SHOOTING STARZ, OR: FOR THE LAST TIME, DON’T TRUST CHRIS GETHARD
People. Seriously. How many times do I have to tell you: TRUST NO ONE. ESPECIALLY - ESPECIALLY - CHRIS FUCKING GETHARD.
ALAN STARZINSKI was the victim of another epic double-cross tonight, the predictable outcome of believing a single word from the mouth of the late Mr. Gethard.
I’ve posted his entire email to me below, as I feel it is at home on this blog - he has flatteringly peppered it with the same grandiose caps-lock hyperbole I have come to consider a trademark of this blog. Also find embedded, in brackets, an addendum piece of reporting from Alan’s assassin:
“Early in the day, I was contacted by an assassin who shall remain unnamed. He said he needed my help. I was happy to oblige.
I wanted to test the integrity and grit of an assassin I had allied myself with previously, young Alan Starzinski. We had talked prior about how I was attending a birthday dinner in honor of Mr. Adam Frucci on Monday night.
When I told this to the unnamed assassin, he immediately said “I can’t do that on his birthday.”
When I asked Alan his view on the matter, he gleefully said he was willing to kill Mr. Frucci. On his own birthday! I mean, a man has to have a code. The world, while dark and violent, can’t be lawless. We’re assassins, not anarchists.
I knew in my heart what my birthday present for Adam Frucci would be - the murder of Alan Starzinski.
The plan SHOULD have been simple. I told Alan that Frucci’s dinner would be at Hill Country BBQ at 6:30. In reality, by 6:30, I was already eating the shit out of some pork butt at Momofuku many blocks away. I claimed that I would be the only member of the game present. Alan told me very dramatically “Be late.”
I told our unnamed friend that he would find Alan haplessly wandering around Hill Country BBQ around 6:30 PM. He should have been able to walk up, kill the man, and head home.
Unfortunately, he feared a triple cross. All afternoon I told him I had things set u and that he should call me. He dodged all but the barest forms of communication. Then he VERY FOOLISHLY AND I STILL DON’T QUITE GET IT CALLED ALAN TO SEE IF ALAN WAS ACTUALLY AT HILL COUNTRY.
I didn’t know he was gonna do that dumbass shit. So Alan called me and I denied telling him, but the dude had just told him I had told him. So I denied and the assassin, in what was a surprisingly pussy move, started texting me the word abort over and over again. I told him to chill out.
Alan and I spoke again and Alan kept saying “Are you wasting my time? Are you tugging my dick? DON’T TUG MY DICK! NO ONE TUGS MY DICK!” This was a really weird thing to keep saying, but I wasn’t rattled at all. I convinced him I wasn’t lying, and told him that Frucci had actually just texted me saying he would be a little late. This was all it took to convince Alan to stay on that block.
I called back our assassin, scolded him once more, and told him I had somehow managed to set up Alan twice in one night at Hill Country BBQ. Despite his completely BLOCKHEADED IDIOCY, I managed to get this kill for him even after he SERIOUSLY WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU THINKING CALLING THE DUDE YOU ARE ABOUT TO KILL? DUMMY.
Anyway, he ran around the block, ready to come at Alan from the other direction.
I called Alan. He said “So Frucci’s coming at -” and hung up. I knew that he either completely didn’t believe me (SMART) or that our assassin had gotten the drop on him (REALITY).
[FROM ALAN’S ASSASSIN: “I crossed the street and saw Alan hiding beside a building while looking at the front door of Hill Country. I then ran all the way around 27th street to 7th avenue and then cut through the small park that connected 27th to 26th so I could come up on Alan blind. I called Gethard and told him to immediately call Alan so his hands would be busy. Through the grey drizzle I walked towards his hiding place. Unsure of the exact layout of the buildings I brandished my weapon too early. I saw his face shift form relaxation, to recognition, to unadulterated terror. Just so everybody know, that kid is fucking fast. He took off, closed his phone, pulled his gun out, wheeled and began to shoot. He shot all his darts. I did not. I scored a shot on his leg. I told him. He kept running. I told him again. He came back towards me, totally out of ammo, and then I shot him in the chest for good measure. It was raining but there were at least two dozen people milling around, unloading trucks, making phone calls that had no idea what had happened.”]
A few minutes later, Alan called me again. He immediately said I was an asshole, to which I replied, “That’s true, but I’m good at it.”
He ranted and raved a bit more, before I interrupted - “You can’t kill a man on his birthday,” I told him. Then I paused before saying “And I’ll tug on whoever’s dick I want to.”
Sincerly,
Chris Gethard
aka The Redheaded Angel of Death
aka Pat Baer you’re next”
Farewell, Mr. Starzinski. You made it far, and killed many. But your number came up. And it had a New Jersey area code.
CHRIS GETHARD IS THE EVIL OBI-WAN KENOBI. HE HAS BECOME MORE POWERFUL THAN YOU CAN POSSIBLY IMAGINE.
4 PLAYERS REMAIN.
