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Gwarbley Barbleing
Stamina issues. Since time began and Adam disappointed Eve, men everywhere have been plagued by this lingering doubt or in FlyingPig's case remembers what it was like back when this was only a lingering doubt rather than a nailed on fact.
The Barble isn't immune to it either, after pumping out seven solid issues, our chest is heaving, and we're looking down at our beer gut and love handles, thinking that maybe we're getting too old for this shit. It has been a long, hard fight to the top of Newspaper Hill as well and now that we are standing here on the pile of skulls/broken typewriters, we're thinking maybe we should hang up our stylus. Hopefully Serotonin is thinking along similar lines and of hanging up his stylus too; not because he's reached the pinnacle of journalism, just because he annoys us and we wish he'd shutup.
Just when all hope is fading our equivalent of a 6ft blonde bombshell and shelly's equivalent to a handsome Japanese businessman with a fresh roll of $1s, strolls on by shaking it's hips and we're right back in the game, strutting around like a peacock, stamping on idiots and pointing the finger at death at people we don't like. Cryptic clues.
By this of course we're referring to "The Apathetic Gazette" which clearly took its inspiration from the Barble. It was hard for us to reach the newsstand where this was on sale due to the crowd of (7) people who had flocked to read it. It has been a long time since the Barble has had to take its broadsword from the wall with a sigh, strap on its armour and mash another rival down into mush. Heavy weighs the crown, but heavier weighs Colin and when he sits on Innocent_Bystander, the Barble is confident The Apathetic Gazette will choke worse than Achilles did when he tried gobbled down a fat one for auth, but in the end was forced to settle for the much more manageable Deimne.
So the Barble is brushing back its grey hairs and gently lowering itself to the floor to get its ears to the ground in a bid to hear the haps on the Street. We can still roll with the kids these days. We're hip. We know our jive from our Charleston.
shelly had placed his monocle in and armed with his telescope to sniff out the horoscopes, we tasked him to meet Bob Liar to find out about a day in someone's life. Sadly, Bob Liar was going to do a day in the life of Carlo_Tiscalli, but after meeting him ultimately decided he'd have to devote too much of his word count trying to explain the limited intelligence required for a no mark Earner (had to check his rank) to believe anyone at the Barble would care what he felt about our issue. We've been to the toilet as well Carlo but you don't hear us asking for that little turd's opinion either.
Hoopi was dispatched with his walking stick in tow, under firm instructions to return with the story from Captain_Bligh's recent foray into the Streets to make a public service announcement or not to return at all. Unfortunately he inevitably turned up after spending the week in Cap'n Bob's Pirate Fun House and Male Go-Go Bar soaked with sweat, with a smile longer than the list of wars Chicago remained neutral in.
This left Gwarble to pull his trousers up to his nipples and kick it with the locals to find out what was happening across the Eight Cities. With a discussion about our ailments and a phlegmy throat clear, it was time to Barble.
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"I refuse to die" - Aye Aye Cap'n
by Hoopi
Let's clear one thing up first before we really get into this story. He's dead. The man who refused to die in the face of his great grandfather, grandfather and father all suffering that same cement coffin fate has gone and bloody died on us. The lying bastard went and got himself shot in the face. If you can't trust the words of a Philly seaman in this day and age, then who can you trust?
The Barble is the only answer, I fear. We're the ones turning up here on the streets, day after day, week after week hunting down stories and delivering cold hard truths*. Get used to it people, your leaders, your friends, heck, even your family WILL let you down. Don't worry though; The Barble is here for you just when you need a slap in the chops. Pull yourself together, you pathetic mess.
Anyway, back on track. Captain_Bligh turned up on the streets announcing himself as the new breed of mobster. He was sick to the back teeth of our foolishness, sick of our bullshit altercations, and sick of cowardice and bastardhood. YEAH! Down with bastardhood**. He wasn't an Emo; he was happy enough to want to live on in our life of crime. He wasn't a mafioso; he was sick of our warring ways and sick of death. No, he was the future. All hail the new breed; Emofioso. That's Captain Emofioso to you.
