Just in case I need a backup when I lose my mind.

Hey!  Remember that time that I had two heads?

Yeah.  Neither do I.

Timeline

I’ve recently been pondering the ramifications of a life of crime.  Sure, most of our crimes nowadays are cheeky shenanigans (I mean, who in their right mind would seriously want to steal a sidewalk?), but I suppose that a crime is still a crime.  I’m contemplating leaving the Chicago Outfit.  It’s served me well over the past 8 years.  If you are noticing a discrepancy in my dates and times, you are way too obsessed with me.  That being said, if you are a pretty lady who is obsessed with me, let me get your url!  We can totally blog the interwebs or something sometime (that’s what the ladies like to do right?).

Well anyway, for those analytical minds out there, I am going to provide you with a timeline of everything that ever happened.  To me.  Minus all of the stuff I did not include.

As you can clearly see, I have only been a member of the Chicago Outfit for 8 years.  I will now turn you all loose to debate about this in the comments.  If you want, you can create fan-fiction based on my life, but just remember, I will not canonize it unless it makes me look totally awesome.

Sidewocalypse

So I have decided to give up on my grand scheme to rule the world with only the powers of my charisma and moxy.  I’m not even entirely sure what moxy is.  I never really thought about that plan enough to make any sort of tangible goal.  Sidewalk theft, on the other hand- now that is an objective.  Ever since I was crowned the king of the Chicago Outfit in 1933 (if you are calling BS, I’ll have you know that it’s a SECRET title bequeathed to only the most gangster-icious of gangsters), I’ve thought about turning it into the Global Outfit.  We shall lay siege to the land!

That being said, we are rather unorganized at the present date.  The Outfit of the 2000′s is not nearly as focus-driven as the past.  With prohibition mostly said and done with, and ever since we murdered Cupid at the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre, we don’t have much to do these days.  I’m setting out to fix that.

As you could probably guess, this is where sidewalk theft comes into play.  You may be thinking, “Sidewalk theft? Are you insane?”  Yes, quite.  But that is unrelated.  Let me anecdotealize you a little bit.

So I was walking on this sidewalk this one time, and I thought, “Wow.  Without this thing, I would be on the street.”  I slowly began to put two and two together.  “On the street” is a common metaphor for being homeless.  Without sidewalks, everyone would be “on the street,” and thus, homeless.  Of course!  If everyone is homeless, then we can steal all of the real estate and money in all the world!

I stumbled and hit my face against the concrete in anticipation of the execution of my brilliant plan!  I probably broke like, three nose bones, at least.  I don’t know.  I’m not welcome at most hospitals ever since the incident with the bears (Grizzly AND Chicago.  That was an incredible footbear game).

I got up and brushed myself off, bleeding profusely from the nose and most of my face and upper face.  I ate some Neosporin and immediately arrived at the Outfit’s headquarters 13 hours later.  I shared my plan with the henchmen, the goombahs, the co-horts, the co-henches, the hench-horts, and the koopa-troopas.  They all thought I was a genius and crowned me the superking immediately.  Except for Gary.  I freakin’ hate that guy.

I decided there was no better time than the present to execute the plans of the present.  We set off for St. Louis, to a quaint little christian college (they have the best sidewalks, you know).  We arrived at St. Louis Christian College at 8:30, and at least three different ways from Sunday.  What is the official gear for robbing sidewalks?  The same as for robbing banks.

I am quite certain that I am going to single-handedly cause the apocalypse.  When the homeless converge, they become radioactive, or so I hear.  A small price to be crowned “Superking of Everything in the world-town, USA!”

Alligators, gangsters, and morphine, oh my!

There comes a time in every young man’s life in which he must subject himself to severe introspection.  This can be a long and difficult process.  We all have things about ourselves that we don’t really like.  Probably more in your case than in my case.

So I was introspecting one day; mind you, this was back in the 1920′s, about how much I regret not riding that alligator that one time that I had a chance.  You know what I’m talking about.  So lo and behold, this little girl comes riding by on an alligator and I said something akin to “That little girl is riding an alligator.”

She must have heard me, because she responded, “Indeed, I happen to be riding atop this alligator on the way to the market.”  It may be notable to mention that children in the 1920′s very rarely messed around.  Point illustrated; if you are riding an alligator, you are most certainly not messing around.

At this point, I was stricken with the most unquenchable jealousy which had ever wrought my being.  I tackled her off the alligator.  Like, straight up, full body, flying tackle.  It would have made any number of professional football players watching cringe just as if they had been tackled themselves.  I promptly dusted myself off and rode atop said alligator, going a blazing 2 meters per minute.  It was a short-lived victory.  Apparently, small children can run at an astonishing speed in the face of alligator theft.  I also did not realize that in the 1920′s, parents commonly taught their children the art of jiu-jitsu.

When I woke up in the hospital 13 hours later, I was greeted to the faces of some particularly gangster-y looking… faces.  One of them, the larger one, looked at me with a smirk, and introduced himself as “Alphonse.”  I responded with a colloquial “Nice to meet you Alphonse, my dear good sir, ” which sounded more accurately like “Bice to blargle gurgle gurgle blurgh cough sir,” as I was at the time unaware that the morphine had paralyzed most of my lip muscles.  Alphonse laughed a hearty laugh, and told me that he admired my ability to tackle children off of alligators, and asked if I would become part of his gang.

And that’s how I became a part of the Chicago Outfit.  And developed a crippling morphine addiction that would take years to break.