Funniest Thing I've Seen In Ages!

Thanks to jabroni LeagueIslander for this one!

For those of youse unaware....I spent my deformative years in South Philly, then I graduated from those clowns to marrying a 100% dago chick from Brooklyn/Long Island.

Excuse me now while I watching it *another couple three times*.

A Brooklyn Jabroni Christmas

This is well-done, and not much of a theatrical distortion either - for those of us familiar with Brooklyn (and South Philly).

Click the hyperlink above, Morons.

All Hail Rice Balls

Or, as they're called in Italian *arancini*.

Those are my MIL's from this past Christmas. With kitchen help from two subsequent generations, she made about 80 last week.

Essentially, they are just balls of risotto, rolled in bread crumbs, that are deep fried.

There are embellishments within, of course: cheese, meat, maybe some peas, etc.

Outside of her house, I've only seen them once before - at a pizza shop on Court Street in Brooklyn. These things, when properly done, taste so great I just don't understand why they aren't more prevalent.

Having never made them for myself (yet!), I don't have a good recipe to pass on. So google sufficiently before choosing one to try. The bit of meat in the middle is probably important. I've seen some recipes with prosciutto, though my MIL uses pork; and here's one that looks like it uses sausage.

If you don't feel like trying to make them, then just find and goad some old-school Italian grandmother to do so for you. These food wackos are always looking for tiny excuse to spend a few (more) hours in the kitchen!

Typical Crazy, Italian 'Old Coots'

Here's a recent conversation I had with a couple of pre-geriatric Italian-Americans.

Names have been changed to protect both the innocent and the nocent.

CaptiousNut - So, have you seen your buddy Mario at all?

Bruno - Nah, I haven't....he bought a place in Italy and he's always over there now.

CaptiousNut - What?

Bruno - He found some of his distant family....they've adopted him. All he does is hang out with them.

Luigi - [interjecting] Does he even talk Italian?

Bruno - Nah....not a word!

CaptiousNut - Where is he, down south?

Bruno - I don't know....Mario almost killed himself!....He rides his bike all over the place.

CaptiousNut - What, did he crash or something?

Bruno - Yeah he fell near that....whaddya call it????...he fell biking the Khadafi Coast.

CaptiousNut - You mean the AMALFI COAST?

Bruno - Yeah, that's it!

Hah! Ain't nothing like an Italian-American confusing the most beautiful part of his HOMELAND with a ruthless Libyan dictator!

And, 'Does he TALK Italian?' instead of 'Does he SPEAK Italian'???

That line shouldn't have its comedic value under-assessed on account of highly competitive context.



BTW, if any of y'all ever get the chance to go to the Amalfi Coast....DO IT! The food and scenery are spectacular. Best food I've ever eaten in my life, by far.

Typical, Crazy, Italian Woman!

My buddy down in Florida is about to baptize his daughter; so his 115% Italian family is en route from South Philadelphia. He writes:

My parents are flying in this weekend. The lunacy started two weeks ago. My mother is bringing her own coffee pot, her own parmigiano cheese, and two boxes of ziti (in addition to chicken cutlets and meatballs). This is all a little crazy, but when I asked, "Why are you bringing pasta?" She says, "I already have two boxes. It doesn't make sense for you to go buy more." I say, "The boxes cost $1.29. It doesn't make sense for you to pack them and bring them here." Her reply? "Well I already have them. You don't need to spend that extra money."

Oh, when [my brother] said he needed a haircut before the baptism on Sunday...My mother pressured him to do it before they left. When he said he'd get it done in Florida, my mother replied, "Are you sure they have hair cuts places [in Orlando]?"

Hah! Ain't nothing like toting all those foodstuffs ON AN AIRPLANE - although the *coffee pot* may be the most inane insane of the lot.

If memory serves me, I think my MIL once air-transported a crockpot of chicken soup from New York all the way to Charlotte on account of someone in my family having the sniffles.

Though I freely admit that I LOVE most all Italian women (Mrs. C-Nut is also 115% dago)....I find it curious that NONE of the purebred Italians I know opted for similarly ethnic spouses!

What's the Italian word for *enough*, is it "basta" or something?

[Actually it's abbastanza....but don't try to correct to any Italian-Americans!]

For All Us Dago-Lovers!

Dago Talk

As a pubescent, I disliked Italians. Perhaps my antipathy came from watching Tony Danza. Or from my soporific Chemistry teacher who had as many vowels in his name as consonants. Or maybe it sprung from that one particular Italian classmate of mine? Who knows?

But then I moved to Philadelphia and spent a good part of my nine years there hanging out and working in South Philly. As such, I became immersed and nominally accepted into the South Philly Italian culture. The inhabitants south of Washington Ave don't consider their hood part of America, part of Pennsylvania, or even part of Philadelphia for that matter. They passionately believe that South Philly is its very own country. It suffices to say, that despite my prejudice, I currently have my share of greaseball friends.

Furthermore, my wife is 100% Italian!!! Though she's from the Brooklyn tribe and it needs to be mentioned that she is *once removed* from the borough.

Devil's Advocate - Once removed?

That means she didn't grow up in Brooklyn. Her Dad did but he graduated to Long Island where he raised his famiglia. It's just like all those social climbing 8th Streeters in SoPhilly who aspire to move to "Jerzee"!

So now my friends are Italian, my wife is Italian, of course my in-laws, and my kids are half-Italian to boot. They've bloody well got me surrounded!

Aside from access to *better food*, one side benefit, I guess, is that I can now utter "dago" with impunity - "guido" and "wop" too. (Though, empirically, I've discovered that wop is the most derogatory. Who knew?)

Enjoy the video.

The Italian Tomato Garden

An old Italian man lived alone in the country. He wanted to dig his tomato garden, but it was very hard work as the ground was hard.

His only son, Vincent, who used to help him, was in prison. The old man wrote a letter to his son and described his predicament.

Dear Vincent,

I am feeling pretty badly because it looks like I won't be able to plant my tomato garden this year. I'm just getting too old to be digging up a garden plot. I know if you were here my troubles would be over. I know you would be happy to dig the plot for me.

Love, Dad

A few days later he received a letter from his son.

Dear Dad,

Don't dig up that garden. That's where I buried the bodies.

Love, Vinnie

At 4 a.m. the next morning, FBI agents and local police arrived and dug up the entire area without finding any bodies. They apologized to the old man and left.

That same day the old man received another letter from his son.

Dear Dad,

Go ahead and plant the tomatoes now. That's the best I could do under the circumstances.

Love you, Vinnie