The Friggin' Altos

I used to be a big-shot crime boss in the Bronx in New York. Then I moved the family to Florida and we all went insane, one way or another.

If you’re thinking I’m one of the old Dons from books and movies, forgetaboutit. I may be rough around the edges when it comes to manners, or English grammar, but I ain’t like John Gotti whose imprisonment was the death of the old Mafia. He was from the old school of whack everybody in sight. He gave the FBI the chance to catch him dead to rights with their electronic wiretaps and f------ microphones planted in stoolies’ hats. No, those days are long gone and I say good riddance.

Today whether you realize it or not, my whole empire is right there on the internet in front of your eyes if you got a PC and a brain. I got several web-sites selling bogus stocks, touting scam operations, and sending coded messages to my global companies run by real savvy accountants. I got a cell phone, a psychiatrist, a Lear Jet and a swanky office in Midtown Manhattan. I also got a Russian mob member for my lawyer, and a public relation firm on Fifth Avenue that keeps my image pure and squeaky clean.

Sure I’m Sicilian but there is only one code from the old mobs I believe in and that’s family honor. Most of the old rules have dropped by the wayside in this new age. There is no more "Omerta," or code of silence. Today every trusted low life is spilling his guts on the internet to make money, write a book, or save his skin from indictment. In that atmosphere you can’t and don’t trust anyone. However in a very important way I’m different from all the other crime bosses and this difference has caused my downfall.

You see, every member of my inner circle are family members, relatives, and every one of them is an idiot. I’m tying to run a contemporary and with-it operation, and my closest associates are operating like the three stooges. It’s one of the reasons I decided to move this family of nincompoops to Florida. I thought I could control these screw-ups better if I could find a more peaceful and slower life where I wouldn’t have to worry about them fucking up every time I turned around and where the chances for major problems could be kept to a minimum. Down among the palms and tropical breezes things would be simpler, a small operation would be doable, and I could keep this tiny group separate from my real empire. I could play Don to "The Friggin Altos," for laughs.

There were other considerations too. I had a wonderful wife named Rose and two bratty children named Carmella, the apple of my eye, and Little Vinnie, the sulking prince. The nucleus of my family operation compared to my world-wide empire were my cousins, Ricco, Sammy Six Toes, Pete and Santo. My enforcer was a kid I picked up off the streets named Frankie. Rose and I made him an honorary member of the Alto family years ago. Trotsky, my lawyer, was a childhood friend and was also included in our family.

So you see there were just ten of us compared to thousands of employees who worked in my global enterprises. So why couldn’t I keep these ten in line? It is a mystery and an enigma.