The White Wizard (1103 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: The_Malleys
Rating: 1 on 26 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Axolotl is sunburnt (View user info) at 2006-07-15 16:02:52 EDT
I GET MY DRIVING PERMIT MONDAY WOOOOOO
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"Yo, John," Virgil O'Duinen said, stepping into John Malley's Hackensack office. "I think we're getting called into a moral service. Something real proper."
"What is it?" John asked, filling out an Excel spreadsheet for smuggled AK-47s.
"The local NAACP leader in Allentown, Pennsylvania," Virgil explained, sitting down. "Lester Small. The Klan are holding a rally in the town, and Mr. Small wants it stopped. It'll be nice to take a trip out to Pennsylvania, maybe Alexa and Jeff can come along."
"Break up a KKK rally? Jesus," John muttered. "I suppose it's not unheard of. My grandfather used to break up union strikes in Newark in the 50s...sure, we could do it. Call this Small guy back and say it'll cost twenty thousand straight up, and another ten thousand for damage insurance."
"You got it, tough guy," Virgil said, standing up to leave. Miles away and across the Meadowlands in Kearny, New Jersey, Carmine Galantro and Paul Ciceri were hearing the pleas of Christian Delcordero and PJ Porcelli. They were inside the family compound, Thanksgiving evening, the murder of Vinnie Delvecchio fresh in their minds.
"Michael Brecher is a crook," Porcelli begged. "And John Malley is protecting him, I know he is. Give us permission to take out Brecher as blood repayment for Delvecchio, for God's sake, godfather!"
"I don't think we need any more problems with the Sullivan family," Carmine mused. "Especially not over the death of someone who is known to have abused children in the past. Dimiglio has said nothing on this?"
"Dimiglio forbids us to go after Brecher," Delcordero said with a twinge of betrayal in his voice. "That's why we turned to you."
"Michael Brecher is a good man," Paul Ciceri stated simply. "Going after him would deprive our families of a skilled negotiator. It doesn't matter how close you two were to Delvecchio, the child molester's body is not worth starting a war over."
"Agreed," Carmine said. "Stay away from Brecher. I want a lack of open hostility, and no violence whatsoever. Leave him and his family alone."
"Yes, godfather," Porcelli and Delcordero muttered insidiously, bitterly retreating from the conference room.
Carmine Galantro groaned and said, "Go, Paul. Your family awaits you. I will go to mine as well...enjoy Thanksgiving."
"And you, godfather," Paul replied curtly.
* * *
John Malley's black Lexus pulled off the Route 78 exit for Allentown in the evening, the day after Thanksgiving 2005. Virgil O'Duinen was playing with the slide of his gun in the passenger seat, and Don McMichael stared out the backseat window onto the Pennsylvania farmland. Seventeen-year-old Alexa Malley and her boyfriend Jeff Nolan were squeezed in the back seat next to the burly mobster.
"Liberty and Fifth," Virgil grunted, his arms folded. "Are we cracking the redneck skulls, and the colored skulls both?"
"We're not cracking any skulls," John said in annoyance. "But if you have to, remember who's paying us to do this. We're trying to get the Klan out."
"So we're being selective in our skull-cracking," Virgil said, backing off. "Just needed that cleared up."
"Will I be going with you?" Jeff Nolan asked as John drove through Allentown's streets, drawing closer to the protests. John parked his car on 1st Street, close enough to the protestors to hear the commotion and cries.
"Siddown, Junior," Don McMichael said, placing a hand on Jeff's shoulder as he got out of the car. "You're sticking right here, next to me. Too dangerous out there."
"Let's go," John said, checking his jacket for his .45 ACP. "Keep your goddamn heads up." The group of five made their way down the dirty sidewalk, the three mobsters at the front of the pack, strutting with utter confidence. As they turned down onto Liberty Street, the protest came into view.
About two dozen white-robed figures were congregated a short way down, carrying indistinct banners emblazoned with slogans and swastikas. Lining the ghostly parade was a mostly black crowd, jeering at the Klansmen in the cold Pennsylvania air.
