Posts Tagged ‘The mafia’

Ehy — Oh! How you doin readers?

Me, I’m fan-frickin-tastic. Thanks for askin’ — OH! — fuhgeddaboudit!

This sign is real! I kid you not!

Have ya’ll ever heard the story of, “The Three Little Pigs”? — No, you haven’t. Not the real one — This is the version I was told as a little kid (and would my parents lie?).

Once, not so long ago in Brooklyn, there were these three little Pigs.

One lived in a house of straw,

One lived in a house of sticks,

and One lived in a house of bricks.

One day, the Big Bad Wolf came knocking at the house of straws door,

and he said;

Little pig, little pig, let me in. Or I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow this house in!

To which the frightened Pig replied,

Not by the hairs of my chinnie, chin, chin.

So the Wolf — being a beast of his word — sucked in a hefty volume of air, and with a single exhale of nothing but hot, wet CO2, (which could only be compared to Rick Perry’s speech during the republican debate the other night), blew down the house, and the little Pig ran out the back door over his brother’s place, which was made of sticks.

Before long, there was a knock at the door.

Little pig, little pig, let me in. Or I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow this house in!

To which the two shivering brothers answered,

Not by the hairs of our chinnie, chin, chins.

So again — just as before — the Wolf pulled a Perry, and blew down the house with a gale of hot gas. The two horrified brothers ran, with all haste, on over to their other brothers pad, which was made of bricks.

As they made it inside, the two pigs slammed the door behind them and slid, leaning on it, down to the floor — gasping for breath.

Ehy, their big brother greeted them. What’s-a-matta wit you’se guys?

“I-i-i-it’s, th, th, the, Bi-Bi-Big…. bad….” stuttered the brothers.

Spit it out already would ya?, he encouraged… lovingly.

The big bad wolf blew down my home, Said one. And my home too, said the other. And now he’s coming here to blow your house down too! They finished, in pigley surround-sound.

The big brother Pig grabbed his siblings by their respective collars, (as even pigs have leash laws these days in Brooklyn), and slapped them both hard across the face.

Calm down you morons. He added, for… support, I got this. Bolt the door.

The big brother pot-bellied Pig then made his way over to his plush, forest green colored Laz-Y-boy sofa, where he re-lit a Cuban cigar which sat smouldering, next to some scotch, in a well overfilled ashtray, picked up the phone, and causally dialed a number.

The two other brothers, confounded at the reaction they were witnessing, had to forcibly pull themselves back to reality in order to bolt the door — and they did so just in time.

Little pig, little pig, let me in. Or I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow this house in! Shouted the Wolf, as he jiggled the knob.

Wh, wh, wh, wh, who — are you calling big bro?, Asked the Stick-Pig.

Don’t-worrye-boudit, he replied, as he reclined in his Laz-Y-boy and took a deep pull on his cigar.

I said…, began the wolf again, obviously wondering if anyone was home by the lack of response he’d gotten, Little pig, little pig, let me in. Or I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow this house in!

Just then, a black, stretch Hummer-limo rolled easily to a stop in front of the house of bricks, and a back tinted window descended slowly into the door, resting into its lowest position. Soon after, a metal ring could be seen peeking out through the shadows of the back seat, for only but a moment as it heliographed brilliantly off the clear afternoon sun, before it violently exploded outward with fire, pumping the wolf on the front porch full of steaming hot lead — and ending his life in a bloody heap on their brick-laden doorstep.

The car promptly screeched away on down the road, leaving nothing but thick grey exhaust lingering in its wake.

The older brother extended a couple of Cubans to his brothers as he clicked on the TV — and they vigorously peed on the floor, (why don’t pigs wear pants?).

Wh, who, whooooo was that? They stammered.

What!? snapped their brother from his chair, with incredulity, and an intonation which implied that they were both idiots, all while his cherry surged under another pull. Oh, that? he added, realizing their confusions stemming. fuhgeddaboudit… Those were my friends…

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“The Guinea Pigs”

Ehy -- what're U laughin' at?

Hey, don’t laugh — or they’ll come after you next. And let me tell you, in their giant wheels, these guys are quite intimidating coming down the block.

(BTW, Would you believe that I’ve actually used this joke for auditions?)

Anyway — let’s do this thing!

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~ The Mafia ~

Good people of the Deranged and Enlightened persuasions alike, I’ve been raking my brain, and scouring all the sources I could find, for a good, viable (and hopefully marginally funny), example of how we should model the structuring of the new world. During my quest, I was more than a bit entertained to find quite a volume of individuals who feel that a lack of empathy in the world is what should be attributed to the unbalancing that’s happened over time, and more than a few of these individuals actually suggested that we re-instate the Mafia to fix this.

Wha?

The reasoning goes something like this: Back when John Gotti lived in Queens, nobody had to lock their doors, and nobody was afraid to walk the streets — for if anybody bothered the good citizens of Johnnie-boy’s town, they’d surely have hell to pay. The legend of the, “Untouchable Borough” spread far and wide, and (purportedly) crime in the area was simply non-existent.

Once — only once — had a couple young hooligans come to town, after a late night binger in the city, and for fun they started slashing tires. The next morning people of the neighborhood bemoaned the incident to one another, and word quickly spread to Johnnies ears, who within a week found the boys — and beat them to within an inch of their lives.

That was the last time anybody attempted to mess with the Mob’s town.

This story, of course, is HIGHLY romanticized…

and more than a bit untrue — being that it’s missing the other half of the tale.

Sure, people didn’t lock doors, and there was no crime — at least, no crime that wasn’t commissioned by John himself. He’d bought the police, he’d shaken down local store owners for money on a regular basis, and he ran the racket for so long that the people actually began to see this as a good thing. As if he’d had their best interests at heart all along.

The truth is these people were brainwashed.

This man was a criminal. He’d taken their hard-earned money by force, and “reallocated it” to where he’d seen fit. And, somehow, the people praised him for it! So naturally, as we can all see the coloration from this style of Mob-Governance, to the USA’s governing style at large, I find that viewing Government like the Mafia is an interesting and beneficial lens for us to gaze through, in an effort to better comprehend our current worldwide situations — and a swell starting point for us to begin changing our World.

There is one key difference between the two however — at least the mafia was local enough to know the needs of its people, the Federal Government on the other hand, perhaps, has grown too large to rival the mobs efficacy in this regard. But, enough with witty openings — if even I had the right to claim such a thing — this post is all about the changes that would be needed to rectify, beautify, and creatify (I know — not an actual word — I’m off the deep end…) the world at large, and even though I’m calling it, “Democracy 2.0”, these ideals, which I’ve covered in “The Great Reset” (TGR) up until this point, should in theory be applicable to any corner of the world that’s looking to make a change for the better.

Shall we do a quick recap? WE SHALL!

(Also, *fair warning*, this is likely to be a long post as I’m attempting to literally “Fix the world” and all, so if you’re the type who needs a break — this would be a swell place to take one ;-). Otherwise, go ahead and click the right-facing, charcoal-colored arrow at the bottom of this post when it appears.)

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