Oh Dear Jesus Christ Mr. Stein,
I’ve got some shenanigans to tell you about.
Tuesday I was fuckin around with my cousin Antonio. We were having an Italiano dinner over at Italian Craig’s, and one of them meataballas was hot af. You know what I’m saying. It was a fuckin molten lava ball. Fuckin burnt my pepper. Let me tell you how it happened.
The damn waiter Remmi comes over to the table with me and Antonio. We just like, “Remmi, bro, we’re lookin for a little chicken piccata, a little chicken parmesana, a lil cacciatore.” Remmi’s like, “I got you bro. You know I always got you over at Italian Craig’s!”
So we’re sitting there discussing the great geopoliticas of our time. Theories of free speech and the freedom of the pressa. A little Second Amendmenta. Police brutalatia.
We’re deep in the philosophia when I run out of the crispy buns. I’m like, “Damn Antonio, Remmi ain’t hooking us goombahs up like he usually does.” So I do what the Sicilians do. I raise my left hand out of a sign of discomforta.
Me and Remmi, we lock eyes across this cushy cafeteria. He gets this funky ass “What the fuck you need bro?” look on his face, and he starts over all swaggy and mafioso-like. Classic waiter.
He gets to the table, and I’m like, “YO REMMI! What up with this empty bowl of buns, bro?”
Remmi didn’t like that. Remmi doesn’t want any kidsa. In fact, Remmi hates children. He had a real bad experience as a kid and thinks kids are merda. Rumor has it he’s not allowed near kids. How would I have knowna? I’m not an oracle.
Anywaysa, Remmi’s like, “Oh wow, Giovanni, I think I hear your food is up.” He skips off to the kitchen. I look to Antonio and say, “He best bringa my crisped buns,” and at that moment Remmi returns with a plate of grub. He sets it down toward me and "accidentally" trips, nearly drops a plate on me. But he manages to catch it. Unfortunatelya, the aforementioned meataballa rolls out the plate and lands on my pantsa. This papa is a scorcher. It burns through my polyester swim trunks and gives my pepper a third-degree burna. The docta had to remove 33% percent of it. Now, it’s little. A little pepper.
And the worsta parta: I didn’t even ask for meataballas. I was waiting on my cacciatore! He did this to spite me!
I gotta sue some guidos, Mr. Stein. Dear God.
First, I gotta sue Italian Craigs. They should never have hired sucha shitty ass waita. Reptile Remmy. They also shouldn’t serve such steamy meataballas. Straight microwaved.
Nexta, I wanna sue Italian Craigs. They should have provided enough crispy buns from the geta go. Therefore I wouldn’t have had to ask for more and offended old bag, Remmi.
Finally, I wanna sue that son of a pelandrone Remmi. That bastard cost me 33% of my pepper and 100% of my once very fulfilling sexual life. I previously had encounters with bella donna's twice a day. Now, it’s zero times a day. How much is that worth to you, Steina?
Get back to me within the hour, Mr. Stein. Or else I’ll mail you photosa of my pepper.
Gratzi,
Giovanni Ferrari