"Heil Hitler! Heil Hitler!" a group of youths called out, giving the white-robed men a mocking Nazi salute and laughing. Toward the front of the Klan, the protest seemed to be getting violent.
"John Malley! Mr. Malley!" someone called out. Virgil and Donald stood back to let John find his contact, Lester Small, the leader of the black community of Allentown. Lester Small was a tall, bearded black man, middle-aged and well-dressed, and looked haggard and stressed.
"Glad you're here," Lester said, quickly shaking John's hand. "Their wizard, their leader...he's the one with the sword. He's toward the back of the pack—just get him to leave before anyone gets hurt."
"You got it, Les," John said with an air of professionalism. "Virgil, you got this covered."
"With pleasure," Virgil smiled, making his way down toward a man with a ingenuine-looking sword dragging on the asphalt. "Stay here, I got this."
As he made his way through the crowds of protestors, an immensely fat woman grabbed his arm and rapidly asked, "Hey, you know where Liberty Park's at?"
"What do I look like, a fucking road map?" Virgil snapped, pointing his fingers like a gun. "Lady, get a fucking crystal ball or talk to someone who gives a fuck."
The large woman looked outraged for a second, and then spat, "Suck mad cocks, faggot!"
"You just signed your motherfucking death warrant, you sickly cunt," Virgil growled, turning on the woman, his face comically twisted into an evil smirk.
"Who's side are you on, Virgil?" John Malley said angrily, accosting Virgil. "Get the Nazi, not this lady."
"You and me ain't done yet!" the woman said. "How dare you talk to me with disrespect like that, you're old as hell!"
As John led a fuming Virgil off to the white-robed protestors, a young woman said to her boyfriend, "That was a real New Yorker there!"
"She got me mad already," Virgil hissed, stepping up to the sword-bearing Klansman. "Yo," Virgil said gruffly, pointing a gun-shaped finger in the klansman's face. "How about you take off the ghost costume and talk to me like a man. Halloween was a month ago, you fucking redneck bell-end."
"What the fuck you call me?" The klansman said, pulling down his hood. He had light sandy hair and dull green eyes, his mouth curled into a sneer.
"Stop this shit, immediately," Virgil snarled, prodding the man in the chest. "I understand you think you're accomplishing something by your little pissing contest with you and all your ghosts, but you're about to get pretty fucking hurt."
"I got my natural third amendment right! My third amendment!" the klansman persisted, shaking his finger.
From down the road, Alexa and Jeff stood with the stalwart Don McMichael, watching Virgil and John argue with the man. As the klansman turned to face John, Virgil drew a small wooden bat from his clothes and swung it brutally at the klansman's head. Alexa felt sick as the man fell to the street, John and Virgil grimly triumphant.
"Tell these redneck fucks to clear out of here," John said in his usual calm, collective manner. "It's gone on too far—Virgil!"
Virgil was standing stock-straight, his veins bulging out of his sallow skin in rage, face bright red. He was staring straight at a Klansman close by using a lighter to ignite a small American flag.
"Spineless communist scumbag—" Virgil said, his voice apoplectic with rage, striding toward the bemused klansman, the flag burning in his hands. "Was my brother wounded in Vietnam so your soulless terrorist ass could burn a flag?"
"Jesus...time to cut the trip short, kids," Don McMichael said, nodding toward the car. "Let's get back in. I have a feeling we'll need to rescue your dad and Virgil."
"Nice flag, motherfucker!" Virgil screamed, drawing his gun on the nervous flag-burner. As John Malley cried out desperately for him to stop, Virgil fired and shot the klansman in the stomach, bringing the man to the ground.
The effect was instantaneous; everyone began to scatter at the loud sound of the gunshot, both Klan and protestor alike. John grabbed Virgil's arm and forced him away from the wounded man moaning on the street.
Don McMichael skidded around the corner and sped down the street as John and Virgil fled the scene. "Get in! I'll drive for now!" Don yelled, and John dove across the hood and leaped into the passenger seat. Virgil quickly threw himself into the back seat, the gun still in his hands. The barrel was smoking, and the smell of cordite and fresh blood filled the car.
