Urban Renewal
Mandarin stormed into ‘Puter’s rumpus room last evening looking for an escaped hybrid ocelot/macaque he’d engineered in one of his more whimsical moments. As ‘Puter helped the Mandarin corner and tranquilize the rabid beast, Mandarin mentioned that the remote operating systems for his orbital mind control lasers were not getting good reception in Manhattan. Apparently, the Mandarin needs a site for an 11-dimensional prism with measurements varying from 40 hectares (13 stone) to 2 liters (212 Kelvin), depending on the dimension you’re in when you’re doing the measuring, to kick up the reception to acceptable levels.
‘Puter recalled reading something on point recently in the New York Times, in which his sloth and chips was served. ‘Puter pointed out this New York Times editorial to the Mandarin, along with the fact that the New York Times is well on its way to going out of business in the near future. The Mandarin cackled evily, commenting that location was perfect, and floated off, forgetting all about his drugged ocecaque. ‘Puter could hear the Mandarin as he wafted down the hall, ranting madly about how Shelly Silver and Malcolm Smith owe him, and it’s just a matter of time before the New York Times surrenders its building to him “for the good of the people.”
Ah, eminent domain. Is there anything you can’t do?
Always right, unless he isn’t, the infallible Ghettoputer F. X. Gormogons claims to be an in-law of the Volgi, although no one really believes this.
’Puter carefully follows economic and financial trends, legal affairs, and serves as the Gormogons’ financial and legal advisor. He successfully defended us against a lawsuit from a liquor distributor worth hundreds of thousands of dollars in unpaid deliveries of bootleg shandies.
The Geep has an IQ so high it is untestable and attempts to measure it have resulted in dangerously unstable results as well as injuries to researchers. Coincidentally, he publishes intelligence tests as a side gig.
His sarcasm is so highly developed it borders on the psychic, and he is often able to insult a person even before meeting them. ’Puter enjoys hunting small game with 000 slugs and punt guns, correcting homilies in real time at Mass, and undermining unions. ’Puter likes to wear a hockey mask and carry an axe into public campgrounds, where he bursts into people’s tents and screams. As you might expect, he has been shot several times but remains completely undeterred.
He assures us that his obsessive fawning over news stories involving women teachers sleeping with young students is not Freudian in any way, although he admits something similar once happened to him. Uniquely, ’Puter is unable to speak, read, or write Russian, but he is able to sing it fluently.
Geep joined the order in the mid-1980s. He arrived at the Castle door with dozens of steamer trunks and an inarticulate hissing creature of astonishingly low intelligence he calls “Sleestak.” Ghettoputer appears to make his wishes known to Sleestak, although no one is sure whether this is the result of complex sign language, expert body posture reading, or simply beating Sleestak with a rubber mallet.
‘Puter suggests the Czar suck it.