For those of us who can’t escape once the wedding’s over, all that “Italian heritage” stuff takes its toll: the obscene Romulus and Remus statuaries; the “douchebag yellow” Camaros; the chocolate sandwiches; the brainless Liberal Party loyalty; the spooky black-clad widows with the posture of jumbo shrimp; and the earsplitting horn-honking and traitorous foreign-flag-waving during World Cups.
Like the swallows of Capistrano with hair, Hamilton’s young males heralded spring’s arrival by taking to the streets shirtless on the first nice day of the year, dragging their Rottweilers and pit bulls along on ropes and chains and boasting to each other, “My dog’s half wolf, you know.”
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I can’t believe I forgot to mention the scary storefront men’s clubs where the guys play cards all day.
The comments are already jumping.
One Italian is complaining I wasn’t mean enough…
