The Friggin' Altos
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The Friggin' Altos
A Crime Family Gone Crazy
Published:
4/22/2002
Format:
Perfect Bound Softcover
Pages:
264
Size:
5x8
ISBN:
978-0-75967-249-9
Print Type:
B/W

The Friggin’ Altos are who The Sopranos, would be if they could never get anything done or anybody whacked. Their inept gang, led by Vinnie Alto, who is trying to keep up with the new information age while holding on to the old ways of a mafia crime family, gets into hilarious situations every time they attempt to follow Vinnie’s orders.

Vinnie has a lot to put up with: a partner who has given his cooked books to the Feds, his alcoholic mother who keeps driving her Lexus through Bloomingdale’s window, a seventeen year old daughter who is hot for his enforcer Frankie, and a nineteen year old son, Vinnie Jr. who is a snot nosed punk who thinks he should get a pass on school and working because of his father’s money.

Vinnie has a psychiatrist, a cell phone and a loving but long suffering wife whom his lawyer, Trotsky, is trying to hit on. He thinks moving the whole shooting match down to Florida will help take some of the stress off him, but he only runs into more troubles from the South Florida drug lords and his old enemy, Jimmy Pecan.

No Italian worth his salt would want to have anything to do with the Friggin’ Altos. But if you love laughing you will want this gang to go on forever.

Hi, I’m Vinnie Alto. Maybe you’ve heard of me.

I used to be a big-shot crime boss in the Bronx in New York. Then I moved the family to Florida and we all went insane, one way or another.

If you’re thinking I’m one of the old Dons from books and movies, forgetaboutit. I may be rough around the edges when it comes to manners, or English grammar, but I ain’t like John Gotti whose imprisonment was the death of the old Mafia. He was from the old school of whack everybody in sight. He gave the FBI the chance to catch him dead to rights with their electronic wiretaps and f------ microphones planted in stoolies’ hats. No, those days are long gone and I say good riddance.

Today whether you realize it or not, my whole empire is right there on the internet in front of your eyes if you got a PC and a brain. I got several web-sites selling bogus stocks, touting scam operations, and sending coded messages to my global companies run by real savvy accountants. I got a cell phone, a psychiatrist, a Lear Jet and a swanky office in Midtown Manhattan. I also got a Russian mob member for my lawyer, and a public relation firm on Fifth Avenue that keeps my image pure and squeaky clean.

Sure I’m Sicilian but there is only one code from the old mobs I believe in and that’s family honor. Most of the old rules have dropped by the wayside in this new age. There is no more "Omerta," or code of silence. Today every trusted low life is spilling his guts on the internet to make money, write a book, or save his skin from indictment. In that atmosphere you can’t and don’t trust anyone. However in a very important way I’m different from all the other crime bosses and this difference has caused my downfall.

You see, every member of my inner circle are family members, relatives, and every one of them is an idiot. I’m tying to run a contemporary and with-it operation, and my closest associates are operating like the three stooges. It’s one of the reasons I decided to move this family of nincompoops to Florida. I thought I could control these screw-ups better if I could find a more peaceful and slower life where I wouldn’t have to worry about them fucking up every time I turned around and where the chances for major problems could be kept to a minimum. Down among the palms and tropical breezes things would be simpler, a small operation would be doable, and I could keep this tiny group separate from my real empire. I could play Don to "The Friggin Altos," for laughs.

There were other considerations too. I had a wonderful wife named Rose and two bratty children named Carmella, the apple of my eye, and Little Vinnie, the sulking prince. The nucleus of my family operation compared to my world-wide empire were my cousins, Ricco, Sammy Six Toes, Pete and Santo. My enforcer was a kid I picked up off the streets named Frankie. Rose and I made him an honorary member of the Alto family years ago. Trotsky, my lawyer, was a childhood friend and was also included in our family.

So you see there were just ten of us compared to thousands of employees who worked in my global enterprises. So why couldn’t I keep these ten in line? It is a mystery and an enigma.

LaVerne and Sam Zocco are a mother and son team who think the premise of an inept mafia crime family is hilarious and fits right in with the humor that is always a part of their Sicilian family.

Sam, in his day job, is the Director of a Substance Abuse Center called, “Here’s Help, Inc. LaVerne has come to writing late in life but has a busy life as an author and Mental Health Counselor.

The Friggin’ Altos ran as a radio program in serial form on Y-100 in South Florida. Each episode was one minute a day, five days a week. It was a popular, quirky program that built a following for this insane crime family. Written by LaVerne and promoted by Sam with all his good suggestions, the book just came naturally.

LaVerne and Sam both live in Pembroke Pines, Fla. Sam lives with his lovely wife, Kim, who is a teacher, and their children, Sal and Tayler. LaVerne has a son, younger than Sam, John L. Zocco, Jr. who troubleshoots for the post Office and lives in Hollywood, Florida.

 
 


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