Monday, January 23, 2006

Can I Bring My 12" Dildo?

Once upon a time there were two young hussies hanging out with their frocks out in little ole Parma ..

They had tried Veal Parmagiana, Chicken Parmagiana, Eggplant Parmagiana -- but ne'er-before had they sampled the delicacy Coq di Parmagiana ...
They set off with broken Italian language skills and high hopes for a wild night on the tiles. After treating themselves to a bus ride courtesy of the Parmanese taxpayers -- after a stunning flag down from Little Miss Sweetie, Sala Baganza's newest ex-pat, she and Miss Olympia boarded the bus.

While walking down the main drag of Parmagiana ... LMS exclaimed "ces ces se le vision?" (wrong country, wrong language -- but who knows the Italian for this pearler). A vision of pink and blue --- a British rugby union team on tour in little ole' Parma -- with two lesbianesque butches they had pulled on the bus over. After being tagged fellow Brits and then corrected to become Americans (what the??) ... LMS had her first encounter with the man who would henceforth be knownst as "Splinter" --- think Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles! Splinter was a strappin young Pommie with more than a stadium full of tickets on himself. While we sampled the local Parma and vino (uno bianco e uno rosa) Splinter pranced around in a beige silk thong over his jeans. LMS disappointed at the lack of girth of his well displayed member, visible through the open flapped panties. Splinter informed us that had the two token lesbos not been with the team, we would have been the object of their affection. What a comforting thought!

We soon arranged to meet the Team at the local Irish Bar called suprisingly .. the Guinness Bar. Yes Yes, come all the way to Italy to go to a bloody Irish Pub.
LMS commented that Splinter was too easy a catch and she needed a greater challenge. Way way way way way too easy -- if you know what we mean. Splinter was keen for some video documentation of the night he was sure he would have with LMS -- who he said wanted it bad. He told LMS to bring anything she wanted and quote "it will all be used". As Splinter headed out of the ristorante', LMS screeched out "what about a 12 inch dildo" -- at which point many a quiet Parmanian sprung into action. Ahhh the international language of l'amore.Splinter nearly had to call the turtles in to help him with his "election" --- but Leonardo, Michaelangelo, Raphael and Donatello were too drunk to make it back in and had well and truly out-stayed there welcome at the ristorante.

Ever the 'au pair' --- LMS had soon hooked herself a prospective part time employee in Cristiano- a pleasingly hot young daddy out for a cafe with his Georgia-Belle-look-a-like daughter (Georgia is more a weak latte, this girl prefers her coffee black). Cristiano liked to speak English, and was interested in having someone teach his young figlia some Englese ... however he would first like us to go to his house, only after ten o'clock when he would be opening wine. Must be when the little cherub goes to bed. He drew us an incomprehensible map of how to get to his casa -- and set off to prepare his casa n coq for our post-ten arrival.
We hurriedly paid the bill, but chose to set off for some of Her Majesty's finest before heading to Cristiano's pad.

Of course, the Irish bar was closed by 8 -- being Irish and being a Saturday night you would think it is bad for business! So we found a pink and blue guernsey and were put on the trail of Splinter. We made a stunning entrance, drawing many a stare with our matching denim and black sweater ensemble -- a far cry from the tracksuit worn on arrival at Forster-Tuncurry RSL many a moon ago. We knew straight away it was game on sista.

Having sighted some local Parmarican talent, we soon ignored Splinter and the even more inebriated TNMT. We soon stopped paying for our rosa n vodka limon -- having more than enough males around to take care of our beverages la desire. Of course there is always one token wanker in tow where ever we go -- and every time we hear the wind blow it will whisper the name Alessandro (Translated from Parmanese his name means "balding Saab driving beanie clad pot-bellied basic English speaking Mummy's boy" -- whose coq size was also questionable).
Alessandro was attracted to us like flies are to dogshit. He felt he had an enigmatic presence, we felt he was more like an annoying fissure tearing you in half. Alessandro had soon worked out that we were a "babsita" and "ganalist" -- and was talking up a dirty dirty weekend in Torino, transportation via the Saab or is that his Mum's Saab. He promised "skiing" but we taunted the 35-yr-old exclaiming that he wanted to go to Torino for "sexing" ----- "No no no, no sexing .. skiing". At the use of that famed three letter S word -- a whole new entourage gathered around us, blocking the exit when we tried to leave demanding that we stay for yet another beverage. A gallon of vodka and a massive glass of rosa -- which may or may not have been laced with rohypnol and stirred with a coq.

