Who is Rotten or Righteous?
(The Totally Embellished and Untrue Origin of The Rotten or Righteous Podcast)
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Scott was born on the cold streets of New York in 1899. Literally. His mom was crossing the road at Pineapple and Hicks, right in front of what is now Joe's Coffee Shop, when her water broke. Now, Scott's mama ain't the type of dame who stops what she's doing just to give birth. When little Scott decided to make his debut into the world, his ma squatted right in the middle of the road gave three good pushes, four grunts, and one enthusiastic "Hooah" and Badda-bing. When she stood up, little Scotty looked like a pink potato laying right on the cold pavement. His mom scooped the kid up and went to buy some cabbages that fell off the back of a truck from a guy named Tito "the Sprout" Gambossi.
Scott had to grow up fast or get dead quick. He knew what he wanted out of this world, to be a Wise Guy, a made man, a mobster. The only problem was every Italian mafioso just saw Scott as some chubby little kid. I cannot tell you how many purple nurples, wet willies, and pink bellies Scott received during his first decade. He was tormented relentlessly by small-time grunts like Sal "the Snot" Scaramuchissi, Lenny "the Lamb" Lorenzo, and Al Literation.
By twelve, Scott dropped out of school and hit the street full time. Still, it was hard for the young man to get a toe into the syndicate. Rumor has it that around this time, a young Al Capone and Lucky Luciano stopped to ask Scott the time. It seemed that fate was finally in Scott's favor. Unfortunately, he squandered his opportunity to be introduced to the legendary mobsters. He was so engrossed in trying to remember how to tie his shoes that he completely ignored them both.
It wasn't until 1919 when a fresh-faced Scott was given his first opportunity to make some leeway into the mob. He was approached by the soon-to-be founder of the modern Mafia Salvatore Maranzano to head up a bootlegging operation. The job was simple. Twice a week, Scott would hop in a hollowed-out truck, disguised to look like it was carrying a load of lumber, and head down the east coast to an illegal moonshine distillery in Jekyll Island, Georgia.
He was to load the truck with spirits, then turn around and head back to NYC. It was a sweet gig that would have earned Scott two things he never had but always desired: Money and Clout.
Thing is, on his first run Scott forgot what he was supposed to be doing. While Marazano was going over the plan, Scott tried to make up words for a new lyric of "Yankee Doodle." He ultimately failed to pay attention. All he knew was that he was a bootlegger, so young Scott took a chance at getting it right. He found a guy by the name of Georgie DiMartomamatopolis, who was the south-eastern distributor for Red Wings. Scott gave Georgie the $10,000 that Marazano had given him to pay the moonshiners, and DiMartomamatopolis loaded Scott's truck.
Scott drove through the night and made it back to Marazano's warehouse before noon the next day. After bragging that he didn't have any trouble, Scott showed the mob-boss his load. It was probably sheer shock that stopped Salvatore from giving Scott and a new hole in his head. Inside the truck was nothing but Red Wing Boots. Scott never thought twice about why boots would be outlawed. That was Scott's last day in New York City.
Five years later, Scott met a Gypsy woman just across the Wetzel County line in West Virginia. For five long years, Scott worked in coal mines and lumber mills, fearing that the mob would catch up with him and fit him with a pair of cement shoes. Then he met Ethelina Lovell, and his life would change forever.
He told Ms. Lovell his whole story and the old gypsy took pity on him. Hungry, she spied one of the ham sandwiches that Scott always carried in his breast pocket for emergencies. She said that she could help disguise Scott so he would never be found by the Mafia. All it would cost was one of his delicious ham sandwiches.
Scott had never faced a harder decision. How could he just give up his sandwiches, those sandwiches which he considered the love of his life at the time? Thinking quick on his feet, and using the sleight of hand that he learned on the streets he grew up in, Scott imperceptibly swapped the ham sandwich with a two-week-old tuna on rye that he kept in his back pocket.
It wasn't until the gypsy took a bite of the rancid snack that she knew she was tricked. Instead of helping Scott disappear into obscurity in the Appalachian foothills, she uttered a terrible curse. Scott would be cursed with a long life, where he would never age but would be suspended perpetually in a middle-aged man's body. He would never know the joy of growing old with the ones he loved.
Scott lived in depressing poverty for decades, until he finally met a gal that was desirable enough for him to give up his love of ham sandwiches. They settled down, had a couple of kids, and Scott found out that his true calling wasn't a big-time New York Mobster, but a small-town gospel preacher. Soon he made friends with another preacher, a naturally gifted and rising star on the preaching circuit, named Zach. The two became fast friends and eventually had the dumb idea to start "The Rotten or Righteous Podcast."