them with your pistol in easy reach if those hands start straying.
Overall Death Likelihood: 6/10 - Stay away from my daughter.
PoisonousJelly - It is frankly a miracle this waste of space is still alive. Professor Plum has somehow managed to cling on to life like those skid marks that no amount of flushing seems to dislodge from the toilet bowl.
Overall Death Likelihood: 10/10 - Just do it, you know that you want to. Pretty please?
JackMacLeod - It was dawn, a favourite time for any writer. The Barble takes out its notepad and begins etching out a humorous quip beside JackMacLeod's name. Laughing to itself, high fiving nobody in particular, the Barble wanders away as the sun begins to cast it's radiance over the day.
Overall Death Likelihood: 1/10 - Unless RPs start wackbacking, I reckon Jacky boy has awhile to go.
Kates - It was dawn, a favourite time for any writer, especially one who would have the audacity to repeat the joke from the previous paragraph.
Overall Death Likelihood: 1/10 - Falure! Something went terribly wrong with your simile.
RebeccaMacleod - Three times.
Overall Death Likelihood: 9/10 - You aren't the boss of us.
-Lana- - The Montreal Connection is an established syndicate within New York headed by husband and wife team -Lana- and -TonySperio-. I'm giving you this synopsis as I'd never heard of them either.
Overall Death Likelihood: 1/10 - More chance of seeing the 'MafiaReturns Olympic Sprint' Squad at the next games than her snuffing it.
CrazyNine - He's crazy, who knows what he might be capable of? A valid question. Perhaps this was taken into consideration when we calculated the formula for CrazyNine's overall death likelihood. Perhaps not and I just made it up based on nothing. Who knows?
Overall Death Likelihood: 38% - Tension is high. We had to move Deimne and Youngsta apart just in case that tension became a little too much to handle for someone.
Deimne - Mr Dirt. He was there when the world was made. He will probably be there when it ends.
Overall Death Likelihood: 0/10 - Mafia's common cold. Nothing seems to rid you of it completely.
DirtyLittleSekrit - With her gazillionth shot at leadership, we aren't convinced this one is going to culminate any time soon. Expect to see girls huddling together in the corner, much whispering, before some pointing and laughing, because they've got a dirty little secret.
Overall Death Likelihood: 3/10 - Watch out for PoisonousJelly in the Billiard Room with the candlestick.
TheDean - By his choice of RHM alone TheDean has identified himself as a maker of terrible decisions. Does New York need TheDean? Just about as much as it needs an egotistical paper that badmouths everyone. But here we both are.
Overall Death Likelihood: 7/10 - Belle curse. You're toast.
-V- & Pixxie - Mafia's great lovers are unlikely to be gunned down. It may be that a lonely, jealous and twisted human tries to cut them down in a fit of jealousy. You're right, that does sound like PoisonousJelly's style.
Overall Death Likelihood: 4/10 - Unless someone has been doing the dirty and not practised safe sex, I think the lovebirds will continue to tweet.
ScipitaRourke - Tiger-Obsessed, self dubbed tyrant and professional pickpocket ScipitaRourke. There is more chance of her wolfing down a cheesesteak too quickly than ending up pushing up daises.
Overall Death Likelihood: 1/10 - Mrs Dirt.
______________________________________ - If points were awarded for being nameless and ridiculous looking in bold _______ would be top of the table by this point. They aren't though and that puts him near the bottom given rank, WB chances and a distinct lack of bodyguards.
Overall Death Likelihood: Crayons - This has gone on for a very long time.
SpaceMountain - Can't be bothered writing one for you.
Overall Death Likelihood: Milk - Yeah.
If I had known how many leaders we had, I would not have done that.
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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:
Everyone - Even in our wildest dreams we could not have hoped to get a clean sweep of deaths that we wished for. Just Deimne would have been excellent, Deimne and PoisonousJelly something to savour, but we even had Gaius sprinkled on top to sweeten it, Matterhorn as a side order and all beautifully garnished with thinly sliced Tommy_Carroll.
Alright, so nobody actually died but they totally would have done if it was an option. Therefore we're concluding that you all died, including all those who still insist on capitalising the F and M in Godfather and Godmother. I'm going to butcher you.
People we wished had died:
We've given you the leaders' we think are going to snuff it this edition instead. Fear not, our personal death wish list will be back in it's usual slot with all the finesse of a russian ice skater.
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Acknowledgments
This may come across as the drunken uncle at the wedding, wildly swaying from side to side spilling his pint all over the people beside him, but you guys don't know how (un)lucky you are. This little number is annoyingly topical, which means that we have little use in sitting on pieces that we wrote 4-5 days ago as half of the jokes won't make sense by the time we put them out. This means that we have a rather small window within which to do everything. Therefore, I'd like to acknowledge the fine work done by me in getting this all done, edited, written and produced.
This issue is a fairly mammoth production as there was originally no 'day in the life' piece from Bob Liar, nor did we have any horoscopes. With that in mind we wrote excess pieces to fill the void, only to have shelly turn up in time for me to shove it in. He's as useless as he appears to be and no amount of deception is going to make that appear otherwise. You're a failure shelly. The sticky cat contest will be included in the next edition instead of this one as he hasn't mentioned it.
Originally when we thought shelly's contribution would be absent, Evangeline did not encounter as much abuse in this edition as usual or as much as she deserves. I'd devoted the following section to insult her to compensate, but since shelly made it, I just went with one.
Evangeline insult of the week:
- Evangeline has a home made sexual advances prevention kit - her face.
I invite you to submit your own insults for future editions.
It is a continual pleasure to produce this and receive such wonderful feedback, donations and sponsorship from all of you. Unfortunately this only balances against the continual disappointment of having to speak to Hoopi and include his ridiculous pieces alongisde my own, but you can't win them all.
I would also like to say that only two people have come to me crying so far about being joked about in this, which is a hell of a lot less than I expected - credit to all of you for taking it as it is meant.
100% literally.
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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 not very expendable Boss usually found in Philly. RIP Gwarble.
Laterz issue V, don't get yourself submitted.
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