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Dave Fleming
12-11-2002, 12:00 AM
I don't ordinarily appreciate funny stories but just got this one from a acquaintaince on the 'net'.

Christmas Eve--Italian Style

I thought it would be a nice idea to bring a date to my parents' house on
Christmas Eve. I thought it would be interesting for a non-Italian girl to
see how an Italian family spends the holidays. I thought my mother and my
date would hit it off like partridges and pear trees. So, I was wrong. Sue
me.

I had only known Karen for three weeks when I extended the invitation. "I
know these family things can be a little weird," I told her, "but my folks
are great, and we always have a lot of fun on Christmas Eve."

"Sounds fine to me," Karen said.

I had only known my mother for 31 years when I told her I'd be bringing
Karen with me. "She's a very nice girl and she's really looking forward to
meeting all of you."

"Sounds fine to me," my mother said. And that was that. Two telephone
calls. Two sounds-fine-to-me. What more could I want?
I should point out, I suppose, that in Italian households, Christmas Eve is
the social event of the season - an Italian woman's raison d'etre. She
cleans. She cooks. She bakes. She orchestrates every minute of the entire
evening. Christmas Eve is what Italian women live for. I should also point
out, I suppose, that when it comes to the kind of women that make Italian
men go nuts, Karen is it. She doesn't clean. She doesn't cook. She
doesn't bake. And she has the largest breasts I have ever seen on a human
being. I brought her anyway.

7p.m. - we arrive.
Karen and I walk in and putter around for half an hour waiting for the other
guests to show up. During that half hour, my mother grills Karen like a
cheeseburger and determines that Karen does not clean, cook, or bake. My
father is equally observant. He pulls me into the living room and notes,
"She has the largest breasts I have ever seen on a human being."

7:30p.m. - Others arrive.
Uncle Ziti walks in with my Aunt Mafalde, assorted kids, assorted gifts.
We sit around the dining room table for antipasto, a symmetrically composed
platter of lettuce, roasted peppers, black olives, salami, prosciutto,
provolone, and anchovies. When I offer to make Karen's plate she says,
"Thank you. But none of those things, okay?" She points to the anchovies.

"You don't like anchovies?" I ask.
"I don't like fish," Karen announces to one and all as 67 other varieties
of foods-that-swim are baking, broiling and simmering in the next room.
My mother makes the sign of the cross. Things are getting uncomfortable.
Aunt Mafalde asks Karen what her family eats on Christmas Eve. Karen says,
"Knockwurst." My father, who is still staring in a daze, at Karen's chest,
temporarily snaps out of it to murmur, "Knockers?" My mother kicks him so
hard he gets a blood clot. None of this is turning out the way I'd hoped.

8:00p.m. - Second course.
The spaghetti and crab sauce is on the way to the table. Karen declines the
crab sauce and says she'll make her own with butter and ketchup. My mother
asks me to join her in the kitchen. I take my "Merry Christmas" napkin from
my lap, place it on the "Merry Christmas" tablecloth and walk into the
kitchen. "I don't want to start any trouble," my mother says calmly,
clutching a bottle of ketchup in her hands. "But if she pours this on my
pasta, I'm going to throw acid in her face." "Come on," I tell her. "It's
Christmas. Let her eat what she wants." My mother considers the situation,
then nods. As I turn to walk back into the dining room, she grabs my
shoulder. "Tell me the truth," she says, "are you serious with this tramp?"
"She's not a tramp," I reply. "And I've only known her for three weeks."
"Well, it's your life", she tells me, "but if you marry her, she'll poison
you."

8:30p.m. - More fish.
My stomach is knotted like one of those macramé plant hangers that are
always three times larger than the plants they hold. All the women get up
to clear away the spaghetti dishes, except for Karen, who, instead, lights a
cigarette. "Why don't you give them a little hand?" I politely suggest.
Karen makes a face and walks into the kitchen carrying three forks. Dear,
you don't have to do that," my mother tells her, smiling painfully. "Oh,
okay," Karen says, putting the forks on the sink. As she reenters the
dining room, a wine glass flies over her head, and smashes against the wall.
From the kitchen, my mother says, "Whoops." I vaguely remember that line
from Torch Song Trilogy. "Whoops?" No. "Whoops is when you fall down an
elevator shaft."

More fish comes out. After some goading, Karen tries a piece of scungilli,
which she describes as "slimy, like worms." My mother winces, bites her hand
and pounds her chest like one of those old women you always see in the sixth
row of a funeral home. Aunt Mafalde does the same. Karen, believing that
this is something that all Italian women do on Christmas Eve, bites her
hand and pounds her chest. My Uncle Ziti doesn't know what to make of it.
My father's dentures fall out and chew a six-inch gash in the tablecloth.

10:00p.m. - Coffee, dessert.
Espresso all around. A little anisette. A curl of lemon peel. When Karen
asks for milk, my mother finally slaps her in the face with cannoli. I
guess it had to happen sooner or later. Karen, believing that this is
something that all Italian women do on Christmas Eve, picks up cannoli and
slaps my mother with it.

"This is fun," Karen says. Fun? No. Fun is when you fall down an elevator
shaft. But, amazingly, everyone is laughing and smiling and filled with
good cheer - even my mother, who grabs me by the shoulder, laughs and says,
Get this bitch out of my house."

Sounds fine to me.

THE END

[ 12-11-2002, 12:02 AM: Message edited by: Dave Fleming ]

Wild Dingo
12-11-2002, 02:05 AM
ROFLMAO!!!! :D :D :D

aahhhh just like when I took possumpoop home to me me mum :eek: ..."what dont eat roo?" "dont eat whittchety grubs?!!!" "wont cook in a firepit?" I bet she sleeps in a humpy alright? huh she doesnt??... WHASSAMATTERYOUGIRL?... ever been slapped around the nut with a roo tail by an overwieght angry black woman twice your size and just met? :eek: ... and hence why my beautiful bride fears and dreads my family :D tongue.gif :cool:

Take it easy
Shane

Mrleft8
12-11-2002, 08:29 AM
Do I really want to know what a "humpy" is?.....