For the most part, the initial response was a collective "No!" from various warmongers who are basically drooling at the mouth in anticipation of the next war (yeah, we've got you down). What followed was pure entertainment as the captain insisted on standing by his opinion, managed to invent threats against his life and discussed some bizarre war that started as a debate into the colour of frogs. To his credit, he did manage to drag Chicago Consigliere and all round entertainer, Dante_Balboni, down to his level for some schoolyard tit for tat. Dante was swiftly and vociferously backed up by LA Made Man and rumoured lover, DeadSeason. We're not usually the ones to dabble in street whispers, but apparently DeadSeason has been spotted leaving Dante's pad in the small hours on more than one occasion. Love is love, what can you do? We certainly aren't going to war over it.
Remember. Don't be an Emo. Be an Emofioso. PlumonousJelly would be so proud of you, GRHS.
* lies and some near-truths
** I dunno what it is, but it sounds quite sexy. If anyone knows, send a mail to Evangeline with the subject "Bastardhood of the Travelling Pants - 1939 Meet".
(The full story can be found here.)
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Horrorscopes
by Bob Liar
Capricorn
I'm not going to lie to you Capricorn. It's going to be a bad week. I'd tell you why, but I don't want to ruin the surprise.
Aquarius
A millionaire will offer you one million dollars for one night with your life partner this week. It's for the best though if don't you let Deimne anywhere near David. A million dollars is a lot of money, but that level of reconstructive surgery will cost twice as much.
Pisces
An elephant never forgets. You'd be wise to remember this the next time you cheat on your wife. That big nosed bunter will destroy you sometime around Saturday. On the upside though, she will refuse you access to the kids. The little bastards.
Aries
You will go to Cap'n Bob's Pirate Fun House and Male Go-Go Bar this week. Being new to the Dutch Ruddering scene you will ask for a full Colin and get your cock ripped off. Deeez Aries.
Taurus
You are a tart Taurus, you really are. Most of your dresses require two hair dos to wear. This week you need to avoid the colour blue, the number 4 and Colin. Seriously. Steer clear of the little pervert.
Gemini
You will fall over a small garden wall in a drunken stupor on Thursday and rip your sack. You and I both know I am not referring to your holdall. Please Gemini, see a doctor about it. You can't repair that yourself with a staple gun.
Cancer
You will win a one day battle with an idiot this week. Virgo is that idiot.
Leo
You will spend a night in the emergency room this week when you discover that candles are not tapered for that reason. You make me sick Leo.
Virgo
You will challenge Cancer to a battle this week. You will lose. You will lose because Cancer is awesome. Not the disease of course. That's a bit of a bastard.
Libra
Knock knock. Who's there? Reality. Reality who? Fuck off Libra. It's time to grow up, move out of your Mum's house, get a haircut and realise that the band has no future.
Scorpio
Your sister will sleep with your husband this week. This will amuse you. You caught the clap off a sailor and didn't know how to bring it up, now that slutty sister of yours will have to explain it.
Sagittarius
You are like Millwall Sagittarius. No one likes you, and you don't care. Well you should care as you will get killed on Wednesday. Literally everyone that ever met you is a suspect.
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Women can't be leaders - What about Deimne?
by Gwarble
From time to time certain topics catch fire and they garner more attention than sneakyrat did when he carved -Lana-'s name into his arm, went round to her headquarters and wrote "I love you -Lana-, marry me?" on her lawn in twigs and set it alight. Admittedly this wasn't very much as most people don't know who either of those people are. Still, one person who did was Bomberman and he mentioned the absentee leader of the Montreal Connection in 'Women can't be leaders'. This bad boy had the public eye so focussed on it that it started to do that weird watering thing and you think rubbing it might help, but it just starts to really sting, making you blink rapidly and people are looking at you like, "look at Gwarble crying, what a pussy".
