Wednesday, March 3, 2004
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Wednesday, March 3, 2004 |
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An offer you can’t refuse By LINDSAY BIANCHI Hey, fuggeddaboutit! The Sopranos, the only friggin’ show on TV that tells it like it is comes back to HBO Sunday for its last season. Just thinkin’ about the old crew bitin’ the big one gets me all choked up. It’s not like any of those other mooks deserves a spinoff or nothin’, but Tony is gonna be history! Know what I’m sayin’? I mean, his wife. What’s her problem? She ain’t got enough clothes? Is the house too small? It’s not like she wasn’t going after ponytail boy. She committed adultery in her mind just as sure as I’m eatin’ my second plate of polenta and then she has to get all holier-than-thou when the Big Toe gave a leg up to that poor Russian immigrant. Man, that must have been some dame! I say, good riddance! There’s always the Bada Bing! Am I right? The broads down there are like gorgeous! Real swanky joint, too. I heard the owner of place, Silvio, used to play with Springsteen! I’m like, get outa here! That old putz? Yeah, and I used to shine Frank Sinatra’s shoes. Carmella should go back to school, get a job. Maybe she could move in with Meadow and relive her childhood or somethin’. That Meadow’s another one. Talk about spoiled rotten! Somebody ought to give her an apron and a good sock in the jaw. Give her a wake-up call. Women! What about that Janice? She’s got her grimy hooks in ol’ “Bacala.” His wife wasn’t cold five minutes and she’s over there with the sympathy card routine. Real nice. Talk about hittin’ somebody when they’re down! No wonder Tony’s skin crawls every time she enters the room. At least that old bat of a mother of his finally kicked the bucket. I don’t mean to be disrespectful or nothin’, but what a witch! That other crone, Junior, is still around though. He’s a slick one. Got out of that mess pretty good last year. Mistrial! That’ll teach John Q. Public to stick his big nose in business that’s none of his business. Junior’s pretty sharp alright. Except, what’s with those glasses? What, did Harry Caray leave ‘em in his will? I got two words for him. Contacts! Christopher’s the one though. He’s gonna get that whole family in trouble if he doesn’t straighten up and fly right. Sat on his girlfriend’s dog when he nodded off on smack. Not too cool, Christopher. He’s a real schmuck sometimes. He’s got this beautiful, gorgeous girl on his arm and he’s messin’ with the big H. They even tried to intervene the guy, but he got wise and started mouthin’ off. Total chaos breaks out. Paulie Walnuts was there and went berserk. Not too cool, Paulie. But that Adriana, mamma mia! That’s a spicy meatball! Then again, she turned state’s evidence. Not too cool, Adriana. But the kicker, the thing that just tore me up like a plate of pepperoni, was when Pie-O-My died. That horse had heart! It’s kinda spooky, but horses and the Mafioso don’t have a very good track record, no pun intended. It was that Ralphie’s fault, that no-good, toupee wearin’, stripper hittin’ babagalouch! He got his though. Where’s your head now Ralphie? Have you checked the East River? I’m tellin’ ya. That about killed Tony. The sight of that stable burning made you wanna gouge your eyes out with a carrot peeler! And, of course, he get’s nothin’ but grief from Queen Carmella. Where’s the love, Carm? Where’s the shoulder to cry on? Nowhere, that’s where! Now, Tony’s livin’ in some hotel like a bum and she’s prancin’ around in that big house like she owns the place! Makes you sick! As for Tony, Jr. What a nonentity! That one’s trouble waitin’ to happen. Can you see him runnin’ the family? His first decision would be makin’ sure everyone knew how to get to level three on Grand Theft Auto. Captain X-Box. Diaper Dan, that’s what I call him. Anyhow, I’m gettin’ all worked up here. I’m gonna have to have a lie down. I’m just tryin’ to give you fair warning here. Sunday night. HBO. Don’t be a stinatz. It’s for your own good and edimucation and like that there. Oh, yeah. I almost forgot. There’s a little show before it. Kinda dark, but a good bunch of kids. I think it’s called, get this, “Six Feet Under.” They’re runnin’ the last season all over again for you bimbos that missed it. Sit down with the wife. Have a beer. Get comfortable and watch. Maybe you’ll get lucky for once. It’s one of those touchy-feely shows. Gets the women folk every time. Now gidoutahere!
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