The new entourage included yet more 35-year-olds --- obviuosly the Parmanders are in serious denial about their aging population. There was "dirty old man with red glasses" who took a shining to Miss Olympia. Some retard looking guy. And of course the bar owner named .... Fabio (phone number to follow). Fabio also wanted to hook up in Torino, asking if he could stay with Miss Olympia in "hotelu". After a miniseconds consideration he was denied access to Miss Olympia's area -- failing to have the required accrediation and looks. Alessandro still hung around -- obviuosly willing to extend his curfew for one night and risk a beating from Mamma.
Talk soon turned to dinner at ten o'clock -- what is it with the Parmites and ten o'clock??? Apparently we were to go to dinner with "dirty old man with red glasses" who had spent the last 30 minutes pointing at himself and Miss Olympia and saying sh*x. Yes he also had a minor lisp to make him even more of a catch. Can we also add that he is at least 65 in the shade. After dinner, Fabio would meet up with us at 11. But again, denied, denied, denied were the Parmagese.

We soon found Splinter's trail and headed for Bar Evolusssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssion. A happening set-up in uptown Parma. The place was pumping and the Parmi couldn't wait "for the weekend to begin". Splinter smelt LMS on arrival and promptly lifted her up and dangled her upside down in the middle of evolusssssssssssssssssssssssssion. He repeated this at random intervals. Must be something he has perfected in the sewers of London with the TMNT. LMS soon locked lips with Splinter to consumate their love for one another -- and basically pass the time. Meanwhile back at the bar, Miss Olympia the American, was talking with Scott (aka my-Australian-girlfriend-has-resecheduled-her-flight-three-times-do-you-think-she-is-coming-back) and Martin (aka random-guy-sweating-like-a-nigga-on-a-rape-charge). She had soon met a gay guy, the fag-hag that she apparently is, who was interested in a night of passion with "my-Australian-girlfriend-has-resecheduled-her-flight-three-times-do-you-think-she-is-coming-back" who he thought wanted it. "my-Australian-girlfriend-has-resecheduled-her-flight-three-times-do-you-think-she-is-coming-back" soon freaked claiming Miss Olympia was his wife -- as a decoy -- while the gay-bar-guy golden showered him with gifts of a belt and a t-shirt for his wife, Miss Olympia. Gifts that he procured in the abandoned alleyway next to evolussssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssion.

Splinter turned on himself and LMS and took off from evolusssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssion with LMS's pashmina bought for 20 Euro on the Champs Elysse. She snatched it back with all her might calling "you rat Splinter, give me my scarf back". She soon held it in her hot little hands, disappointed but thankful that she never learned why his nickname on the team was "Badger". Perhaps it was her deliberately pestering him all night asking what his name was that had been the final nail in Splinter's coffin and the cause for him running from evolussssssssssssssssssssssssssssion, the scene of crime, like an Ethopian with a McDonald's voucher.

We were considering a move to Cristiano's when from nowhere, three haloed Italian stalliano's, local Parmish boys, accosted us and yet again wanted us to drink with them. They told us to wait there ... and as they left we assumed it was ovah ... o v a h -- quicker than Shoniqua can say "negro please". However in the distance, bathed by the Parma moonlight our chariot arrived at the door and we were summonsed to the vehicle and swept away to the local discoteque --- a mysterious club located in the middle of butt-fuck-nowhere.

With no English amongst them, LMS was working overtime attempting to Parlo Italiano with our mafia friends. Our newest friends included an intoxicated man known as "Mr Regurgitation 2006", "Token Italian Hottie" and "35-year-old chaffeur aka Giacca". LMS and Miss Olympia had soon enjoyed their paid-for beverage and ditched their escorts sampling some local male cuisine dancing like two birds preparing to mate at the beginning of Spring in Virginius Park Padstow, just off Uranus. However the Australian-tag was too strong and they were attracted to the fresh young hussy-sluts (reminiscent of a young Stinky rubbing her ample lady lumps), like North and South on a magnet. Like seagulls to a chip. Like Monica Lewinski and cigars.