As Don McMichael pulled away, intending to flee Allentown by all means necessary, Alexa and Jeff both stared at Virgil as he replaced the gun in his shoulder holster. Alexa had been sick in cars before, but never more before this moment.
* * *
It was evening when John, Virgil, Donald, Jeff and Alexa returned to the Malley home in Ridgewood, New Jersey. There had been little of the joking and pleasant conversation on the way back like there was on the way there; John was immensely incensed with Virgil's erratic behavior, and Virgil was uncommonly quiet on the road to Jersey.
John pulled up in his driveway and shut off the car, exiting onto his lawn. The other occupants emerged from the vehicle, Virgil the quietest and most contrite of all. Ashley Malley opened the house's door and began walking down toward the drive.
"John...you know my temper..." Virgil began awkwardly. "Especially around people like that."
"Virgil, our whole purpose going there was to stop violence," John said in a low voice that made it clear he wasn't in the best of moods. "I feel like a fool in front of Lester Smalls—hello, Ashley."
Ashley took one look at John and threw her arms around him kissing him and squeezing him tightly. John could feel her softly sobbing into his shoulder, and prayed she hadn't heard about Allentown.
"John, I love you," Ashley breathed into his shoulder.
"Ash, what's wrong?" John asked, his heart rate speeding up.
"John...Willy's dead. Your brother," Ashley said hollowly.
The words rung emptily in John's head, and he pulled away from his wife. The words took effect as though they were delayed, and an image of his brother gunned down in his car began to play in his head.
"Ashley...who was it?" John said, his voice cracking.
"He hung himself in his attic."
With those few words, an ocean of pain broke in John's chest, his heart held by an iron fist. He leaned his head against his wife's and hugged her tightly, feeling Don McMichael's broad hand on his shoulder.
"He was a good man, John." Don said, matter-of-factly.
"Imagine him in heaven, John," Virgil said sadly. "Don't think of him dead, think of him...somewhere else, like."
"The coroner wants us to make the calls to people," Ashley said. "I will, John, if it's..."
"Yes," John said, closing his eyes and straining not to shed a tear. "Please, Ash..."
"Dad," Alexa said, embracing her father from behind, leaving Don, Virgil and Jeff standing together looking nervously somber. John Malley couldn't help cursing his brother in his mind, asking him why he did it. His brother was a suicide, and that fact killed John more than any other thing could.
* * *
"I miss uncle Willy," Sue-Sue said as Michael Brecher drove down Cedar Lane, nearing the school. Michael's heart palpitated, and he felt the overwhelming urge for a cigarette.
Willy Malley had a Sunday funeral, attended by only close friends and family. Monday rolled around quickly, and both Michael Brecher's children had to return to school, though they had been troubled by the concept that "Uncle Willy" had killed himself. While Joanne Brecher left the house early to drop Jennifer, the oldest, off at Immaculate Heart Academy, Michael was able to stay with Sue-Sue and drive her to Thomas Jefferson Middle School in Teaneck.
"So do I, sweetie," Michael replied, pulling up in front of the wide lawn before the school. Thomas Jefferson Middle School was two hundred yards down a long path, over a bridge spanning the Overpeck Creek. "We'll talk about it after school, okay?"
"Bye, daddy!" Sue-Sue said, stepping out of the van. "I love you!"
Michael looked out of the driver's-side window, watching his daughter descend the slope toward the school, joining up with a pack of other seventh-graders. He sighed, wondering how he would talk to her about Willy. Sue-Sue looked back up, beaming toward her dad, and in a sudden moment, her face turned to shock.
"Daddy! Watch out!"
Across the street from the car, Christian Delcordero raised a gun and fired through the passenger's-side window at Michael Brecher, PJ Porcelli watching in hungry pride from the getaway car. Four bullets burst through the windows, splattering Michael's blood onto the windshield and broken glass into his light, curled hair.
Michael Brecher looked out toward his attacker, glass covering the side of his face and his hand mangled by a bullet. Delcordero was running toward the car, aiming the gun directly at Michael's face. A scream pierced the fog surrounding Michael's shocked mind.
