Your Money Will Sleep With The Fishes

Federico Ghizzoni sounds like somebody who might wear a black fedora, carry a violin case under his arm and hand out business cards announcing he is ‘something in the Olive Oil business’. Sen. Ghizzoni is in fact the CEO of Unicredit, and part of his job description is to make sure that little nest egg you worked so hard to accumulate ends up in his lunchtime omelet.

Ghizzoni made us an offer we couldn’t refuse yesterday when he said that it is “acceptable to confiscate savings to save banks.” Anyone who disagrees will find themselves sleeping with the fishes.

He said that savings which are not guaranteed by any protection or insurance could be used in the future to contribute to the rescue of banks who fail and that uninsured deposits could be used in future bank failures and government bail outs provided global policy makers agree on a common approach to such Mafia tactics. And yes he means you lefties and Labour voters, fair shares for everyone eh? No, supporting same sex marriage does not buy you an indulgence, it just proves you are emotionally crippled as well as stupid.

OK you collectivist lefties, hands up now those of you who still think it’s a good idea being one big, happy nation all joining hands and singing Kumbaya while these kleptocratic shits steal all you’ve ever worked for?


Read more on Elitist Kleptocracy

Was The Banks’ Cypriot Smash And Grab A Rehersal
News Of The G20’s New world Order global Bank
Globalist Bankers Make Plans To Rob Your Bank Account

In 2008 Cyprus was a prosperous, happy, successful island nation. Then they joined the European Single Currency System and the Euro nazis forced them into debt slavery.
Are American Government Officials Planning Cyprus Style Savings Grab To Ease The Deficit

Boggart AbroadDaily Stirrer homeGreenteeth BitesBoggart BlogGreenteeth LabyrinthAuthorGatherBubblewsAuthorsdenScribd

Labour MPs Caught Soliciting

From The Sunday Times March 21, 2010

Revealed: Labour’s cash for influence scandal

A FORMER Labour cabinet minister, Steven Byers has boasted about how he used his government contacts to change policies in favour of businesses.

Stephen Byers, former trade and transport secretary, was secretly recorded offering himself “like a sort of cab for hire” for up £5,000 a day. He also suggested bringing Tony Blair to meet clients.

He was among several politicians recorded by an undercover reporter posing as a company executive looking to importune MPs for immoral purposes.

Other accused of walking the streets of Westminster accosting prosperous city types and asking “Are you looking for business duckie,” are Patricia Hewitt, Geoff Hoon and Margaret Moran. it is rumoured both Tony Blair and Gordon Brown have been interviewed by police on suspicion of pimping out Labour MPs but that has not been confirmed.

In the circumstances the best we can do is remind you of two previous Boggart Blog posts in which we exposed Mafia style gangsterism in the Labour Party.

The Contraltos

Labour’s Cash For Influence Scandal In The TimesThe Drug Dealer

Gordfellas, A Story From Inside The Labour Family (Is it really like Goodfellas?)

As long as I can remember I’d wanted to be a Labour MP and one day a member of da govvament, a made man. My name’s Al Carissimo and dis ain’t da story of how I became one of da Gordfellas, its da story of what happened to my buddy Jimmy Purnell how I had to get out of da organisation after that. There was only two ways out of da Labour government ya know, one you turned Queens Evidence, went into witness protection, squealed on your friends, got cosmetic surgery an’ a new identity, you disappeared. The other? One of your buddies shot you in da face.

First I should tell ya about us Gordfellas and the made men, who we was, da t’ings we done. Y’know, we always called each other good fellas. Like you said to, uh, somebody, :You’re gonna like this guy. He’s all right. He’s a good fella. He’s one of us.: You unnerstan’?

We were goodfellas. Wiseguys. But Jimmy and I could never be made because we had foreign blood. Jimmy’s mother was a Welsh nationalist and my old man was a Liberal It didn’t even matter that my mother was Labour. To become a member of a crew you’ve got to be one hundred per cent Socialist so they can trace all your relatives back to the old party. See, it’s the highest honour they can give you. It means you belong to a family and crew. It means that nobody can fuck wit’ you. It also means you could fuck around with anybody just as long as they aren’t also a made man. It’s like a license to steal. It’s a license to do anything. Gordini Bruno was a made man. He was a guy we grew up wit’, Gordoni was just a bit older than us an’ he sorta loked out for us, gave us a helping hand. But sometimes he’d kick da crap out of us. He was like our big brother. But the important thing was Gordini’s mother was Scottish Labour. As far as Jimmy was concerned with Gordini being made, it was like we were all being made. We would now have one of our own as a member.

