Let Me Remind You of My Italian Heritage

I don’t normally like to talk about myself but since you’re here, I’ll let you in on a little secret: I’m Italian. Part of what makes me Italian is the fact that I’m constantly reminding everybody of my Italian heritage. It’s what we in our culture do. Deal with it. Viva l’Italia!


Sure, I may look like your typical, beautiful girl from Seaford, Long Island, with long, silky brown hair and strong nails, but at the core I am a Bengal tiger waiting to pounce, and if you get in my way, it may be on you because like I said, I’m Italian, and I’ve got an Italian-sized temper. I also look spectacular in a tiger print, or any animal print in general, really. It’s my Italian complexion and immunity to the harmful effects of tanning beds. I’m Italian.


I am not just a fighter though. I am a world-class lover. It’s what I do. Should you win the love lottery, you will no doubt be wowed at my abilities in the sack. You will never know true Italian passion until you are tangled with an olive-skinned Sophia Loren on a three-day weekend. I WILL MAKE YOU CUM LIKE A ROMAN EMPRESS. I’m Italian.



Like all Italians, I am a daddy’s girl. My papa buys me Tiffany’s jewelry every chance he gets. He got me an FBI (full blooded Italian) bumper sticker for my Fiat, which he also bought me. It’s an Italian thing.


My grandmother always said to sleep with Puglia olive oil on your temples and you will wake up with a clear conscience and know who your true friends are. Her mother was born in Sicily. I always say a little prayer to the Pope and to spaghetti before I go to sleep at night, right after I clean the broken wineglass off my bathroom floor. Like I said, I can’t help my temper; I’m Italian!


Tony, the restaurant owner from Lady and the Tramp, was based off my great-great-uncle Enzo, who was a wild mushroom scavenger in Tuscany and, who many say, was an influential member of the mafia. Which also started in Italy. I talk with my hands.


Calm down? YOU calm down.