Slow motion moved in Michaels' brain as he raised his stigmatized hand to block Delcordero, who was leaning into the broken window and holding the gun at Michael's throat. Michael ducked down, and the gunshot exploded over his head, deafening him. His hands grasped an x-acto knife lying on the floor, and he rose quickly, blade in hand.
"Daddy!"
Michael plunged the knife into Delcordero's neck, twisting the sharp blade and letting the blood flow over his hand. Porcelli called out something unrecognizable, and Michael slammed his foot on the pedal, dragging the blade along his attacker's throat as Delcordero slipped out of the car window. The car sped up, and Delcordero fell out, trailing blood across the seats.
Michael looked at his hand; the skin connecting his thumb and index had been shot away, but another bullet had taken a chunk out of his ear. He was lightly hurt...but alive. Michael sensed his fingers trembling from shock and felt a heavy desire for a cigarette, and passed out.
* * *
"John..." Ashley said, trying to prepare John for what she had just heard. "I have some more bad news. About Michael..."
John looked up from his writing desk where he had been trying to tabulate the cost of Willy's funeral. He took a deep breath, and said, "What?"
"I know I'm not supposed to know this or talk about it," Ashley began, slightly fearful. "But Don McMichael said...Porcelli and Delcordero went after Michael. He was shot..."
John sat up straight for a split second, and dropped his pen, a splitting headache rending his brain. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell face-first onto the desk, unconscious.
* * *
It was December 2nd. Today was the day. Pat Coyle eagerly sniffed the air in Brookdale Park, awaiting Vince Tabano to come and take him to Dimiglio's office, where he would be inducted into the family.
Pat nervously paced the grassy meadow; a baseball field was at one end, and a track at the other. He had to urinate desperately, but didn't want to miss Tabano. Letting nature get the better of him, he ran into the nearest port-o-potty by the baseball fields. In an adjacent parking lot, Vince Tabano loaded two shells into his shotgun.
The portable toilet was dark and quiet. Pat Coyle breathed out through his nose as he urinated, holding his penis with one hand. Outside the port-o-potty, Vince Tabano walked over and stood squarely in front of the light plastic door and aimed his shotgun at point blank range. Two twenty-gauge shells.
Tabano fired, and Pat screamed from inside the toilet, his back torn open by the blast. Tabano shot Pat again between the shoulder blades, his second shell bursting through the door, laying bare Pat's bloody shirt.
Pat fell face-first against the wall and sank down, his head resting on the toilet. Just for good measure, Tabano entered the port-o-potty and forced Pat's head into the toilet with his sneaker, cramming into the small hole with the butt of his shotgun.
Pat squirmed and groaned under the weight of Tabano's shoe as Tabano loaded two more shells into the shotgun. "Don't blame me, Pat," Tabano said, placing the double barrels against the back of Pat's head.
The gunshot reverberated inside the port-o-potty, temporarily deafening Tabano, so that he couldn't hear the splash of Pat's brains as they struck the pool of urine and feces below. With that, Tabano dropped the gun and walked out, closing the door and walking briskly away from the scene. After nearly four months of searching, Pat Coyle was dead.
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http://www.ubersite.com/u/axolotl/l/the_malleys
User Reviews
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-17 19:20:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
It's more of a working-class mob family, and John just likes to be part of the things his family's doing. Jeff's expressed interest in associating himself with the family in previous episodes, and since it was meant to be a relatively harmless trip, Jeff and Alexa both came along.
I'm planning out a prequel series, 8 installments long, that answers questions about John's father, and some of the characters that died earlier in the story (Paulie, Porcelli, Jackie etc)
Submitted by BobLobla (user info) at 2006-07-17 17:40:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I whole heartedly disagree with everything KindaSUCKSBALLS has said.
I don't mind dialogue being a little longer, you don't need to have every sentace be only 4 or 5 words long. These are Italians we are talking about here, they love the sound of their own voice...