Chadd Hamilton
12-11-2002, 10:11 AM
LOL, that's a good one, Dave!

ahp
12-11-2002, 10:33 AM
Dingo, I want to verify my knowledge of Austrailian. Is a "Humpy", or sometimes a "Tin Humpy" a shelter, made out of whatever you can find?

ion barnes
12-11-2002, 12:19 PM
Well done Dave. You have the premise for the Italian version of "My Big Fat Greek Wedding". So what became of Karen?

ahp
12-11-2002, 12:23 PM
How about a picture of Karen.

Alan D. Hyde
12-11-2002, 02:24 PM
I knew a Karen once that was a dead ringer for Adrienne Barbeau. The above description would fit her.

Anyone else remember the lovely Adrienne?

Alan

Dave Fleming
12-11-2002, 02:58 PM
Be Still My Beating Heart. I well remember her in Maude and later in Escape From NY..
I wondered why the boys liked that movie? I found out when I watched on TV one evening. :D

Tar Devil
12-11-2002, 03:13 PM
Memphis Mike, I believe, has that picture, ahp.

Later,

Phil

ishmael
12-11-2002, 03:50 PM
Dave,

I never knew that about Italian men. What would Freud say? Too much fire, not enough milk, as a mewler? ;)

Good 'un. :D

Jack

ken mcclure
12-13-2002, 07:51 PM
Swamp Thing. Adrienne Barbeau (both of her) in Swamp Thing. Who needs Viagra? Go rent Swamp Thing.

Shoulda been called "Swamp ThingS".

If Karen also has bad mood swings, then Karen is actually my wife.

Dave Fleming
12-13-2002, 08:14 PM
Gentlemen of the Adrienne Barbeau Fan Club at great expense and leaving no stone unturned and, what is more important, without SWIMPAL knowing....yet. ;)

I have obtained a photo of our delight in the, Ta Dah, altogether, au natural, nude, naked, nekkid (for O&O Wannabie), sans garments, unclothed, in her natural glory etc..
But I don't think these Forums are the place to post it.
And I do not wish to incur the wrath of Scot our friendly and, I want to keep it that way, host provider.
So I am open to suggestions.
And NO O&O Wannbie, I am not sending it to you with an autograph. :D :D

[ 12-13-2002, 08:22 PM: Message edited by: Dave Fleming ]

Don Olney
12-13-2002, 08:20 PM
Adrianne Barbeau? Thanks for the memories.

http://www.collectinghollywood.com/ABarbe1.jpg

Dave Fleming
12-13-2002, 08:21 PM
Not bad but I think you will like mine better.
:D ;) :D

Don Olney
12-13-2002, 08:47 PM
Maybe so Dave, but I bet you've got a little more chest hair than Adrianne.

Gary Bergman
12-13-2002, 08:48 PM
but think of the small talk, boats,boats,boats

Dave Fleming
12-13-2002, 09:40 PM
Sausalito Gary is that 'pillow talk' you are speaking of? :D :D

Why I hardly know the lass. tongue.gif tongue.gif

Mrleft8
12-13-2002, 09:53 PM
I think Dave ought to start a new post with the Title "Naked pics of... " that way all the sensitive types can decide whether their sensibilities would be offended or not..... You DON'T HAVE to look if you don't want to after all...... tongue.gif

Dave Fleming
12-14-2002, 07:38 AM
Oh No You Don't mrleft8!
I ain'ta be roped into that hairy nest of vipers.

Though it is 'tastefully' done, IMOOP, that is.

More like art rather than what we old fahts called 'cheesecake'. If ya folla? ;)

Memphis Mike
12-14-2002, 07:51 AM
Sooooos, send it to me O&O West! :eek:

Dave Fleming
12-14-2002, 08:36 AM
O&O Wannbie, I sent it but I don't wish Sue to get PO'd at me, ya folla? :rolleyes:

Memphis Mike
12-14-2002, 08:40 AM
I got it and I must agree, your picture is
better! :D

Mike H.
12-14-2002, 10:33 AM
Consarned it, O&O West, ahm gonna take ye outside and skin yer hide! I woke up this mornin' and hadda poke Mike's eyeballs back inter their sockets, they wuz bugged out so bad! And hiz heart wuz a beatin so fast, I hadta call up them paramedic boys! Youz in fer a beatin, boy!
(see, MM isn't the only one who can talk hillbilly! ;) )

Wild Dingo
12-14-2002, 11:41 AM
Originally posted by ahp:
Dingo, I want to verify my knowledge of Austrailian. Is a "Humpy", or sometimes a "Tin Humpy" a shelter, made out of whatever you can find?Humpy is as you say... known by other names whirly whirly and others that fail to come through the mush at present...
Generally speaking a humpy is made from bowels {okay goofed the spelling meant to say... boughs... tongue.gif I think?} of trees acacias etc and the branches with leaves attached are laid over them forming a sort of cave like affair... somewhere outta the sun sorta thing... tin is good old car roofs are good bonnets are known to work shirts tend not to work too well in the wind... :rolleyes:

Shang or someone will pop forward with a photo shortly probably as my scanners dropped its bundle and gone for a sook "not gonna work nomore Im not" sorta thing... else Id post one for you.

Humpy... although the y is often left off... can mean something sexual but Im gettin on now and Ive sorta forgotten exakatakally what it meants :eek:

Take it easy
Shane

[ 12-14-2002, 11:44 AM: Message edited by: Wild Dingo ]