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| Twas the Night Before... (Holiday Contest) | Started by: Oliver_McTavish on Dec 17, '07 19:37 |
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Oliver McTavish, bundled up in an overly large jacket and scarf, had been wandering up and down the streets of Chicago aimlessly for quite some time now. In his hand he clutched a rather wrinkled piece of writing paper, muttering aloud to himself while his eyes were fixed upon it with an intense stare. At last he paused, somewhere outside an old second-hand junk shop on Forty-Ninth Street. With a clearing of his throat he began to read out loud to hear above the sudden howling of the wintry winds. 'Twas the night before Christmas... right right. Mmhmm. Uh-huh. Stockings hung... snug in their beds while visions of sugar plums... ...Sugar plums? You have gotta be kidding me. Who writes this crap? With a bit of a chuckle the tall man crunches the flyer in his bare, cold hand, nodding at a well-dressed couple as they pass him by. I would pay to see someone come up with a better holiday story than this. The man hesitated for a moment, his eyebrows raising in interest as his brain worked over time- formulating a plan. In fact... I think I will! Immediately he dashed across the street, hopping up onto the curb of a well-known and busy diner. Clearing his throat quickly he put two fingers into his mouth and let out a rather large whistle... to no avail. "Ah, hell," he muttered, instead grabbing the shoulder of the very next man who passed by. 'Ello there. Name's Oliver McTavish- how are ya? Listen, I need your help. Spread the word, for me, my friend. I am hereby officially holding a small contest. I will be here, loitering on this very street corner, one week from today. The twenty-fourth, Christmas Eve, call it what you will. Under this very lamp-post an associate of mine will help me judge the submissions. What submissions? you ask. Why, the writing submissions, m'boy! I will pay one million dollars- out of my own pocket- to the person that produces the best rewrite of this poem. Hell, I might even give five hundred thousand to the person who comes up with the second best! There is one stipulation, though. None of this frou-frou fancy sugar plum crap. I want it to be about us. Oliver pauses at the look of confusion on the youngster's face. You know... us. Our... way of life? The organization and code we all live by? No? Leaning in close Oliver whispers into the man's ear. I want it to be about the Mafia. *Cough hack wheeze* Got it? Good. One week. And I want the 'contestants' to read their submissions aloud here. On the twenty-fourth we will pick the best of the bunch and lay one million smacker-oos on 'em. Am I crazy? Naw. Just a man with too much money who really hates 'noses like cherries'. Pffft, honestly! Oh here, this should help get you started. Pass it along now, boy! Oliver hands over the crumpled sheet of paper with hastily scrawled words upon it. A grin spreads across his face as he claps the man on the shoulder once more. Best get going now- and thanks! ((To summarize- your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to rewrite the classic "The Night Before Christmas" to be holiday/mafia related. Present your work of art here for all to see in RP form. On the evening of the 24th myself and a few other judges will pick the best written among the bunch. We shall award this person with one million dollars- and are even considering paying up 500K to the runner-up. One submission per participant. Please be respectful to one another or we will smite you good.)) |
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Stands up realizing he's the first one here Awww crap well here goes nothing Clears voice 'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a JohnnyAxe; The guns were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would reload them; The familys were nestled all snug in their Headquaters, While visions of peace danced all in their heads; And Alfieri in his 'allyway, and I in my hotel, Had just settled down for a long winter's war, When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below, When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a whole rabbit army, and eight moretay clones, With a little old Olli, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be Death. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name; "Now, Sal_Giaquinto! now, TylerDurden! now, Sid and Witchy! On, AgeOfEmpires ! on -AphoticProphet- ! on, Fisk_Capizzi and Fallen! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now blow away! keel away! ddestroy all!" As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, So up to the house-top the coursers they killed, With the sleigh full of body, and Birday too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The gun shots and bodys of each little mafiaoso. As I drew in my hand, and was turning around, Down the chimney McTavish came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; A bundle of guns he had flung on his back, And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. His eyes — how they we bloodshot! his dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, from all the brandy! His drool from his little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the drunken foo' ness could be smelt for across the the hall; The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath; He had a broad face and a little round belly, That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old foo', And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself; A click of his gun and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had everything to dread; He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the guns; then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his gun, And pulling the trigger, up the chimney I rose; He sprang to his sleigh, throwing my body into the sleigh, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night." Takes a deep breath Well folks hoped you liked that! Merry christmas all! |
