Dearest Godfather,

I hope that this birthday card finds you well. I write to you on this glorious day in hopes that you can help me. I promise it will only take a moment of your time.

I suppose I should preface my request by stating that you and I have never met or spoken. I have always respected that you are a busy man and do not have time to speak with all of your underlings on a personal basis. Be that as it may, the Right Hand of one of your many Captaincies has announced a street competition where the most interesting story of "How I Met Diemne" could potentially win a cash prize upwards of one million dollars. This leaves me in a bit of a prediciment for two reasons; the first being that we have never met or spoken, and the second being that I really need the money, much more so than the other Friends of Ours who have submitted entries.

I am thinking of fabricating a story for the "How I Met Deimne" contest in which I happened to be walking down the streets of New York many years ago when I pass a burning building. You are hanging out of a top story window for dear life screaming "HELP! HELP!" The fire is so out of control at this point that even the brave men of the New York fire department dare not enter the building. It is at this point in the story that I fearlessly and selflessly run into the burning building to rescue you. With flaming rafters falling all around me, and black smoke filling my lungs, I valiantly kick through walls and knock down burning doors, fighting my way up flight after flight of stairs to come to your aid. Upon reaching the top floor, I race to the window you are hanging from and grab ahold of your wrist yelling "Don't you let go! DON'T YOU LET GO DAMN YOU!" Just then, the celing collapses! The inferno fills the floor and the walls begin to fall around us, leaving us no other choice than to jump.

In mid-air, I contort myself so that my own back breaks the fall, leaving you to fall and land on top of me unharmed. I suffer severe injury and spend weeks in comatose state in a local hospital. I awaken a month later to you sitting by my bed, a tear in your eye, thanking me for saving your life. It is then that you shake my hand and tell me "Someday you will work for me, and you will be a great Mafioso... quite possibly the greatest." I am visibly moved by your words, and this is "How I Met Deimne"

All I need from you Godfather is for you to verify that this story is true. If I attempt to convince other mobsters that this is how we met, Friends of Ours will accuse me of being a liar, which I am. However if you were to validate my story, no one would dare question your word.

Now I am not going to be undignified and beg, but please help me win. I need the money. PLEASE help me win that money. I have NOTHING! My leader hits us when we are late with our tribute and spends his days writing gossip tabloids under the guise of being a legitimate news journalist. On several occasions he has even written horribly cruel things about my father GRHS and printed it for all of Cosa Nostra to read. Please for the love of God help me win that million dollars, Godfather. Just show up briefly and verify my story. You make cameo appearances in Gaius's street monologues all the time for chrissakes! I need the money more than he does.

That was out of line... I take that back. I mean no disrespect. I just need the money. I mean, what do I got? Two failing businesses and jack shit, that's what. A shack on the outskirts of the New York business district that I attempt to pass off as a haunted house, and a dump of a diner in Detroit. Fucking DETROIT! The bums don't even sleep in Detroit anymore! And besides, look at the other contestants for this contest. They don't need the money nearly as much as I do. A goddam cat? The cats I see while walking the streets of your fine city groom themselves with their own tongues and eat from garbage pails, and seem quite content doing so. Cats don't need money. I need the money. Just show up and tell everyone that what I say is factual. It's all that I ask from you, Godfather. I'll even throw in a free pass to my Haunted House. Please Godfather Deimne. It's the least you can do for the man who saved you from a burning building, even if the whole story is complete bullshit. Seriously I need the money. Thank you.

Sincerely,

Anselmo

PS ~ Happy Birthday by the way

Harmony smiles at Anselmo. 

It's hard to tell a story about someone you have never met. Maybe you will finally meet him now.

Her eyes light up at the prospect and she waves bye to Anselmo.  

Marley stands in the alley, leaning against the building, one foot proped up, and watches as Deimne walks straight past Anselmo. Not even notices Anselmo and treating him like the low life muscle head we've all come to see him as.  Anselmo looks so reachable, even though he has over 50 guys standing around him. Well not standing, but sitting and laying on the ground Anselmo. Most are malnourished, while the others a dehydrated.

Marley walks pasted the over 50 guards, who try to stop him but fall easily to the ground, strenghtless and defenseless. Marley pats Anselmo on he shoulder and says:

At least your story was quite interesting.

Marley then walks off, stepping on one guard and using anothers hat to strike a match.

Lites his joint and heads back to the alley

They're not malnutritioned you imbecile, they're stoned from that cloud of smoke that follows you around like a smelly fog! Get the hell out of here Marley before you get us all pinched!

Anselmo coughs and shakes his head