That wasn’t da way I saw it. Sure, it was Great Gordini was up dere wit’ da made men. H would push a few opportunities our way and dat was good. But if a made man ever done you a favour, you know’d you was goin’ to pay it back ten times over. An’ if anyt’in went wrong it was never da made man who took da hit, if you know what I mean. I trusted Gordini, I mean if you didn’ trust da made men you were fucked. Or dead. It was Gordini dat got me Giovanni Prescotti as a partner.

Now the guy who got Prescotti as a partner is OK. Any problems, he goes to Prescotti. Guy gets caught cheating on expenses? He can go to Prescotti and Prescotti blows away da auditor. Trouble with the cops, media, Gordini, he can tell Precotti and Prescotti takes care of it. But now the guy’s gotta come up with Prescotti’s pies money every week no matter what. Business bad? Fuck you, you gimme my pies dat you owe. Oh, you got busted by da Revenue? Fuck you, you pay me first. Place got hit by lightning huh? Fuck you, pay me. It was no picnic being a junior minister in the department where Prescotti was Capo di Regime.

I started to get worried then, I felt I was in too deep, I mean dese guys were psychos y’know. Not Jimmy though, he didn’ worry. Jimmy loved it all, the violence, the bullying, the manipulating of official statistics.

T’ings kinda settled down a little when Gordini became head of the family, The Gordfather everyone called him. We shoulda worried because the guy before him Antonio Blairi shoulda been sleeping wit’ da fishes but the motherfucker got away, took a job as an envoy under the protection of da Casabianca family. Everyboy knew you didn’ fuck wit’ anyone who was working for the Casabiancas.

Gordini became more and more unstable under pressure. One day at Prime Ministers Question Time Georgio Osborne, head of one of the rival families challenged him.

“You telling us we’re in a good place to deal wit’ a global recession,” Osborne said, “You crazy or sompin’, we’re fucked. Our economy ain’t worth shit, we’re fucking fucked.

“You talking to me?” says Gordini, then he grabs the mace and smashes it down on Orborne’s head, whack.

“You talkin’ to me?” Whack

“You talkin’ to me?” Whack

“You talkin’ to me?” Whack
“You talkin’ to me?” Whack
“You talkin’ to me?” Whack

Even our consiglieri Pietro Mandi had trouble smoothing that one over.

It wasn’t too long after Gordini had taken over, his Consiglieri, Pietro Mandi slid up to me an Jimmy. He says, Da Gordfather wants to see youse punks. Tonite at da Primo’s House OK.

When I got there most of the made men were sitting around the cabinet table with Gordini in the place of honour. “Al, welcome,” he says, “You been a good friend to me and you never tried to fuck me over. I want you should be the Capo di Treasury. The Chancellor.”

Course I thanked Gordini like he’s done me da biggest favour. I knew he had handed me the poisoned chalice though. He had been Capo di Treasury for years before me and everybody know he skimmed a percentage of everything for his legacy projects.

When Jimmy come in, late as usual, he was full of hisself. Hey guys, I just heard on the way over Prescotti has been hit. A murmer went around the table, some mentioned Blairi, others looked at Giacomo the Scarecrow. He was justice minister and he had been promising Prescotti justice for a while. Me? I noticed Gordini was picking his fingernails and avoiding looking anyone in the eye. Prescotti was a motherfucker and everybody knew Gordoni wanted him outta da way. But while he was around Davardi Cameroni and the Torriori family kept their heads low.

