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October 29, 2007

Jim: At Francissimo’s Pizzeria Emporium

“Look-a,” the waiter says past a bushy moustache as contrived as his accent. “This is-a the way we serve-a it in Italia.”

“It’s disgusting,” I tell him.

“I can-a tell you’ve-a never been-a to Europe,” he insists. “People don’t-a think this is-a disgusting over in-a Europe.”

“Now see here. Here in America, we just assume that when we order ice cream, that it’ll be frozen. Hence the word: ice.”

He shakes his head. “Okay-a. But that’ll-a cost-a you more.”

“Forget the damn ice cream. Just bring me a beer.”

The waiter sneers. “I suppose-a you want-a the beer cold, too?”

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