Would the Barble be crass enough to use 'pussy' as the link in to discussing the hot button topic of female leaders? Of course not. I thought you might want to know that Lucretia_Borgia bought a cat this week. A bizarre purchase for a lapdog, but she's always been a little bit of a. Yeah. You know.
Anyway, speaking of twats, Bomberman alleged that "women are too emotional, it's their nature, it is part of what makes them beautiful, but if they are going to be leading who is going to make all the sandwiches?" A legitimate question and one that is a genuine concern to most bread manufacturers across the cities.
To prove Bomberman wrong, lots of the esteemed females of MafiaReturns delivered highly charged emotional retorts. They sure showed him. Fortunately they were drowned by men trying to desperately score point with their female counterparts and be the most outraged and annoyed with Bomberman and his views. It was tildes-around-the-first-letter-of-your-name stealing ~J~oel who was our first choice for the 'Girliest Response' award, but he was pipped to the post by Dandy-Lion with this little dress wearing number:
man you a fool. who the fuck do you think you are to come to the streets and be disrespectful to some of our greatest leaders who have been women with enough balls (not real ones) to run there cities and there crews.... u give men a bad name ....
all i can say is the hunts on :) u outrages excuse of a man...ur actually probably unsure of what sex you are your self they say the best form of defence is attack... its ok MAN you can come out were all friends here.
The fact that he had his hands on his hips with his skirt gently rustling in the breeze did nothing to help matters. ~J~oel wasn't ready to let it rest there though and despite missing out on the big award, he weighed in with:
I wanna kick him in the balls myself.He is a disgrace to men.
Wah!!! I wanna kick him in the balls
As a result we've given him a place on the death wish list. Congratulations.
We're a little concerned here at the Barble though that some men aren't the hardy individuals they should be and are making us all look bad. Just last week the Barble saw a young Gangster out in the rain, with a coat on AND with his hood up. What's next? A scarf in the cold? Gloves? You make me sick. Despite this, we have a duty to put you back on the right track, so we've gone and produced (read: stolen) "10 things that make you feel like a man" and renamed it "Barble Man Tips" in a bid to have you swaggering around like the champion you were meant to be.
Barble Man Tips
1. OPENING JARS - "NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGG *generic grunting noises* UGHHHHH", she's struggling...You take it from her hands, open it effortlessly and pretend she loosened it for you. She didn't. Jars are men's work.
2. CALLING SOMEONE 'SON' - Especially people ranked higher than you. "Watch yourself there, son." Even saying it to kids makes you the man.
3. SHARPENING A PENCIL WITH A KNIFE - Applicable for writing or fighting. Blunt, is it? Hand it here, love. Nothing screams testosterone like the ability to whittle.
4, HAVING A THIN BIT OF WOOD - in the shed, solely to stir paint with. The more colours on your stick, the better.
5, HAVING A SCAR - Ideally it'll be a knife wound across the face, but even a burn on the wrist is good. "Oh my god! Did it hurt?" Nah, what am I, a girl?
6. HAVING A HANGOVER AND THICK STUBBLE - We've all been there. Girls complain about a hard night out. You, on the other hand have physical evidence of just how solid you are, sprouting right out of your face. "Big night?" Er, what does it look like?
7. NODDING AT THE POLICE - A moment's eye contact is all it takes for you to share the unspoken bond: "We've not seen eye to eye in the past and we probably won't again in the future", it says, "but we both understand that someone's got to keep the little scrotes in line."
8. USING POWER TOOLS - slightly more powerful than you need or can safely handle. Drilling while smoking a cig? Puff out your chest. You are the man.
9. TAKE THE BARBLE INTO THE TOILET - That's right. I'm going to need plenty of reading material to pass the time it takes to drop this enormous man-sized, turd.
10. HAVING SOMETHING PROPERLY WRONG WITH YOU - and not making a fuss about it. "Why was the Barble late? No excuse really, only lost an arm and the feeling on my left side. Should make deadline next week."
(The full story can be found here.)