T’ings started to unravel wit’ Gordini as head of the famiglia. Guys didn’ trust him. Some thought he was paranoid, others said he was not decisive. Things had gotten tough money wise too. Everybody knew it was Gordini who had messed up big time even though he tried to bluff it out when I warned we were in deep shit. I wasn’t supposed to say that but what the fuck could I say? When the price of gold went up we all remembered it was Gordini who had cashed in all our gold when the market was low. It was a tough time for me and I knew then I was being set up as a fall guy. It was me gonna get hit when the Torriori family moved against us.

I was smart enough to keep my head down. Not Jimmy though, he was always a hothead. He started talkin’ wit’ da wrong people, saying out loud how Gordini was not up to the job and how the made men should move against him and put up a leader we could trust before the Torrioris moved againt us.

It was inevitable there would be a confrontation. It came one day after Jimmy had been talking wit’ Joffre Hoonelli about how we should maybe ask Antonio Blairi to come back and move against Gordini. When Jimmy came into the cabinet room Gordini asked, “Do you like me Jimmy?”

“Sure, you’re a pistol,” says Jimmy, you’re really funny. You’re a really funny guy.

Gordini says, “Whaddya mean I’m funny?”

“You’re funny, you know. You tell a story, it’s funny, you’re a funny guy.” Jimmy laughed nervously.

Gordini looked at him, eyes cold. “What do you mean, you mean the way I talk? What? Do I talk funny?”

“It’s just, you know. You’re just funny, it’s… funny, the way you tell the story and everything.”

The air in the room had become heavy with silence. Gordini said to Jimmy “Funny how?” What’s funny about it? Do I talk in a silly voice, do I wear a red nose and silly trousers? How am I funny?”

Jimmy was my buddy so I tried to help out, “Gordini no, You got it all wrong,” I said.

“Hey Al, come on” Gordini said, “He’s a big boy, he knows what he said. What did ya say Jimmy? Funny how?

“Just, you know…”

“I know what?”

“Just… ya know… you’re funny.”

Gordini was not letting up. “You mean, let me understand this cause, ya know maybe it’s me, I’m a little fucked up maybe, but I’m funny how, I mean funny like I’m a clown, I amuse you? I make you laugh, I’m here to fuckin’ amuse you? What do you mean funny, funny how? How am I funny?

“Just… you know, Gordini,” Jimmy was sweating, “its how you tell the story, what?”

“No, no, I don’t know, you said it. How do I know? You said I’m funny. How the **** am I funny, what the **** is so funny about me? Tell me, tell me what’s funny!

Jimmy’s mouth moved for a few seconds before and sound came. When it did it was only “I – I – I …”

“Shut the fuck up ya stuttering prick,” Gordini pulled a gun and shot Jimmy in the face. Then he turned to us calm as you like and said “I always worried the guy would fold under pressure.”

After that I knew I had to get out. Soon as I left the place I was on the phone to the head of the Murdoch family. I spilled the beans about the bullying, the lying, cruelty to iPhones, everything. If I could create enough mayhem Gordini and the made men still loyal to him would be too busy dealing with it to move on me. It would give me time to sort out a place in the witness protection program, get a non executive directorship of a bank and disappear.

The Contraltos

The Contraltos (a story of the New Labour Mafia)