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| Reply by: SydBarrett at Dec 17, '07 21:29 | |
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Nikki stood on the corner of Fifth street and Main, bedecked in green stockings and looking quite the part of a misguided elf. She surrounded herself with a chorus of small orphan children, fully intending to gain the sympathy view for onlooking holiday contest voters. As the kids all hummed sweet holiday tunes, Nikki opened a large tome in her arms and began reading to all passersby. 'Twas the night before Christmas, and the year's last full moon, Not a creature was stirring, not even a goon; The Assistants all laid themselves down to rest In their flannel pajamas and bulletproof vests. Their pistols, not stockings, were hung by the fire For the cute little gangsters to awe and admire. Ollie McTavish and Johnny the Axe, Benevolent natured, despite many WACK!s, Promised their members on bright Christmas day Their crew earning taxes would be taken away! Oh how they reacted, and cheered them with glee Until Johnny ended their jubilant spree. "Don't get too comfortable," the right hand man said. "The next day they're back, you lot of lunkheads!" And then there was Moretay, and the jolly plain Nick; The saints of New Orleans and the Sultans of Shtick, Tucked in their goombas and wished them sweet dreams While stuffing their pockets 'til they burst at the seams. La Famiglia Soldati bid each other adieu, set off to their quarters in the murky bayou. "Tomorrow a great Merry Christmas 'twil be," said Moretay with force, "I guar-un-tee!" Somewhere in Vegas in the steamy southwest, Alfieri and Nikki both had confessed That neither had bought the other a gift And not found the time to go out and shoplift. "You stingy prat!" "You thrifty old hag!" Then Nikki hit Alfie with her portfolio bag. The rumble and tumble that therefore ensued Put all of Iguana in the Holiday mood. New York, the Big Apple, and home of Ol' Sal Was suffering from a case of lowly morale. Octavius, just earlier that day had been pinched Stealing gifts from the orphanage, dressed like the Grinch. Without hesitation, and quick as a blink, Sal_Giaquinto made a break for the clink. But as fate would have it, as told in the stars Ol' Sal got pinched too, and wound up behind bars. Across the huge country, in busy L.A. Aphotic the Prophet and Tyler that day Spent their time helping old ladies crossing the street While lifting their wallets, and being discreet. Not at all lazy, the Juggernaut crew Was out robbing liquor stores for egg nog and booze, When happy their take would replenish the bar, They hightailed it home in a new 'borrowed' car. But no matter the state of each family's unrest, A faraway sound had their ears all obsessed. Everyone stopped and sprang up from their beds, Ran to the windows and threw up the shades. Out singing carols on each headquarters lawn Stood Izzy, FullMetal, and (who else?) Ganelon. And Mario, decked in a Santa suit too filled their heads full of visions of the fabled V2. Their cacophonous vocals left so much desired And their silence came only after three shots were fired. The culprit? They all knew t'was Shuki who did it (Though it'd take 'til eternity to hear him admit it). "Hey!" Shuki yelled. On his porch he appeared, looking quite grizzled and stroking his beard. "If you lot don't stop disturbing the peace, I won't hesitate to call the police!" The admins wore frowns now, how spoiled their fun! In a flash they decided to turn tail and run. But we heard them exclaim as they fled out of view, "The sites having issues, you'll just have to make do!" Nikki closed the volume and tucked it under her arm as the children finished their song and looked up to her hopefully. She melted when she saw their bright smiling faces and it filled her heart with warmth and cheer. A small lad, no older than five, tugged on her skirt and spoke. "Miss Phoenix, do we get our food now?" Nikki, touched by the small child's request, knelt down and put her face close to his rosy, wind battered cheeks. Oh, little Thomas. You have so much to learn. Let this be a lesson to all of you. She smiled and held out her arms, gathering the children around. Always, always, always get the payment up front. |
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| Reply by: NikkiPhoenix at Dec 17, '07 21:52 | |
