(Pictured. Above left: The Kraze Twins ruled the mean streets of Glasgow with a rod of iron and a plastic hoop. Right: Exhibit A. Ronnie's weapon of choice)
Today You Super Soaraway Scottish Satire! publishes the first extract from the autobiography of Reggie Kraze, who with his evil brother Ronnie, ran the mean streets of Glasgow throughout the 70's and 80's ....
Ronnie and I had always been mad on the latest craze that came out and our dear mother Violet made sure we wanted for nothing, God rest her delicate almighty soul. (She's not dead, just in a nursing home. But she's lost it, poor deluded cow)
Our dear old mum was always first in the toy shop queue when the new craze came out. Hula hoops, skateboards, scooters, we had them all and wanted for nothing. So it's perhaps appropriate that, when our reign of terror on the streets of Glasgow began, we should use as our weapons of choice, our much-beloved childhood toys.
Also, what with being called The 'Kraze' Twins is seemed natural to capitalise on this lucky bit of punnery. (I myself love word-play and, after a hard day's torture, there's nothing I love better than sitting down with a good Giles Brandreth or Richard Stilgoe book of humour. Marvelous.)
I remember well my first time interrogating a man who owed me money using a pogo-stick and a pair of clackers. He cracked almost immediately and the word got round, 'Don't mess with The Kraze Twins, they've got scooters, slinkies, all sorts, and they're not afraid to use them.'
But I think it was when Ronnie first killed a man using a space hopper that our reputation really took off. The lad in question, Mad Davie Donaldson, was the muscle in a rival gang and was a tough nut himself, God bless him. So it took Ronnie seven hours of repeated beating with the hopper to finally finish him off.
Ronnie was always such a kid at heart. I remember to this day watching him inbetween beatings, bouncing up and down on the space hopper, bits of teeth and brains all over the thing and Ronnie skidding on the blood-soaked floor as he played away, happy as a sandboy.
He was a gentle giant with the heart of a saint and I miss him very dearly ( Okay, he's not actually dead either, just in Barlinnie Special Unit. But he takes it up the shitter and I haven't spoken to him for 15 years, the evil noncing scum)
Inevitably, in the 90's with the rise of computer games, our days were numbered. Rival gangs started to flood in from Japan and Eastern Europe with the latest Nintendos and what have you.
We did try to compete for a while, but it's not nearly so easy to intimidate someone with a SuperMario Games consol, I don't care what they say. You end up resorting to mere verbal goading, 'I've heard it told on the street that you canny even make it to level three you muppet!' and so on. It's not the same and we couldn't compete.
We eventually retired and left the streets to these new lads. I found out later that these new gangs weren't actually using computer games at all. But knives, guns, enforced prostitution and protection rackets. I wish we'd thought of that.
But we had our day and it was glorious while it lasted. You can't go back, as they say. I still have all my old toys, battered and bruised and blood-stained they may be, but every one has a story to tell and I keep them for sentimental value. Plus, my little 7-year-old grandson Tyson loves to hear all grandad's old stories, the gorier the better. God bless him.