MORE THAN ENOUGH TO KILL ANYTHING THAT MOVES

I first heard of Donnie Paragnetti while browsing the dog fancy magazines at Chapters, interrupted in my Corgi-purchasing fantasies by two smartly dressed Italian men who were carrying expensive looking things and wearing further expensive things and purchasing relievingly less expensive drinks, but in the context of drink-buying they were still pretty ridiculous. They were openly complaining about what I would later find out to be their bosses estranged son. My journalistic sense shot up harder than a priest at a playground; news had been slow lately, and since veryone knows that smartly-dressed Italian men who wave money around like so many angered, torch bearing mennonites. I sidle up to them with the subtely and grace of a man willing to let his camera hit people in the face when he wants top write something vaguely interesting that doesn't involve old women bickering at sewing class. Anyway, I come face to face with a pair of slightly surprised and slightly more aggravated men.
"Hiya chums" I begin, before leaning back slightly and holding my breath as I'm given a stare so blusteringly furious that I'm suddenly worried about being sterile. "Do we know you?" they say, obviously having planned this from long before they ever met me.
I'd like to recount the rest of the conversation, but it was nothing special, just some insults and my requesting an interview with this young man causing too grown men so much woe.

I'll add more to this, I have ideas but need to organize them.