Wangstas, here's a caveat: Don't mess with the Whirl with the balls its got.
First-degree murderer? This 50,000 subscriber local crime fighting publication says it's your ass! Armed criminal action? You best stop sitting on the edge of the bed and picking your feet in Poughkeepsie (or "East Boogie") 'cause the St. Louis Metro Evening Whirl's got a hunch that you're a yella son of a bitch who better start running. (The actual home website's right here; only problem is you can't access the "more" link at the end of the Leonard Taylor story nor any of the stories "under construction" as the site is still in the process of getting established (siiiiiigh), making this site not particularly worth navigating. This 2004 Riverfront Times article and the Whirl's MySpace page will be of much better help in acquainting you with this uproariously entertaining paper).
The CKLW 20-20 News/Quahog 5 News of tabloid newsprint publications, the Whirl's police blotter-style capsule reporting continues in their 70 year-long standing tradition, still going about nine steps further--nine very risky steps--than blotters in your daily slickly pretentious, impersonal Chicago Tribunes, Washington Posts or my city-of-residence's dearly beloved Post-Dispatch. This November 2006 article from Believer (a great literature mag in print form and on-line published by McSweeney's) chronicles the Whirl's history. Original founder Benjamin Thomas ripped into St. Louis's crimelords seeking mayoral runs and teachers gettin' busy with students (the story that gave birth to the Whirl; two high school teachers brought a group of boys to the country for picnic and were alleged to have sexually assaulted them) with an explicit aplomb that would shock readers today.
These shit kickers do publish what time of day the crime happened, what color hoodie or shirt the perp was wearing and what information bystanders who witnessed the crime gave and all that, of course. But this hemorrhoid tabloid also makes damn good and sure the perps are, without an ounce of impunity, torn new rectums, verbally filleted by language hitherto confined only to Hustler and roasted like Peking duck.
And those rhymes.
From an article about the robbery of Illinois State Representative Wyvetter Younge's house (from the April 1-8 issue):
"...when the kids go inside and old folks go to sleep/ that's when real G's come out on the creep"
and, from the same article:
"We suggest that if you plan on hangin' out here after dark/that you come strapped with nothing less than 28 grams of spark."
Its publisher, Barry R. Thomas, does not and will not hold back. In the gut-bustingly hilarious tone and voice of his writing there's still undoubtedly looming an angry vigilance even the police don't understand beyond 'protocol'. The police laugh and crack wise to distract them from how cold their reality is on a daily basis else risk long psychiatric hospital stays; Thomas laughs and cracks wise because this crime shit really is comical. Readers will not be treated to objectivity; they will be brought to tears laughing with the hip-hop slang and treated to Thomas' unyieldingly profane and incendiary (but always casually written for anyone to understand) personal beef toward whom he deems St. Louis's lowest common denominators. How's 'bout a sample?
Drug Dealers Whip It Real Hard
BOULEVARD HEIGHTS--A crew of hustlas who copped mo' clips, mo' whips and mo' jewels by importing candy from Mexico have been collared by the Alphabet Boyz.
The Evening Whirl can reveal that the leaders of this crew were Ronnie A. Nelson, 22, and his mom and dad, Tammy Donty, 42, and Ronnie L. Nelson, 44. There were 13 ballas who were indicted on conspiracy and drug charges March 5.
The Nelson family was importing hundreds of pounds of weed and blow from Mexico on commercial trucks. The were in the distribution game and cut 'em wide, cut 'em long and cut 'em fat.
In addition to being a drug dealer, Donty kept track of the five-o via a radio scanner and kept a ledger to record the drug deals and all the C-Notes they were stackin'.
Even though the outfit was ridin' big by steady slangin' yayo and pot, they were sacked following a detective's investigation of low-level drug dealers. That probe led authorities to the Nelson drug ring, and they used hundreds of hours of surveillance, wiretaps and at least two federal search warrants to bring them down.
The ice cream men have been bringing in dope for at least two years in commercial trucks that cross the border and drop off their Acapulco gold in parking lots of seedy motels, shopping centers, malls and at least one casino! These were high rollers who moved more than 500 grams of cocaine and 500 or more pounds of marijuana.
The high life came to an end on Dec. 11 when the feds raided the group's stash house, an apartment in the 4600 block of Loughborough. There police came across Ronnie A. Nelson, 74 pounds of Jane, two full plastic bags of pot and two almost-empty bags with broccoli residue (Haaaaa!!!--JS) next to the toilet.
Hacks also discovered two wet cell phones and think that Nelson was trying to destroy evidence.
Right now, the feds are seeking the forfeiture of $1.5 million and property linked to the drug deals.
Murderin' mamas and blow dealin' ya steeze? / For 82 cents, you can peep felonies / 'Cause the Whirl's jackin' hard in the Capital of Crime / They gon' pop caps in the 'Lou's sewer slime. Next time you on tha road and you pass up tha 'Lou, pick up a Whirl at a 7/11 near you. Chuch.