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K.k. K.k.

to catch up on the latest episodes without the ads. The Back when he was still with us, my dad used to tell the story about growing up in the Bronx in the 70s.

His parents were too poor to give him an allowance, too poor to even feed him lunch sometimes, so around about the age of

nine going on to ten, my dad used to go down to this pizza place and just stare at all the

pies until someone felt bad enough to give him a free slice.

This somehow led to him becoming a part-time delivery boy,

probably as a way of paying off all the sandwiches he ate,

but the owner of the pizza place started feeling sorry for him and giving him a few bucks for dropping off slices or whole pizzas all over the neighborhood.

I got lots of aunts and uncles and I guess my grandparents were so busy raising them that they didn't mind the pizza guy keeping an eye on dad, especially if he always came home with a few slices in his hands and a few dollars in his pocket.

My dad said that every so often the Pleeza place

would get a very special kind of visitor. This visitor didn't wait in line. He never

had to tell anyone his order and he never paid for anything either.

He was always the best dressed guy in the shop.

Everyone stepped aside to let him get to the counter and whenever he visited, two huge goons always stood guard outside after eyeing

up everyone inside. I'm sure there's a lot of you that have already put it together already,

but for those that haven't, this guy was mobbed up and not just mobbed up either

...