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A Day in The Life
by Bob Liar
Well my dear reader. It's time I dust off the Remington Portable and clack out another factual* retelling of the day in the life of a mobster**. It has been a bit disappointing this week as I have actually had to do some research into the day in question. However luck was on my side again this week as a unique and interesting (pfft. As if) day just fell into my lap this week. And not in the way that Mittens fell into Hoopi's lap either as this day didn't end up covered in spaff. Although that's not for want of trying to be fair as you will read.
I'd been in court on a charge of trying to solicit a prostitute. A charge I didn't deny of course, and due to the subsequent arrest and night in the cells before my court appearance in the morning, I still haven't solicited a prostitute. My nuts are aching as I type this. I am certainly going to have to pay a visit to Ire's (RIP) mother the second I have finished here.
Anyhoo. I'd just been fined $100 dollars for trying to solicit a prostitute who'd turned out to be a police woman. To be fair she wasn't undercover, but in uniform and patrolling the streets at the time. But he who dares . I was sulking*** in the public gallery when the case after mine came in, and who should be the key witness in the case but a very tattered looking Colin. "Fuck me!" I exclaimed, and at that point I was asked to leave. This is how I ended up having to do some research on the day, piecing together Colin's movements from the day before using police reports (but not from that non-prostitute hussy), witness statements and solicitors summations.
What follows below is my report on what I discovered about Colin's day.
* This one actually IS factual
** Idiot
*** Wanking
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Colin's Day
It would seem that the day had started as every day usually starts for Colin. And that is with him waking up to a wet bed. Some people are cursed with a lazy bladder; Colin's can barely be bothered to cash its giro every Wednesday. And as such it likes to let go around 5 o'clock every morning. Colin generally doesn't get up then, as the warmth provided from his urination puts him back to sleep in his cold attic room at his aunty Mary's house. So, sometime around 8ish Colin gets up, peels off his wee soaked jammy trousers and heads to the garden for a shower (hose down). Then shivering (which causes his enormous bulk to shuffle around for 6 minutes) he heads indoors and puts on his cheap suit. He eats breakfast, kisses aunty Mary good bye (with tongues) and heads to the Barble office to see if he can be "of service" to Gwarble.
Colin arrives at the office about 9ish. Gwarble allows him into his office to be "of service" for 20 minutes, and then sends him to put a cup of coffee on and see if anyone needs anything from the shop. That conversation usually goes a little something like this:
Colin: "Hey guys. I'm just heading to the shop do any of you want anything?"
*Silence*
Colin: "Shall I take that as a..."
Hoopi: "Fuck off Colin"
Colin: "Ahaha. You're funny Hoopster."
Hoopi: "Don't you call me..."
Colin: "Hey BOB! Big guuuuuuuy! You want anything at the ...."
Me: "Fuck of gobble job"
Colin: "Gobble? Oh ha ha ha. No you think I? No I was just..."
Me: "Fuck off. And take Hoopi with you."
Hoopi: "What?"
Me: "Fuck off."
Hoopi: "Oh yeah right. Nice one Bob."
Evangeline: "Hey what's all the noise?"
Everyone: "Fuck off Braces"
Gwarble: "COLIN! Get down the shop for fuck sake."
At that point Colin disappears for 20 minutes and returns with everyone's coffees. He always has the order wrong and then spends the rest of the day busying himself at his desk with his crayons trying to write something that Gwarble can publish. As you can see it's very rare that Colin ever manages to get a piece of his writing into the paper. Not because he is a lazy bastard, which don't get me wrong he is, but because he has all the writing skill of a 5 year old child, and as both our readers know, the Barble is operating at a 3rd grade level. However this day was different. Different because Colin never returned from the shop.
It turns out that as he skipped down the street that morning Colin was approached. Colin liked to be approached. He prided himself on his approachability. That's why he liked to keep his dancing booth at Cap'n Bob's Pirate Fun House and Male Go-Go Bar so clean. Anyway, two very clean cut young men with a particularly tidy poodle approached Colin and asked:
"Would you like to be touched by Jesus?"
