Modern Vespa

I was raised by two Polish parents. But, always, I had this longing for (gasp) pasta. I kept quiet about my feelings, and pretended that I liked kielbasa and stuffed cabbage. When no one was around I would sneak out to an Italian restaurant and gorge myself on fettuccine with pesto. I felt ashamed of my desires. At family dinners I would loudly proclaim that real men love cabbage while trying not to choke on my kraut. I had to close my eyes and fantasize about bowls of angel hair to get through dinner.

One day, while sneaking into yet another dingy, smoke filled Italian restaurant, a waiter saw the pain I was in and slipped me a copy of Roman Holiday and a dog-eared Vespa catalog. Huddled under the blanket that night, with a flashlight and my dvd player, I realized that I had been living a lie.

Later, without anyone knowing, I purchased a beat up old 2 stroke Vespa and drove that thing to every Italian restaurant in town. I tried to keep my secret life hidden from my family, but one day my mother picked up my back pack and out tumbled a package of parmesan and a small bottle of 2 stroke oil.

When I returned home, my parents were waiting for me, along with the local priest. The parmesan and oil were displayed on the table for all to see. They told me the life I was living was an abomination, but I was sick of it all. Tired of slipping my dinner to the dog, then sneaking out for a real meal. Tired of parking my car at a friends house while driving my scooter out of site of the neighborhood, fed up with drinking cheap beer to cover the scent of garlic. That's it. I came out to the family then and there. Yes, I am ITALIAN. I didn't choose to be this way, but its how I am. My mother cried and my father refused to speak to me. The priest took me aside and said he understood. He slipped me a photo of him proudly riding a shiny red Vespa. I knew then that my life would be ok....

Now I have to clean my monitor, I spit coke all over it.

Vespa. Italian? Shows how wrong I was, thinking they were made in Belfast.

Brilliant story, briguy

Great Post.

since I'm from Minnesota and ride a vespa, do I have to have Lutfisk on my spagetti?

As a "gay-Italian" Vespa owner, I am offended by this post.

Ok, Maybe I'm not Italian

Or gay for that matter but I do own a Vespa.

Well that's not true either because my Credit Union actually owns it.

I have nothing to offer this thread then.

I'll throwi n my 2 cents for the single guys trying to pick up Italian women.

Ti Volia sensa mudandi

"You talkin' to me? You talkin' to me?"

Che dice? Perché non impara l'italiano??

So... does that mean you have a gay Italian credit union? Maybe that's what's needed to stimulate the economy...

what do you mean, you mean the way I talk? What?

Funny how? What's funny about it?

You mean, let me understand this cause, ya know maybe it's me, I'm a little fucked up maybe, but I'm funny how, I mean funny like I'm a clown, I amuse you? I make you laugh, I'm here to fuckin' amuse you? What do you mean funny, funny how? How am I funny?

Why is people making a mistake a problem for anyone except the people making the error? Are the being malicious? More likely they are just showing their ignorance.

Would people think you're Japanese if they were to see you ride a Honda?

Sorry but it sounds like people are looking for a reason to become outraged by someone else's behavior. Let's move on to other, more pressing problems.

well, OF COURSE the priest would be ok with it

If there is two stroke oil that smells like strawberries, I want some that smells like garlic for my Vespa.