v.
[Spades, as he did every morning, opened the front door to pick up his morning paper. He didn't actually give two shits about what the newspaper had to say, and more often than not ended up just setting the thing on fire when he was done with it, but every gangster worth his salt at least pretended to care about reading the paper. He had an image to maintain, after all.
As he bent to pick the paper up, Slick also noticed the bottle of milk that had been delivered alongside it. He'd heard a lot about this milk. "Don't drink the milk!", people said. "Beware the milk!" Some days, Slick was almost tempted to drink it anyway, just to show these pansyass cowards how a real man dealt with obstinate dairy products: you had to show the milk who was the fucking boss. And so today Slick had picked up the bottle, examining it to see just what the hell was so scary about it. No spiders, no razorblades, just ordinary creamy white milk. Practically beggin' to be drank.
SS: >DRINK THE MILK
Fuck that noise. Are you fucking serious, hardass gangsters do not drink milk, what the fuck kind of operation do you think Spades Slick is running here. Milk was for candyass toddlers still pining for their mommies, and Spades Slick was no man's patsy. So instead of drinking the bottle, he instead chucked it at a drone paperboy passing by, striking the kid square in the head and knocking him off his bike. Chuckling, Slick went back inside.
Three hours later, this call goes out.]
Hey there, neighbors. Another great day in Mayfield, huh? Better than an out-of-work bum like me deserves, I guess. I'd better get my butt down to the employment office before I start to set a bad example for my little ray of sunshine.
Speaking of which, anybody seen Marisa? That girl's in for a whole heap of trouble, let me tell you. If I've told her to stay out of her old man's bottles once, I've told her a thousand times.
What that girl needs is some good old-fashioned discipline.
Send her my way, if you see her. Have a great day, folks.
[click.]
As he bent to pick the paper up, Slick also noticed the bottle of milk that had been delivered alongside it. He'd heard a lot about this milk. "Don't drink the milk!", people said. "Beware the milk!" Some days, Slick was almost tempted to drink it anyway, just to show these pansyass cowards how a real man dealt with obstinate dairy products: you had to show the milk who was the fucking boss. And so today Slick had picked up the bottle, examining it to see just what the hell was so scary about it. No spiders, no razorblades, just ordinary creamy white milk. Practically beggin' to be drank.
SS: >DRINK THE MILK
Fuck that noise. Are you fucking serious, hardass gangsters do not drink milk, what the fuck kind of operation do you think Spades Slick is running here. Milk was for candyass toddlers still pining for their mommies, and Spades Slick was no man's patsy. So instead of drinking the bottle, he instead chucked it at a drone paperboy passing by, striking the kid square in the head and knocking him off his bike. Chuckling, Slick went back inside.
Three hours later, this call goes out.]
Hey there, neighbors. Another great day in Mayfield, huh? Better than an out-of-work bum like me deserves, I guess. I'd better get my butt down to the employment office before I start to set a bad example for my little ray of sunshine.
Speaking of which, anybody seen Marisa? That girl's in for a whole heap of trouble, let me tell you. If I've told her to stay out of her old man's bottles once, I've told her a thousand times.
What that girl needs is some good old-fashioned discipline.
Send her my way, if you see her. Have a great day, folks.
[click.]