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Perched against a government mailbox, Rudiger scratches angrily at the back of a discarded newspaper with a nearly empty fountain pen. Shouting obscenities when his writing utensil fails him, he stabs at the paper between barely audible mumbles and sharp bursts of self-indulgent laughter. Finally satisfied with what he had been writing, the madman rips the page from the newspaper and runs shouting into the street. HA! Ahahaha! Haaaaaaaaa! Alright, listen up you bastards! He chuckles to himself as he rubs his thumb and forefinger on the edge of the torn sheet. An odd smile creeps across his face as he begins to read aloud 'Twas the night before Christmas, and all city wide Word spread like herpes, the big man had died He died not by accident, by disease or by truck The ruling consensus was "omg wtf???" So out came Mafiosi to trudge through the snow Due to respect or just no place to go Among them JohnnyAxe, as always looking awful With a three day beard, and a mouthful of waffle Into the cemetery, they lined up and waited To honor a man they knew, loved, or hated The big names were present - Alfieri, McTavish And other people too, I guess, but none nearly so lavish Away in the distance, a church bell marked time This line inserted, because I needed a rhyme When what through the cemetery gates should approach? A fat hairy drunkard in a vagrant drawn coach The man doubled over, in the snow getting sick The gangsters were puzzled, "You guys know this dick?" Up stumbled the stranger, hand on his crotch Splattered with vomit, and reeking of scotch He turned to his hobos, as though they were tame Stared at them quizzically, then called them by name "Hey Stumpy, hey Bobo, hey, Dondell, and Terry, Hey Bosco, hey Juggles, hey Skip, and Captain Scuzberry Hey Jeffy, hey Wiffle, hey Kilgore, and Jet What the hell are we doin', where the fuck are we at?" Without getting his answer, the man turned his back He snorted quite loudly, still pawing his sack A tactful young gangster spoke, "Sir who are you?" "I'm friggin' Santa," was the reply, "What're ya, a Jew?" So there stood St. Nick, uglier than Octavius "Somebody shoot him," came the whispers, "before we get rabie-us" (fuck you) They took a step back, all with great caution As the red-suited beast ambled up to the coffin He swayed as he walked, but his legs held true to their stance Sadly, the same was not true for his pants There with his ass out in the cold and quite creepy He stood over the dead man, belligerent and weepy The Mafiosi were silent as they watched with a frown Hoping to God Santa wouldn't turn around Eerily stoic, the jolly one hovered in place Shedding a solitary tear for the guy that got gaced Quickly he turned, causing groans all about "Someone boil my eyes!" A Wise Guy did shout Realizing at last the screams and the snickers Santa reached for the snow and lifted his knickers Showing remorse for the scene he'd created The old man looked sheepish, asking if he had masturbated They assured him that no, he had spared that at least So he again dropped his trousers stating, "Then this will be brief." Enough was enough, St. Nick had to go Several thugs stepped forward to give him the heave-ho The last thing to be heard as they took him away "Do you know any Asian girls? I swear this time I'll pay!" He cackles loudly as he finishes. Suddenly, he can feel the eyes on him and falls silent, frozen like a CEO's bank account. What do you people want from me? Stop that! He shoves the paper into his coat pocket, takes a quick glance around and runs like hell. |
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| Reply by: Rudiger at Dec 18, '07 04:44 | |
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I've gotta say--I'm impressed with the entries thus far. I can't wait to see what others have to offer. |
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| Reply by: JohnnyAxe at Dec 19, '07 02:04 | |
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I must agree with my good friend Johnny here. We have had some wonderful submissions thus far! I will be judging sometime around 00:00 December 25th- so hurry up and get those last minute entries in! Grumbles something about Nikki winning everything due to her feminine wiles. |
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| Reply by: Oliver_McTavish at Dec 24, '07 05:13 | |
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I thought I was long of words but you all put me to shame I tip my hat the the story writters here To me you are all winners. |
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| Reply by: Warriorman at Dec 24, '07 06:03 | |
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THE MAFIA BEFORE CHRISTMAS by Moretay 'Twas the night before Christmas, the elves finished their sacks And creeping around, was the man JohnnyAxe; He was looking around,he was being quite naughty and waiting for the man,known only as Moretay; While across town,high stakes poker was played and McTavish was beaten again by that spade; Ive lost one million dollers,thats a hell of a lot so the win was cut short,as the victor was shot while in the bar the people supped on their drink, then someone kicked up a fuss and started causing a stink. wrong words to wrong people,disrespected their mother another shot goes off and down goes another. people start talking about this being too violent Then Oliver walks out and the room falls so silent over in New York theres a gran sick with worry, walking the streets all alone, and shes starting to hurry, knew these streets well and smelt something fishy, then she looked to the skies, and saw a god that was squishy. "theres a man going round and he's trying to rob", Hes not smart enough to pull off a bank job! she turned on the spot and away the woman ran but out of the dark jumped a littlegreenman he stole all of her cash left her lying in the gutter! and was found two hours later by the crazy MikeStrutter while out in the streets on a soapbox no less FrankButcher is getting more things