“Da boss gotta go,” declared big Gordini looking around the table, ” I know’d him a long time mebbe, but he’s lost his touch. He’s making the family look like a bunch of schmucks.”
“You mean you’re goin’ to …” Al Carissimo let his words hang and meaningfully drew a finger across his throat.
“Its nothing personal, its just business,” said Gordini. “Tony let what was left of da old industrial heartland go because his mind was on taking the ‘burbs off the Conservatori family. Now the Conservatori’s got a new head of da family, Cameroni, and they’re making us look like monkeys. People don’t trust us no more.”
“And Ming the Merciless is taking the inner cities,” added Al Carissimo.
“So Tony’s gotta go. Do we all agree?”
Each man nodded in turn except for Big Prezza who carried on shovelling pasta into his mouth, cheeks wobbling and blubbery lips smacking in rhythm with his mastication.
“Prezza, shaddupayaface, dis is serious business.”
“Ah’m lissenin’ Gordini. This pasta’s fookin’ grand. You gonna off Tony then?”
“Hey mebbe dis ain’t da right time to off Tony. Things is tough,” said Al Carissimo.
“Things can only get tougher. Nobody trusts Tony no more, as long as he is head of the Contralto family, Cameroni is gonna have things his own way. We gotta hit him now.” Gordini looked at the man on his right, Eduardo “the enforcer” Testicoli.
“Look I know Tony helped some of youse on da way up,” said Ed, “but he’s gotta go before things get outta hand. If we don’t hit him soon what’s to say Alphonse Gianfili or Davardi Millebenda ain’t gonna make a move against him theirselves? If dat happens we gotta war on our hands.”
“War, fook that,” Big Prezza looked up from his pasta, “we can’t afford another fookin’ war.”
Ed slapped the table angrily, “Lissen ya dumb fuck, Tony has taken out a lot of our best people; Giacomo Palea, Clara Cohorsi, sure we taken out some of his, Pietro Mandi is doin’ time in Strasbourg and Charlie Scrivatore is propping up a bridge on a new toll road but we still gotta neutralise Milfevere and Byerzi. Until we take them out Tony is still dangerous.”
“Fook all this conspiracy stuff, we’ve got to stick together. A bit of solieffindarity is all we need. An’ fook youse guys, ah’m off ” Big Prezza mopped up the last of his tomato sauce with a piece of bread and said while still chewing it, “‘ooever comes out on top, I’ll support ‘im, but I’m ‘avin nowt to do wi’ offin’ Tony.”
“Sure Big Prezza, dats unnerstannable,” said Gordini, “We know we can trust you, you get a good night’s sleep now.”
When Prezza had left Gordini said to Ed. Testicoli, “I don’t trust da fat bastard. Take care of it dat he gets a good night’s sleep.”

Tony Contralto, head of what had for many years been the most powerful Mafia family in the city of Parlimentari, poured himself a drink. Things had gone badly for him since some stoolie had fingered his consigliore Pietro Mandi for fraud and tax evasion. There had been discontent in the family too when Tony linked the family’s operations to those of the Casa Blanca clan across the water. And many thought the new non-Italian consigliore Al Campbell had his own agenda. For all that Tony was sure he could turn things around. Once the millions started to roll in from the Iraqi oil scam and the plan to neutralise the Taleban and regain control of the drug traffic paid dividends people would see he was still in control. With the help of his loyal capos Stefano Byerzi and Davardi Milfevere and information from Prezza, his spy in Gordini’s camp, he could outmanoeuvre his rival and when the time came eliminate him. People would never trust Gordini and the crime business depended on trust.
Just as Tony decided he had little to worry about, the telephone rang.
“Tony, Tony, you gotta get out of there, I think Gordini is making his move,” the familiar voice of Davardi Millibenda screamed, “I was having a drink with Stefano Byerzi when Tomaso Watsoni and three of Testicoli’s foot soldiers arrived outside my house and they ain’t paying no social …” the unmistakable sound of gunfire cut off the voice.
As soon as Tony put down the receiver it rang again. A stranger’s voice said “Giovanni Baldi got sompin he wants you to hear…” This was followed by the dry, desperate gurgling of a man being garotted.
Another call followed almost immediately to say that Alphonse Gianfili had been defenestrated.
“His wife is goin’ to be angry as hell, she’s a horny lady,” Tony said before the speaker reminded him what defenestration meant.
It was a catastrophe, Gordini was not just taking out all Tony’s loyal lieutenants but all the likely rivals to Gordini’s succession. There was one hope left. Tony picked up the telephone and dialled Big Prezza’s number. There was no reply.
Deluding himself as ever Tony danced around the room gleefully. Big Prezza was on the way to save him. When the door chimes sounded a few minutes later he gave a joyful whoop, “PREZZA!”
It was not the loyal Prezza standing outside but a delivery boy. “Package for Mr Contralto,” the boy said, holding out a badly wrapped parcel.
“What da fuck…” exclaimed Tony as he ripped open the wrapping to reveal a damp sweatshirt monogrammed with the letters JP. The sweatshirt was wrapped around something firmer. Tony lifted back the cloth and uncovered a big dead fish. The message was clear, Big Prezza would sleep with the fishes.
Tipping the boy, Tony went inside to the bureau and taking out a gun put the barrel to his head.