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    Turning the Tables

    "Hey, Mr. Deejay: Bend over and spread 'em."

    By Lois Beckett

  • City Pages

    Big Farma

    Meet the Minnesotans who receive federal subsidies for not growing anything.

    By Matt Snyders

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    Rent-a-Wreck

    We begin our countdown of New York's Ten Worst Landlords.

    By Elizabeth Dwoskin

  • Broward-Palm Beach New Times

    The Grow House Murder

    The sweet smell of ganja was a dead giveaway. So was the dead body in the freezer.

    By Gail Shepherd

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Published on May 25, 2006

We don’t get it. Ray Liotta flushed his stash of cocaine, not cotton candy, down the toilet in Goodfellas. Robert De Niro clipped an unsatisfactory lieutenant with a baseball bat to the back of the skull, not a squirt gun in the mouth, in The Untouchables. In The Godfather, Marlon Brando never guessed a guy’s weight. We prefer our mob with a little more whack-a-guy and a little less Whack-A-Mole. What’s next? Mob bake sales and canned goods drives? Listen, Johnny “Tilt-A-Whirl,” keep your Big Pussy attitude out of our big-league city.