As LMS succumbed to the beats and danced the night away --- Miss Olympia upt the anti, heading for the carpark with "Token Italian Hottie" who spoke not a single word of English. This boy had been places ... and was ready to show Miss Olympia the local HIGH-lights. The tour soon headed to the Alfa Romeo, or rather the bonnet of the Alfa Romeo. Providing more entertainment than the can-can dancers at the Moulin Rouge in peak season. A drunken Miss Olympia and a randy "Token Italian Hottie" were soon entwined and the proceedings continued. He said only one word as he shook his head "proteczione" -- smiling and moving in like a lion on a newly birthed calf. Miss Olympia was jolted back to reality noticing a sizaeable crowd gathering nearby, launching herself from the bonnet and making her way back inside to a frolicking LMS -- who had once again ditched the boys. Exclaiming to LMS that the last souvenir she wanted to leave Parma with was a bun in the oven or genital warts. As we said this boy had been places, which may or may not have included a stopover in Bangkok or some servicing by Li Fang at 3/45 Virginius Padstow. Our escorts were however very protective of their two Australian assets. Following them everywhere persistently, like Hansel and Gretel collected breadcrumbs from the sodden forest track.

Miss Olympia was ready to go, albeit having no means of transport back to Sala Baganza. Think Kings Cross to Padstow with no public transport inbetween. When she uttered the word Taxi, there was stifled laughter echoing across the surrounding meadows. Even taxis weren't stupid enough to come out to this Texan whorehouse. LMS was fighting off a scathing attack from Giacca (Italian for jacket, and the only word he used the whole night) who was irate that she had lost his jacket. He manhandled Miss Olympia, forcing her to go around the club with him to look for his crappy cardigan. He soon found it and tha posse moved to the street again.

The aforementioned famed Alfa Romeo pulled up to the door, like a limousine full of coked up celebrities at the Oscars. After a mass debate, LMS and Miss Olympia decided to risk the trip home. Actually it was only Miss Olympia who had hesistations, courtesy of "Mr Regurgitation 2006" who had pummelled her back with his Italian breadstick, while he bacio-ed her neck with his fresh rancid vomit breath. Hoping for some men-ag-e-tois with Miss Olympia and the "Token Italian Hottie".

Token Italian Hottie started to caress Miss Olympia from the front seat, while LMS tried to find the Italian within to tell him that Miss Olympia didn't want his raw spicy Italian sausage within. You have to give him credit for his persistence. Despite our around the world trip home, where we drove through many abandoned towns that would be the perfect spot for rape and pillage, we made it. Mr Regurgitation 2006 was soon dropped off, much to Miss Olympia's delight. And then there were four.

Finding Sala Baganza for LMS and Miss Olympia is as difficulty as finding a coq with sizeable girth on Splinter. Nigh impossible. But Adonis was looking down on us and shone a bright light on the casa. LMS stormed from the car and proceeded to run down the street, looking back to ensure we weren't followed. Alas, we were not and started cursing that we had assumed the worst of these decent human beings living on this mudball called Earth. Just three more of God's precious children making their way in this crazy world.

Final stats for the evening, Little Miss Sweetie and Miss Olympia's debut night out in Parma.

Pashes: 2 (two separate counterparts)
Phone Numbers: Myriads
Free Drinks: Too Many
Wankers: Alessandro
Free Transportation (gratis transportasion): Unlimited
Displays of hussy-slutness -- immeasurable, unlike some of the local talent discovered

In conclusion, we have discovered that there is something about the Coq di Parmigiana ... it is fruitful and plentiful, and best served hard and on the bonnet of an Alfa Romeo.
Stay tuned for the next chapter of the new mini-series : Lil ye Ole Parma.

Love Always,
Little Miss Sweetie and Miss Olympia.

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