War Room Memo

The Goose has become a palace of shame and depravity. The invasive "cut and run" mentality has apparently extended its diabolical tentacles into the hearts and minds of those we cherished more than our own blood, our bartenders. Recent events have revealed an unprecedented mean spiritedness. The intentions and implications are clear. A shunning of the regulars is being surgically executed with hubris and impunity with an end in sight. Bartender Kruzchev may be savage, treacherous and crazy, but we enjoyed his dancing and his dancing pint glass. His blow drying shtick dried up, but his rudeness didn't. After all that bourbon under the bridge however, the bridge is burning and Kruzchev smirks like Nero holding the match. His craziness has become deep and malignant and potentially contagious. In an effort to dowse the flames I called on Kulpa. I reached him at his Las Vegas suite, but he was too cranked up in an alcoholic gambling frenzy to make any sense. I had hoped to enlist some of his half-mad thugs, but I'll have to wait until Nutsy's not so strung out. So I went in the other direction and called Hornings, dreaming that he could draft a peace and love treatise to quell the inferno. He received my call but not my concerns, instead he went into a "Peterman" like dissertation about the Corporate gin he was drinking strait out of the jigger. As usual he was useless and dumber than a sick animal. Out of options I turned to Rene. Meeting him at a secret location, Goose, we talked strategy...more to come.