Submitted by BobLobla (user info) at 2006-07-17 17:37:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I have a question(s),
Why were Johns daughter and boyfriend with them when they went to the Clan rally?
Why did John even go to the clan rally? Shouldn't a boss be somewhat separated from the violence end of his buisness??
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-17 13:53:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by whysenheimer (user info) at 2006-07-17 02:28:02 (#)
Ranking: -2
These blow.
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I haven't seen that you have the balls to post any content that we could review.
Submitted by whysenheimer (user info) at 2006-07-17 02:28:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
These blow.
Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2006-07-16 13:14:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
My favorite intersection in Allentown is at Turner & Chew Sts.
Get it? Turner & Chew?
*grumbles* local joke
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-15 23:41:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2006-07-15 23:11:10 (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-07-15 19:21:45 (#)
Ranking: -1
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-15 18:52:27 (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-07-15 18:47:29 (#)
Ranking: -1
Your dialogue is weak. \
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Care to elaborate?
It's unnatural and overly expository. Read the dialogue from the first several short paragraphs out loud and you may hear it.
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I read through it and I can't see what you mean either. Sounds natural to me.
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That's what I thought. I write the way I hear it in my mind.
Yes, the voices in my head are talking to me.
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2006-07-15 23:11:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-07-15 19:21:45 (#)
Ranking: -1
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-15 18:52:27 (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-07-15 18:47:29 (#)
Ranking: -1
Your dialogue is weak. \
------
Care to elaborate?
It's unnatural and overly expository. Read the dialogue from the first several short paragraphs out loud and you may hear it.
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I read through it and I can't see what you mean either. Sounds natural to me.
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-07-15 19:38:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Just as an example (dialogue only):
"NAACP guy in Allentown," Virgil explained, sitting down, "Lester Small. Klan's holding a rally. Small wants it stopped. Maybe Alexa and Jeff could come along. Nice this time a year."
"KKK rally? Jesus," John muttered. "Call this guy back and tell him twenty thousand straight up, and another ten for insurance."
"You got it," Virgil said, standing up to leave. Miles away and across the Meadowlands in Kearny, New Jersey, Carmine Galantro and Paul Ciceri were hearing the pleas of Christian Delcordero and PJ Porcelli. They were inside the family compound, Thanksgiving evening, the murder of Vinnie Delvecchio fresh in their minds.
"Michael Brecher's a crook," Porcelli begged. "And Malley's protecting him, I know he is. Let us take out Brecher. Payback for Delvecchio. Godfather..."
"I don't need any more problems with the Sullivans," Carmine mused. "Especially not over the death of some...child molester. Dimiglio said nothing about this?"
"Dimiglio forbade it," Delcordero said with a twinge of betrayal in his voice. "That's why we come to you."
"Michael Brecher is a good man," Paul Ciceri stated simply. "A skilled negotiator. No matter how close you two were to Delvecchio, the pervert's body is not worth starting a war over."
"Agreed," Carmine said. "Stay away from Brecher. No hostility, no violence. Leave him and his family alone."
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-07-15 19:23:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
For example, most of this dialogue could be improved quite a bit:
"The local NAACP leader in Allentown, Pennsylvania," Virgil explained, sitting down. "Lester Small. The Klan are holding a rally in the town, and Mr. Small wants it stopped. It'll be nice to take a trip out to Pennsylvania, maybe Alexa and Jeff can come along."
"Break up a KKK rally? Jesus," John muttered. "I suppose it's not unheard of. My grandfather used to break up union strikes in Newark in the 50s...sure, we could do it. Call this Small guy back and say it'll cost twenty thousand straight up, and another ten thousand for damage insurance."
"You got it, tough guy," Virgil said, standing up to leave. Miles away and across the Meadowlands in Kearny, New Jersey, Carmine Galantro and Paul Ciceri were hearing the pleas of Christian Delcordero and PJ Porcelli. They were inside the family compound, Thanksgiving evening, the murder of Vinnie Delvecchio fresh in their minds.
"Michael Brecher is a crook," Porcelli begged. "And John Malley is protecting him, I know he is. Give us permission to take out Brecher as blood repayment for Delvecchio, for God's sake, godfather!"