off his chest, but his balance aint good and soap box he slips, breaking, and needing replaced both his hips, but back to the start and our two shady men They had tracked down and located an illegal drugs den they were making some cash and not giving a cut johnny kicked in the door, with a boot from his foot. the dealers were stunned didnt know where to run, but Johnny and Moretay had already aimed with their gun it wasnt too long before they all lay down dead 8 merciless shots all straight in the head. well that wasnt too hard, now what about the money Moretay says 70-30, Johnny says "you tryin' to be funny" they both reached for their guns, Johnny started to shout "If id known you were like this, I wouldve asked to get out" Moretay let out a laugh, and said "oh how naive" "you should know ive always got a trick up my sleeve"; then a shot was fired, Johnny dropped down dead not from moretays gun, from Gimpanzees instead. he had known of the plan, was told to come along to give some support in case things had gone wrong now Moretay knew that his life just got short you cant kill JohnnyAxe and not expect to be caught so he packed up his things grabbed the money and ran Oliver wanted vengence for killing his Right hand man, Oli found him and killed him with one single shot "you wanted it all but now look what you got;" there is after all a moral to the story, dont get greedy or you will end up like moretay. there is only one thing left to say if your in the mafia you may be dead on christmas day. |
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| Reply by: Moretay at Dec 24, '07 15:29 | |
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| Im Calling shenanigans on Moretay He Violated my JohnnyAxe Creepying theme! | |
| Reply by: SydBarrett at Dec 24, '07 17:43 | |
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| You can't copyright that, Mr Barrett. I'm just creepy by nature. Other people are bound to notice. | |
| Reply by: JohnnyAxe at Dec 24, '07 18:35 | |
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*finishes laughing to himself stands up and begins to read his deranged poem* 'Twas the night before kwansa, when all through the crack house Not a biotch was stirring, except that bitch mouse; The slackers were hung by the neck with care, In hopes that St.Pimplicious soon would be thar; The bloods were blasted a slug in their heads, While visions of sugar-tits danced in their beds; And big mamma in her 'kerchief, and I busted a cap, Had just settled down for a long drug induesd nap, When out on the court there arose such a shatter, I sprang from mah bitch to see what was the matter. Away to the vats I flew like a flash, Tore open the lips and threw up the stash. The goon on the breast of my old dirty hoe, Gave the lustre of powdered crack spilled below, When, what to my yellow eyes should appear, But a bumpin ride, and eight crack heads to be here, With a little bitch driver, so grimey and quick, I knew in a spasm it must be St. pimplicious. More rapid than orny crackhead his bitches they came, And they came, they came, and they came again; "Now, Candy! now, Natasha! now, Bitchlicious and Bitchen! On, Cum-tits! on Stupid! on, Blonde and Brandy! To the top of the house! to the top of deze balls! Now go away! go away! go away, yall!" With dry balls i could barely open my fly, When they meet with an obstacle, smoked untill they got really high, So up to the house-top the bitches they flew, With the bag full of sex toys, and bottles of lube. And then, in a crackling, my fly began to peel Then i heard the stabbing of each stelleto heel. As I drew in my hand, and was turning around, Down the crack pipe St. pimplicious slapped that bitch down. He was dressed all in purple fur, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with green ashes and soot; A bundle of sex toys he had stuck in his ass, And he looked like a crack peddler just opening his pack. His eyes -- how they redend! his pimples how scary! His balls, red like roses, his shaft was obviously merry! His pimp little hands was drawn up like a bow, And the skin flew off as he struck down that hoe; The stump of a crack pipe he held tight in his toof, And he smoked that shit whilst pumping his beef and stroking his loof ; He had a wrinkled face and a skinney ass belly, That collapsed, when he cackled, like a hoe full of jelly. He was skinny and stump, a right creepy old elf, And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself; A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had been lucky i wasn't dead; He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And pulled off the bitches stockings; who turned and started to jerk, And laying her finger inside her nose, And giving a bob, up the chimney it rose; It sprang to its height, It then began to exploade, And away it all flew like a milky white load. But I got pissed when i heard him say, pay the full amount, theres no discount on christmas day. |
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| Reply by: Jester at Dec 24, '07 18:37 | |
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| (OOC: please i don't care if i win, i fully intended mine to be mob related but i got into a bit of a tangent) | |
| Reply by: Jester at Dec 24, '07 18:43 | |
