what the sicilians have done for me lately: mad props to that part of italy that isn't really italy but is still italy.

(...appropriate Janet Jackson intro music fade out)




Listen. Over the years. centuries. whatever. Sicily has offered us a veritable smorgasbord* of decadent candy**for the eyes, ears, and tummy.



Par example:


1. An exhaustive laundry list of very slippery organized criminals with funny names.

2. A really big goddamned greasy pizza sprinkled with meat. For some reason, whenever I'm even exposed to the word "sicily," I think I smell pepperoni.

3. An outspoken octogenerian with a penchant for punchlines. Running all kinds of amok in Miami with her very tall daughter, a slut, and Betty White. Wreaking geriatric havoc in syndication on Lifetime until the omega of time.

For all these three epically iconic things, Sicily, we thank thee. Grazie mille. For real.

But as much as we all love Sophia Petrillo (and, if you're anywhere near these words and do not share this sentiment called love toward dorothy's mother, you just leave now. I have no place in my heart for the likes of you.), I'm afraid she may have to scooch over a little on the couch of cool shit from the place I am about to take you. Because OH MY GOD I WANT TO SIT NEXT TO THIS GUY:

http://www.italylogue.com/food-drink/sicilian-gelato-sandwiches.html



That's right. You saw it with your own eyes who love you for exposing them to that information. And your eyes went, NO! It cannot BE. They DIDN'T. And the creamy ball of gelato peeked out from its little bread house to look back at you from the other side of the screen and was all, I AM AN ICE CREAM HOT DOG. It's like, taking one of the biggest, most controversial decisions in my life and and making it for me. I no longer HAVE to choose between the two. For now I know they can coexist in sweet, bizarre harmony. Any time of day ever. Being excited about this whole discovery has honestly worn me out today.

So I just want to say, Sicily, that while Italy, that brutish boot of a land mass, may continue to forever kick your delicious island into the mediterranean in a violent scene cemented into geography books in 5th grade backpacks the world over, while those same backpacks are worn on the dorsal sides of children who, despite having taken geography (the dumb ones twice) will grow up to have no idea where the hell you are, while sometimes I still manage to get your name confused with Cecily Tyson's (her name comes up more often than one might think) and vice versa,

Damn it. I don't even remember where i was going with this. Wait. Nope. There was a thank you a' brewin' in that mess.



Wicked thanks, Sicilian people. So wicked are these thanks that they're borderline evil.




And I heart Sophia Petrillo. The end.











* three now constitutes a smorgasbord.
**pepperoni: meat candy.