Seems a group of angry Italians (I know, I know, it’s redundant) are wanting to fuhgeddabout Miller Lite beer because one of their commercials portrays them as thuglike.
In one ad, one of the actors from the Sopranos enters a liquor store and asks the owner if he needs protection. And in another, “Vincent” threateningly asks the bartender if he’s a wiseguy.
What’s this world coming to? What ever happened to just laughing at ourselves and all of our inbrededness, (Is that a word? Well, you get my drift, paiasan….), whatever our background may be!? You don’t see me belly-aching because they portray the Irish eating fish ‘n chips and sloshing down green beer on St. Patty’s Day…we’re all potatoe-eating alcoholics, and damn proud of it!
I married my Italian husband cuz he’s a greaseball wack job…and I wouldn’t want him any other way. I feel very safe on the arm of someone who measures up people by their shoe size. And that large bag of cement in our garage makes a great door stop. He won’t sit in a restaurant with his back to the door, and when those home security door salesmen come to our door, he reminds them that he already has security..and it’s in his back pocket. And when the Johovah’s Witnesses come to the door, he simply mumbles, “Beat it, kid, I hate all witnesses.”
There are all kinds of reasons he’s proud to be Italian. He has great organizational skills. He has an in-depth knowledge of pasta shapes. He’s not embarrassed to wear fur. At Christmastime, I have the best nativity scene in the neighborhood – one Mary, one Jesus, and 32 wise guys.
And, the best of all, we’re all set for retirement because he netted more than $50,000 at his first communion.
You had me at “Ciao, bella.”