It's Either Your Moms or Your Sister
Like so few Americans, I’ve caught World Cup Fever. Mainly ‘cause it was the sport I played growing up. I sucked. But I played. But mostly ‘cause I really haven’t had much to do this past month. But now I’m in a pickle. Figuratively.
Italy or France? You prolly don’t care. And normally, I wouldn’t either. But I’m Italian. And I’m moving to France. It’s like choosing to root for my moms, or for my girlfriend. On a more superficial level, of course.
So. Do you cheer for heritage or stand behind your soon-to-be-fellow-countrymen? Typically, I could care less about heritage. Though I am proud of mine. As the stigma goes, Italian men have enormous genitalia. And that’s cool. I guess. If that’s your thing. After all, I’m not full-blooded. But we’re not here to poke fun of my member, are we. Should you choose otherwise, I’ll mushroom punch you.
Or, do you stand up and fightfightfight along side the French? After all, it’s my new home. I’d like to begin off on the right foot.
So herein lies the dilemma. Root for moms, and take the blood-line route, or paint my face red, white and blue or whatever the fu*k the French colors are? Like I said, I love my moms. She’s pretty much been with me since the beginning. And you can’t help but hope. But France, she’s new. And she’s hott. Like a new, shiny girlfriend who doesn’t speak English. And if you don’t show your support, chances of you getting down her pants are as good as her going into battle with you without crumbling.
On the other hand, that’s not too much of a concern if I don’t root for my moms.
Or your moms.
Or not.
Italy or France? You prolly don’t care. And normally, I wouldn’t either. But I’m Italian. And I’m moving to France. It’s like choosing to root for my moms, or for my girlfriend. On a more superficial level, of course.
So. Do you cheer for heritage or stand behind your soon-to-be-fellow-countrymen? Typically, I could care less about heritage. Though I am proud of mine. As the stigma goes, Italian men have enormous genitalia. And that’s cool. I guess. If that’s your thing. After all, I’m not full-blooded. But we’re not here to poke fun of my member, are we. Should you choose otherwise, I’ll mushroom punch you.
Or, do you stand up and fightfightfight along side the French? After all, it’s my new home. I’d like to begin off on the right foot.
So herein lies the dilemma. Root for moms, and take the blood-line route, or paint my face red, white and blue or whatever the fu*k the French colors are? Like I said, I love my moms. She’s pretty much been with me since the beginning. And you can’t help but hope. But France, she’s new. And she’s hott. Like a new, shiny girlfriend who doesn’t speak English. And if you don’t show your support, chances of you getting down her pants are as good as her going into battle with you without crumbling.
On the other hand, that’s not too much of a concern if I don’t root for my moms.
Or your moms.
Or not.
