Thursday, August 31, 2017

Reminder

Listen, if I'm not ranting about something here, make sure you visit me at my other place:

Underemployed Is the New Organic

Plenty to love there.

Ciao!

Connie


Monday, July 31, 2017

Anthony, We Hardly Knew Ya

Dear Anthony,

I told you to stop shooting your mouth off, and now look where it got you.  Fired by a guy who puts ketchup on a steak.  And his Irish general friend.  If it makes you feel any better, your worst meal was better than anything they ever put in their mouths.

I'm sorry you got fired.  You were funny.  Not like the rest of those jamokes.

Well, take a vacation.  Write a book.  I'll buy it, promise.  And if you ever need a shoulder to cry on, you know where to find me.  Actually, you don't know where to find me. 

Ask the Russians.  They probably do.

In boca al lupo and don't be a stranger.

Your fourth cousin, once removed,

Connie 




Thursday, July 27, 2017

Hey, Anthony!

Jeez, calm down!

You're quoting Joe Paterno and talking about hanging people.  One more stupid thing out of your mouth and I'll be wondering - like everybody else - what you're putting up your nose.

Take a nap or something.

Your fourth cousin, once removed,

Connie Staccato

Sunday, July 23, 2017

My Cousin Anthony

Would you believe it?  Anthony Scaramucci is my fourth cousin! 

Once removed.

Hey, Anthony!  It's me, Connie.  The last time we saw each other was at Aunt Lena's wedding and you were about six.  Congratulations, and don't get a swelled head.

I saw you on TV the other night.  Jesus, are you kidding me?  Anthony, some advice.  Stop combing your hair with a rake and put on a tie that isn't shiny!  You look like an undertaker, for chrissakes.  And stop telling everybody about all the shit you're gonna do.  That's not how Sicilians operate, in case you forgot.

And lastly, Mooch, listen to me here.  Just because you're hanging out with that big orange gagootz doesn't mean you can say stuff that isn't true.

Remember, St. Anthony can hear you.




Friday, May 26, 2017

Dear President Cafone

Dear Mr. Trump,

How's that little vay-cay working out for you?  Here's what we know so far:
  1. Your wife can't stand you.
  2. Maybe because you're a rat bastard?
  3. Your son-in-law is even creepier than you are.
  4. Your suits don't fit.  Not even close.
  5. French people make fun of you.
  6. They didn't make fun of Obama.  Just sayin'.
  7. His Holiness thinks you're a jerk.  
  8. And when I first saw your ladies at the Vatican, I thought "Who died?"
  9. You really like Saudi Arabians. 
  10. Probably because they give you (and your creepy kids) money.
  11. And shiny things.
  12. World peace?  Fugeddaboudit.
So you're in Sicily now, are you? Let me give you a list of Sicilian words you're gonna hear.  A lot.  I don't know how they're spelled, but they sound like this:

boodagots

chooch

gabbaroos

gabbados

gabbadeegots

gogoots

gooloo

jadrool

jamoke

skoochamend

stroonz

stoonahd

vafangool



They all pretty much mean the same thing.  Except for the last one.  But I think the word you're gonna hear the most is cafone.  Like, you are the EMBODIMENT of a cafone.  Take, for example, what you did to the Prime Minister of Montenegro.  Smooth move, James Bond.  The jacket flick was a nice touch. 

Seriously, chooch, in the Italian dictionary next to cafone is your picture.

Hope this helps,

Connie Staccato
Sicilian-American





(BTW, a special "grazi'!" to the American-Italian dictionary at americanitalian.net.)