How to be a Mobster guide

Have a beef with someone? Looking for the perfect gift for that bastard to find on christmas morn? Would you like to bring grief and despair to those who deserve it on the cheeriest of holidays?? Here are some gift ideas to help you out.(don’t take this literally, shop at GoodFellaHenry Official Store for gifts)

1) A dead bird, rat, or horsehead, whichever is most conveniently accessed

2) a terd fruitcake

3) a single bullet wrapped in gauze with a piano wire bow

4) a picture of yor enemy’s family x-ed out with a red marker

5) a bright and friendly holiday greeting card with flour or chalk dust inside

6) a festive red candle (filled with gun powder)

7) a dried up christmas tree on fire in your nemesis’ yard

8) a jolly holiday tophat (inner lined with duct tape)

9) a poison ivy wreath

(taken from the journal / April 2001 trip to New York)

Flying in from where I departed from, into Newark (DO NOT FLY INTO JFK OR LGU) if you don’t want to run into to anyone), brought those butterflies back, the ones I haven’t felt in a decade or so.

I forgot how brown and dreary this part of the country was in early April. Everything was surpringly smooth. The hotel, great. Went out for lunch at Michael Jordan’s Steakhouse in Grand Central Station, unbelievable. MOST importantly, I stayed out of those places I knew guys like me, or guys that knew guys I knew might be. Get lost in the crowds, int he spots of New York with so many fuckers from all over, locals look through people. Stay there you stay alive. I missed the sounds and sights of the big apple. It was beginning to feel like I was home, and I almost was. Almost. I made sure not to step out of Manhattan. Brooklyn is not an option. Never will be.

The only real scare of the 36 hours in the city came immediately following the early morning live GMA taping with the lovely Diane Sawyer. She was kind and courteous, especially to a guy like me. Her personal security personnel had escorted me FROM the hotel, which was okay. No one knew exactly when and where ot find me. But now I had to go BACK to the hotel. I had just been interviewed LIVE on national television. Interviewed in the studio. The well know studio located on Times Square, New York City. New York City, the 100 mile radius center I wasn’t even allowed by the FBI to contact via phone let alone interview on TV, less than 20 years ago.

It all was hitting me on top of the fact the my security was busy elsewhere now. I guess they thought “just make sure Hill lives to get to the studio and thtough the interview, after that, fuck him, he’s on his own”. I had a nice PA and a couple associates with me, but surely no one was packing or had an experience with this shit. As I stepped out of the side stage door, it seemed clear. Wait. There was one noticable man standing a few yards away. He opens his mouth. “Henry”. I almost shit. Then he reaches into his inner coat pocket! I was about to turn to my side (decreasing the target (me) size) and push the PA away. Then… “Henry, can i get a picture with you” This crazy looking fucker only had a disposable camera. I quickly took the picture with him, but I was shaking.. visibly shaking. I got back to my room and looked out over the city, glad to be looking over it and off the streets. Being off the streets is a good thing.