Colin stopped his skipping, and started to think about his life. All the dancing in a pirate costume. All the throat poking at work. That business with the west highland terrier. Colin thought being touched by Jesus might be just the ticket.
"Yes" He said with a tear in his eye. "Yes please." Colin started crying according to several witnesses like a little girl. The two young men with the westy lead him away to their waiting Buick.
As Colin sat in the back seat, weeping into the arms of smartly dressed man #1, he was offered a drink. Colin liked a drink. Colin liked to drink milk. Man milk. However this was more like water and after a few sips Colin grew tired and fell asleep in the car.
When he awoke later that afternoon he found himself lying on a hard concrete floor wearing just his underpants. He knew they were his underpants as he had written his name on the front of them in crayon, and got aunty Mary to sew over that signature with pink thread. Colin had gone to sit down on a bench bolted to the far wall, but for some reason found his bum to be in agony. He paced up and down the room trying to piece together what may have happened, when a door on the far side of the room opened. 7 police officers, 5 men and 2 women (one of whom had been propositioned for sex earlier that day) came into the room with a doctor.
For the second time that day Colin found himself weeping into the arms of a saviour. Only this time they were really here to save him. As the reports revealed, Jesus was not the son of God that Colin had expected. Jesus was a Brazilian jailbird that had a penchant for massively overweight simpletons. They reminded him of his first cell mate. When Colin had conceded that he'd like to be touched by Jesus, he'd unwittingly let his anus in for a world of pain.
He phoned the Barble from the police station to see if Gwarble could come and get him. Gwarble had laughed down the phone. He'd phoned home to see if aunty Mary could come and get him, but she pretended it was a wrong number. And so, with some drugs from the police doctor to help him sleep, Colin spent the night at the police station ready to bear witness in the morning. And given that it was deadline day at Barble towers, it went a long way to explaining why yet another issue of the Barble had gone out without any contribution from Gobbly the Intern.
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There you have it folks. Next week we may find out if Colin can rebuild his shattered anus, pluck up the courage to pick up his crayons one more time and produce an article for the Barble. But to be fair, we all doubt it.
I still haven't managed to solicit a prostitute and I am $100 dollars down. Which in turn brings us to this week's competition - For your chance to win a go on Colin, simply send a mail to Evangeline telling her where I can score a prostitute at short notice.
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Thug Love - Sneakyrat's Full Of It
by Hoopi
What is this; Emofioso week? NY left-hand, Sneakyrat, being the latest bleeding heart to come to our streets in an overwhelming display of emotion. He was in fits of tears. Floods of them I tell you. An emotional wreck. By the time his tears had reached his chin, they were covered in snot and saliva, picked up as mere passengers of emotion of the way down his greetin' chops*. Why? Well, to use his words...no, in fact, if you're going to understand this, I better use my own words. He wants us to respect nobodies on the streets as a rule...as long as they respect us first.
I mean, let's face it, we all know rank's for show. You don't actually think we respect old** Deimne here at Barble Towers do you? No way Siree bob, he's just a puppet in our grand scheme to get the dirt on the other cities and further this paper's reputation (right now you probably don't think that's possible...we rock, we know). Had he not been useful, we'd have disrespected him by now no bother. And killed him. Rank's a very rough, primitive guideline if anything, but the very best way to work out who to respect is by chatting to them over a croissant down at one of the shore-side cafes. If they're nice to you and don't leave too many crumbs on their face, they're to be respected. Simples, according to sneakymeerkat.
What did everyone else think?*** Philly warrior and part-time showgirl, Alexander, had this to say, "Thugs?!? Spit". Gwarble did his usual superiority drone as everyone nodded off, only to be woken by Philly Godtucker, Lucretia, who appeared as usual on the mental edge and ready to war your useless asses. Lucretia went on to describe how she got her "rocks off" abusing people fresh off the boat. On a daily basis, you'll find Lucretia down there, throwing bricks at civvies and shouting "sneakyrat says hello!" Harsh, Lucretia, emofioso all over these cities are saying you're losing credibility for this, their respect for you is diminished. How they are managing to pronounce credibility and diminished correctly, when they struggle with far more basic words, I don't know. If only someone could invent a pronunciation checker for them, the emofioso community might not be so misunderstood.
