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When we last saw my supplementary persona Antonio Tomasino Manicotti, he came to Boston on his gondola hoping to open a chain of his “Famous Finger Rolled Pizza” pizza parlors and he hit the local scene wearing his tight jeans on the prowl to find a wife. Well life had other plans for Antonio Tomasino Manicotti. The economy fell. Antonio Tomasino Manicotti didn’t even get the chance to open his first “Famous Finger Rolled Pizza” pizza parlor let alone an entire chain of them. He found a woman who called herself Lady Gaga in town for some show and thought he found love with her until later when he took her back to his “Molto Bene, Molto Bene” bachelor pad and instead of finding love he found her little pisello. A loud “Ba Fungul, Ba Fungul!” was heard echoing through the city of Boston. Antonio Tomasino Manicotti was devastated.
Where does a poor, heartbroken and traumatized illegal immigrant who speaks broken English at best go to for help? Antonio Tomasino Manicotti splashed on some of his homemade cologne and went to the local unemployment office hoping for some money from the “Pizza Stimulus Package”. To Antonio Tomasino Manicotti’s surprise no such stimulus package existed! Was this great country not as great and promising as he had hoped all this time? He sat on the curb and tried to pull out his photo of his Sicilian donkey family to feel better and his lone lambskin condom fell to the ground. He knew what he had to do. Antonio Tomasino Manicotti would become Antonio Tomasino Manicotti “Male Escorto for Hire”!
With no money to advertise he did what he did best. He preyed on American women drinking in the bars fed up with the typical douchebag American male. Only this time it wasn’t for sex or love. It was for money. He found many women. He made a lot of money. His charm, his good looks, his broken English and tight jeans were just too overwhelming for these women. It also became too overwhelming for Antonio Tomasino Manicotti. He came to America for love! To make pizza! Not for sex. Not for money. He had lost himself. He packed his most important possessions into a single “ATM” monogrammed Versace bed sheet. Tied it up with a Gucci shoestring. Slid a tree branch through it. Turned to Boston and said “Arrivederci. Arriverderci.” And left. Nobody has seen him since. A few months ago there was a report of a man who looked a lot like Antonio Tomasino Manicotti cleaning oily birds in the gulf from the BP oil spill. Some say he was smiling. Jeans still tight. He was heard vowing to return again one day. We shall see.
Until next time. Always take it there.
T
T-blawg 