Tavish

You would have never said you were “happy” that a guy like Riley Tavish died, but you were. Frankly, you bought the bar another round because you were over the moon. There’s often survivors guilt that people feel when faced with the news of a rivals death, but you wish it would have happened ten years sooner.

All you could think was “fuck that guy, he stole my movie poster money. I would have bought the first release of ‘Back to the Future’ and that turtle faced cunt bashed my head in so he could buy a pack of parliaments. Keep knocking those beers back, patrons of Squealy Dan’s, Augustus Fairweather was buying the drinks tonight.

You lost the magnum opus of your poster collection and you gained some half-assed nicotine buzz? Rot in hell.

Yeah, so you fucked his wife after he got cancer. It’s not your problem a plumber couldn’t lay some pipe in his own home. You don’t care about his Unions— job or marital. You were gonna break him down piece by piece.

It’s not even a stretch to say you influenced the cancer after irradiating that work site of his. He should have known better than to accepted a job on your side of town. Maybe it hadn’t even been explicitly your side of town— but you ate at the Denny’s over here. Anyone with an ounce of common sense should respect that.

And yes, you know some people will investigate how you were able to irradiate Tavish in a middle America. And yes, you might have to explain your dark web exploits and long haul trucker expedition to Alaska to recover the core of a soviet submarine. And yes, that might seem like overkill to some. But that’s their problem.