I don’t know about you all, but the mere thought of all that grated parmesan goodness gets me salivating like Michael Jackson at a kindergarten open house.
And just look at that pudgy li’l Italian stereotype, forever commemorated in porecelain! So adorable! I shall call him Vittorio. Vittorio the Parmesan-burdened Wop.
Molto Buono, Vittorio!
Dude, I just took this gig for a little spending money. Don’t drag my inanimate ass into your weird little world.
And for the love of g_d, DON’T start writing about my nipples. That shit creeps me out.
“Vittorio”
From the look on his face you can just tell he’s singing bad opera and loving it.
Are those square pants by chance?
“From the look on his face you can just tell he’s singing bad opera and loving it.”
I think he looks like he’s just coming on to some righteous ‘shrooms.
…he’s just coming on to some righteous ‘shrooms.
Which means the vomitus is about forthcoming?
Which means the vomitus is about forthcoming?
Yet another Hallmark moment captured in porcelain.
Problem is, Vittorio will have to be dusted.
That’s the problem with tchotchkes. The need for dusting. That and ugliness. Two problems, dusting and ugliness…
There’s an idea. Tchotchke blogging. If you’re not afraid to show your tchotchkes in public.
“Italian” is pronounced “Eye’-tal-ian,” right?
Gail – Good one! My first thought was PCP.
Hey, what’s Saddam doing to that cheese?