"I don't think we need any more problems with the Sullivan family," Carmine mused. "Especially not over the death of someone who is known to have abused children in the past. Dimiglio has said nothing on this?"
"Dimiglio forbids us to go after Brecher," Delcordero said with a twinge of betrayal in his voice. "That's why we turned to you."
"Michael Brecher is a good man," Paul Ciceri stated simply. "Going after him would deprive our families of a skilled negotiator. It doesn't matter how close you two were to Delvecchio, the child molester's body is not worth starting a war over."
"Agreed," Carmine said. "Stay away from Brecher. I want a lack of open hostility, and no violence whatsoever. Leave him and his family alone."
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-07-15 19:21:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-15 18:52:27 (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-07-15 18:47:29 (#)
Ranking: -1
Your dialogue is weak. \
------
Care to elaborate?
It's unnatural and overly expository. Read the dialogue from the first several short paragraphs out loud and you may hear it.
Submitted by awesome_face (user info) at 2006-07-15 19:18:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Hackensack
Somehow I get a flashback to your pandemic story. Wasn't some guy or town named hackensack?
Submitted by awesome_face (user info) at 2006-07-15 19:15:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
+2 for the awesome face got owned thingy.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-15 18:52:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-07-15 18:47:29 (#)
Ranking: -1
Your dialogue is weak. \
------
Care to elaborate?
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-07-15 18:47:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
Your dialogue is weak.
Submitted by kaos-king (user info) at 2006-07-15 18:42:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
The Boy King, Axolotl...
You are the Boy King.
Submitted by darko (user info) at 2006-07-15 17:53:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I'll read it later.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-15 16:23:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
And that is all I have to say about that.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-15 16:23:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
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... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... "~--------~~~"''
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-15 16:23:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
http://www.tigerpumping.com/images/female/pumper9x9/ator8_womancock_meets_mancock.jpg
http://www.totallycrap.com/media/theperfectpenis/
http://www.vore.net/MrYum/human-eating-female-s.mpg
http://hjem.get2net.dk/taste/nasty/others/txt/ggsexdog.htm
http://www.todoperverso.com/samples/extreme0612/shock04.jpg
http://www.todoperverso.com/samples/extreme0612/shock12.jpg
http://www.todoperverso.com/samples/extreme0612/shock07.jpg
http://www.portalastur.com/lallala.jpg
http://home.austin.rr.com/noire/typicalmacintoshuser.jpg
http://img229.echo.cx/img229/6431/138yr.jpg
http://img97.exs.cx/img97/9158/buttphone1mm.jpg
http://www.goatse.org/mirror
http://www.lemonparty.com
http://www.tubgirl.com
http://www.cherrycake.org
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http://www.hai2u.com
http://www.fuck.org
http://www.supermodelsfart.com
http://www.fnord.org/gummi
http://www.fiend.macker.co.uk
http://www.freewebs.com/lime_rave
http://www.phreak.org/ana/skinny
http://www.faggotry.com
http://www.smoke.rotten.com/bird
http://www.cadaver.org/head-th.jpg
http://www.students.washington.edu/geombear/forums/!beecock.jpg
http://www.geocities.com/bold_leadership_4_a_better_world
http://www.biggernigger.com
http://www.bagslap.com
http://www.meatspin.com
http://www.l33thaxor.tk/
http://www.bottleguy.com/
http://www.phreak.org/ana/skinny.html
http://www.mongface.com/
http://smoke.rotten.com/bird/
http://www.teletorrents.org/
http://poetry.rotten.com/stained-glass/
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-15 16:23:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
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Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-15 16:23:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
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Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-15 16:22:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
http://www.you.youaremyfriend.com
http://www.you.youaremighty.com
http://www.you.justgotowned.com
http://www.you.doyouhaveepilepsy.com
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-15 16:20:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
woo
Submitted by BobLobla (user info) at 2006-07-15 16:05:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
I am just on my way out the door, I will read it tonight.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-07-15 16:03:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Bart-Bart, how come I can't submit any pictures???