Anyway, at the time of writing, the discussion had turned to a rather more entertaining note as sneakyrat used his (in)considerable weight to layout some Gwarble smackdown. "You may be a good writer, but you seriously need more guidance before coming out here and talk directly to a Consigliere, i am everything but small", stated the 4ft 11" New York Consigliere. Small man syndrome alert. Touchy or what. Now you know why he wears brogues with 12 inch soles. He went on to suggest that Gwarble was in need of a good slap (not really, this is me suggesting it). I wholeheartedly agree.
As I write this, sneakyrat continues to run rings around himself with no intervention from others required, whilst at the same time digging himself a hole deeper than Camazotz's grave. Speaking of which....room for two, Cam? God, what am I saying actually...course there isn't.
* I may have stretched the truth for dramatic effect. I also may not have.
** I mean old the true sense of the word. Not old like your nan, old. Old like the dinosaurs, old.
*** Read the full discussion here.
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Auths, deaths and a lot of other boring administrative shit
by Gwarble
In the aftermath of conflict MafiaReturns is usually subjected to some idealised view of the conflict, some waffling about rights and wrongs, a few pot shots at the losers by the victors and then a load of boring auths of people nobody really cares that much about. Imagine my surprise when this didn't happen and we heard loads of interesting announcements of really worthwhile people being given the nod. Only joking, it is the same old shit again.
Here is a breakdown of who has been handed the keys to their new headquarters and how the cities are looking:
New York
More changes in New York than you can shake a stick at. Not that you would, you'd look like some stick wielding old moron. Speaking of Deimne, the old boy has given the nod to one of the most stupid men in history. I am of course talking about Achilles, who founded the Myrmidons in New York. If that wasn't bad enough he appointed Barble makeweight and perpetual disappointment shelly to act as his second in command. What happened, Achilles? I assume all the good people were taken. Hell, to appoint shelly I assume all the bad people were taken. All the sheep must have been taken too. Even the three legged crippled sheep. Even the ones that had already been chopped up and eaten. Even the faeces produced as a result of that meal must have been unavailable.
-Lana- and the Montreal Connection aren't considered to be one of Deimne's New York families. Maybe he forgets they've been operating in his city from time to time as well. He is pretty old. And infertile.
Los Angeles
LA has been handed over to DirtyLittleSekrit and ratboy, Barble-reject, FlyingPig. After his repeated requests for us to publish his pieces about the "Social Oppression of Mobsters in 1910 - 1929" were declined, he begged us to ghost-write for him. We obviously declined, to which he broke down in tears, stamped his feet, stuck out his quivering bottom lip and told us he hated us all, before throwing a paddy bigger than Iota's shopping bill. So we agreed just to shut him up. Anything good you've read from him - you're welcome.
Back on track, DirtyLittleSekrit hasn't authed anyone yet. We imagine this is because she's waiting to give CryingPig the nod when she wrestles the title of Godfather away from Paul_Vidi. Expect fireworks. Not the good kind though; shitty ones that promise much but ultimately fizzle out with a small pop.
Philly
Lucretia_Borgia did a hop from Las Vegas and landed the title of Godfather for Philly instead. Aftershock, Adam-T-Simpson and Youngstaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa are running business at a street level but most of their time has been spent urbanising the wild plains of Philly after they had been inhabited by strange people who believed they were tigers, rather than idiots.
La Frat is back on the streets. We polled 100 people and the general consensus was that nobody cared.
Chicago
No change in Chicago, which isn't really worthy of reporting. After all, why change the habit of a lifetime and actually be pro active for once?
Detroit
Currently unoccupied. We've decided to hand it back to the civilians and politicians. Who cares about organised crime anyway?
St Louis
SL has been handed over to now Godfather and continual windbag CrazyNine. After diligently cooking Deimne's dinners and making sure it never fell below 1000oC in his mansion, the former boss of New York has been given the big job.
