Nice fellows don't always stuff good

This mans owns a taxidermy service out in the country. He looks like a nice fellow; doesn't kill em' of course, just stuffs em.' Most folks here in South Philly would think he manages taxi cabs, who knows? The last time anyone here saw a mount like that was over the bar at the Fancy Brigade Mummers clubhouse on Snyder, just before the big prostitution bust. That's about seven blocks from where mob boss Angelo Bruno took a shotgun blast to the back of the head, and about five blocks from where I live.

What-a ya gonna do?

Here's what that looks like — when you tick somebody off in the Mafia. Wasn't nobody interested in gettin' stuffed here, just a pine box stuffed with lots of magazines and newspapers to read in the afterlife. Word had it it was allegedly Tony Bananas who took out the Don for allegedly trying to cut into the Philly heroin business. I'm not positive it was Tony, I'm just sayin.'

Don't want nobody knocking on my door named Tony Bananas, that's for sure. I'd have to get the misses out of the way and get to that allegedly loaded sawed off pump I have hidden where nobody can get it but me. No doubt there'd be some fireworks then and it ain't even July.

So, you may be asking yourself: What's all this stuffin' and shootin' have to do with Mr. Terry's Neighborhood?

Glad you asked, cause in Mr. Terry's Neighborhood, nobody gets stuffed. No sir. Lot's of animals walking around smellin' out things like where'd Miss Janie hide them slug bits. Take this brute here. Seems like a nice fellow. But like Tony Bananas, allegedly you don't want to cross him by cuttin' into his business. He'd take care of you real quick like.

Tell you the truth? I think I'd rather have Tony Bananas at my door than meetin' up with this bruin on a dark road — I'm just sayin,' Mr. Terry's Neighborhood or not.

Then again, you take this fellow. Lot's of the brethren in pumpkin suits out there this week trippin' over themselves tryin' to take this beauty to the taxis' fellow — and sendin' him to the 18 maidens waitin' at Cousin Bob's. Might look real nice over the bar at the Fancy Brigade clubhouse, too, since everything was confiscated when they led all the honeys to the police van.

Just goes to show you. Can't go nowhere and have a drink in piece, certainly one pun intended, no doubt!

What-a ya gonna do?

Allegedly, speakin' of course.
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The end for sure!
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