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Twas the night before Christmas', and all through the streets, Not a person was stirring, not even the creeps; The bodies were hung by the bridge on St. Clair, In hopes that our rivals would see it and stare; The trunks were all open and airing about , except for that one, where you might hear a shout The guys in their black suits and I in my boots I can't help but notice, damn! These are cute , When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, We turned around quick to see such a splatter Away from the bridge I flew like a flash, those villains dropped down like yesterday's trash. The moon on the river of jersey at night Is enough to give any mobster a fright, When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, a snitch with a warning, but somehow sincere, The police are coming and you better move quick, he said with a grin as he picked up a brick. More rapid than eagles the cruisers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and sounded real lame. "Now, Moretay! now, Nicky! now, Melenie and Rogue! Go, Emilee! go Conner! go, Petey go Home! To the top of the bridge! to the top of the wall! Now run away! run away! run away all!" He yelled at the crew with a voice like a rocket Don't worry 'bout them. as he reached for his pocket, So up to the bridge the crew members did go, to look down at the bodies as they started to flow. And then, in a twinkling, we finished our gig! and the BossMan paid off the last of the pigs As I drew in my hand, and was turning around, The last of the bodies had finally drowned. We all dressed up in fur, from our head to our feet, And headed to Hq to see what we'd eat When all of a sudden the bosses phone rang We all knew this night would end with a bang . His eyes — how they twinkled! as he grabbed for his gun and We all knew that we were on for some fun! There's a man that needs dead, I need it done quick perhaps you may know him? His name is St. Nick; The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath; He had a broad face and a little round belly, That shook, when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself; A wink of his eye and our bullets hit hard, There laid this fat man. Quite dead in our yard; He spoke not a word, when he seen our arrival, He just looked and he shrugged, with no chance of survival Laying his finger aside of his nose, He should have thought twice before slapping them hoes; We hurried back home to prepare for the day with all of our gifts under the tree for display. We crashed in our beds, and turned off the lights , "HAPPY CHRISTMAS YOU FUCKERS, IT"S BEEN A LONG NIGHT." |
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| Reply by: Emilee- at Dec 24, '07 19:29 | |
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I was going to join this competition till I saw the talent that was so beyond my potential of this contest. :) |
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| Reply by: Mariposa at Dec 24, '07 23:16 | |
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Yes there are really some good poems there. Dec 25, '07 00:04 Merry Christmas All! |
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| Reply by: Kerney at Dec 25, '07 00:04 | |
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A rosy cheeked, whimsical Oliver staggered his way up the street, stopping short underneath a streetlamp. He took a few deep breaths before facing the small crowd gathered outside the diner where he had initially announced his competition. Alright, yeah? The tall man asks, moving to the front of the gathering and pulling out a scrap of paper from within his pocket. Forgive me for being tardy... got all caught up in the Christmas cheer and such. Perhaps a little too much so... yet that is beside the point. The point is I am here to announce the winner of my little Badass Inc. holiday contest. For the past week I have wandered up and down these streets, listening in to the various presentations. I must say, there is a good amount of talented people that reside among us everyday Mafiosi! Yet there could only be one winner, as well as one runner-up winner, and so, well, here we go. It took numerous discussions or... arguments, but the other judges and I have finally come to an agreement. In second place, taking home the five-hundred thousand dollar runner-up prize is NikkiPhoenix, for a very heartwarming and cheerful rendition of 'The Night Before Christmas'. Please, take the money and feed the poor orphans for the love of sammiches. For our first place slot, the one who wins the million-smackaroos, we chose the person who managed to shock, dismay, entertain and cause us to wet our pants with laughter all within one poem. The winner would be Rudiger, quite the wordsmith as we all have agreed. Fear not, those of you who participated and did not take home one of the 'big honors'. You too will be compensated for your hard work and effort. You all did marvelously, and many thanks to those of you who came out and helped to brighten up our holiday season. Congratulations- you all are winners in my eyes. ...Except those of you who lost. Now if you'll 'scuse me... Oliver passes out envelopes to the various contestants before hiccupping loudly and wandering back up Forty-Ninth street singing a loud Christmas carol. |
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| Reply by: Oliver_McTavish at Dec 26, '07 05:14 | |
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Emilee wanders around the corner and finds an envelope filed with cash Thank you Sir. It is much appreciated. |
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| Reply by: Emilee- at Dec 26, '07 13:47 | |
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