He appointed Advantage and Serotonin to oversee the day to day operations of the city, which shouldn't be difficult given that it is a shit city that nobody visits anyway. Fingers crossed that it'll be as much of a success as Advantage's New York comedy club, which all here at the Barble regularly enjoy visiting since it was developed following the announcement on the 25th of February. By visiting, we of course mean imagining because it never made it off the planning table.
Las Vegas
This belongs to Cryptic now and we are taking full credit. Anonymous leader with an ugly face, to Godfather of your own city, such is the power of the media.
After we secured Cryptic Las Vegas, he said some nice things about Aeolus who then founded the Wind Keeper Division of the Inscrutables. We'd ask what all that was about, but we figure you probably didn't care that much given this guy seems like a bit of a crier "RIP to all the fallen souls in this world". Loser alert.
balian also got the nod, but as he considers himself "ThePerfectKnight" and called his crew "The Crusaders - Knights of Vegas" we reckon he'll probably just be hosting jousting tourneys most of the day. To arms my brothers and all that completely-irrelevant-to-the-Mafia, jazz.
New Orleans
Seemingly free territory, so the Barble has claimed it. Only attractive people can enter. Sorry sneakyrat, rules are rules.
If I've missed anyone off, shame on you for being such a no mark that I didn't even notice you setting up. Bad times.
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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.
Lazy bastards.
People we wish had died:
Puppet_King - "lol best material in the Streets for a long time." Not only was this statement from you factually inaccurate due to the quality of the material you were actually praising, but it was further dismantled by the Barble's regular material, which is stunning. Mr S. Tunning in fact.
Leper - Lets all have a toast in the Streets to someone who's dead even though all the people who wanted to could have attended his funeral and had a nice toast there. It isn't like we have a business district in every city where you could go for a beverage even if the funeral home proved insufficient is it? Oh. That's right.
Achilles - Whilst it is touching that you can't make an appearance in the Streets without mentioning dear Gwarble, we'd trade it in to see you in cement shoes. Who could possibly make shelly RHM and not be on the death list? You should actually have been shot on the spot for that.
Hal_Jordan - Women on top? Cringe.
Joel - Stealing the tildes was bad enough but now you've seemingly lost your testicles too? Time to offski.
Ninetta_Bagarella - "Stop swearing and insulting people wa wa wa". She issued Gwarble with a challenge, but it seemed painfully dull so we ignored her challenge and put her on the death wish list instead. If you want to read my genius without it being insulting to people, just look for my other street appearances. We're kind of a big deal around here.
Cryptic - Originality. I've spoken about it before. "Nobody knows better than the Barble that originality is a much loved, much sought after beast. A bit like a puppy. But with lasting appeal and you don't really get tired of originality a few weeks after Christmas and start planning ways to get it out of your life and begin to wonder just how fast you would have to be driving to mow down a small animal without it doing any lasting or noticeable damage to your car." The important bit was the 'nobody knows better than the Barble' because we are extremely original and regularly knock together amusing pieces week after week. Acknowledge this. Save the rants for the goons, because the Barble is exempt to this sort of branding.
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Acknowledgments
Another week, another issue, another round of 'who's the biggest waste of space at Barble Towers?' and another victory for Colin. We've gone and dropped another near 6000 words of comedic gold as we have regularly since I first cooked this up. Well done to us. By us, I of course mean me because I do the majority of this and the best bits.
I would though like to thank our staff, seriously. Without you this original production would certainly lack the originality that is so sought after and bitched about.
Nobody donated to the Barble this week, so no praise for any of you. Selfish bastards.
I would like to personally thank anyone who responds to this, we live for your acknowledgment of our production, even if it is negative. You might think I'm joking, but we are really sad and enjoy hearing back from readers.
With this in mind, please send any fan mail to Barble Secretary, Evangeline, with the subject "Going straight in the bin."
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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 Goomba (again) usually found in Philly. RIP Gwarble.
Issue VIII - Nothing but net.
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