The Angry Sicilian

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  1. Rosselli

    Rosselli New Member

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    This is a story I have been writing for the past week. It started from a short little paragraph I was instructed to write about "an affair" in my Microfiction class. I liked it so much that I decided to turn it into a full blown pulp novel. Comments and criticism are welcome.

    Chapter 1
    Death in Tenafly


    Sergio knocked on the door of the white, two-story Victorian house in Tenafly. Fucking Tenafly people, always thinking they were better than everybody else, a bunch of damn washed-out Anglos with less culture than Sergio had in his left buttock. Well, Sergio would see who was better in a minute. He heard the sound of a deadbolt clicking back. The door opened enough for him to see the round, fat face of his wife’s lover behind the safety chain. The man gasped audibly, and tried to slam the door shut, but Sergio threw the full force of his two hundred pounds into the door, snapping the chain and ripping the top hinge free. The door swung at a crazy angle, and Sergio charged into the foyer. The fat man turned to flee, but the angry Sicilian was faster, and smashed a large, calloused fist into his fleshy lower back. With a grunt, the fat man fell on his face.
    “Okay, you bastard, it’s time for you to answer for your sin!� Sergio grabbed the man by his collar and pulled him upright, leaning him against the wall.
    “Please,� the man whimpered. “Don’t hurt me! I didn’t know she was married!�
    “Fuck you!� Sergio replied coldly. He drew the Colt from his waistband, and fired. The .45 ACP bullet entered through the forehead and blew the fat man’s brain and the back of his skull against the white wall.
    “Damn, that’s messy,� Sergio remarked. He should have been nervous, but he wasn’t. He knew a Mafioso who owed him a favor, and had full confidence that the Gambino Family could take care of the whole thing.



    Chapter 2
    Favors




    Sergio remembered his last contact with the Mafia. It happened about four years ago. He was still working at the docks, and the Gambino Family of course owned the Dock Workers Union. A bagman would always come by to take his cut from the union boss, a man by the name of Joey Giannini. Joey and Sergio had always been friendly, and Sergio knew that Joey didn’t take more than he was supposed to; he always did good by the dock workers. Even though the union was under Mafia control, the workers themselves didn’t owe the Mafia anything, or vice-versa. But things changed one night.
    Sergio had just finished up a hard, long four hours of overtime, and it was now one am. He sat against a stack of crates, smoking a cigarette, when he heard voices from the other side of the crates.
    “Hey there, Joey!� the voice of a black man said. “What are you up to this late?�
    “Bug off, Elmo,� Joey’s raspy Brooklyn accent replied. “I’m doin my job, you know that. Now you boys get out of my way.�
    “Not so fast, Joey. The boys and I don’t like the way you’ve been handling us these past few weeks. You taking more of our money than you should. Some Bonanno cats came down to my pad and gave us a better offer. What do you say to that?�
    “Fuck the Bonannos, Elmo. You operate on Gambino turf. The Bonannos have no protection rights around here.�
    “Well, since we are on the street, if we choose to switch over to the Bonannos, then it will be Bonanno turf, then won’t it?�
    “Elmo,� Joey said, his voice starting to sound nervous. “You know that our people will kill you if you defect like that.�
    “Well well, hear the meatball talk big! I think maybe we should show you whose boss around here. Get ‘em, boys!� Sergio heard the sound of struggling, and edged around the corner of the crates. Four black hoods, five including Elmo, were preparing to rough Joey up good. Two held his arms while the other two stepped towards him, one armed with a baseball bat, the other with a blackjack. Sergio realized that now was the time to intervene. He slipped a set of steel knuckles over each hand, and stepped silently up behind Elmo. He threw a hard, low right to the base of the black man’s spine, rewarded by a loud crack and a strangled scream when he connected. Elmo dropped to his knees, his face twisted in agony. The hood to Sergio’s right with the baseball bat turned in surprise, and Sergio smashed him squarely in the mouth, shattering several of his teeth and knocking him to the ground. The other hood swung his blackjack, which Sergio blocked with an upraised arm. A shock of pain vibrated to his shoulder as the leather and iron smashed down. Trying to ignore the pain, he hit the man in the sternum with his left hand. The effect of the blow was like a sledgehammer, and the hood folded up and fell to the ground, groaning. While Sergio was engaged, Joey had already wrestled free of the hoods holding him. He had one around the neck while the other tried to maneuver around the human shield. Sergio jabbed twice, striking the back of the hood’s skull. He collapsed like a wet rag. Joey spun the last thug around, gripped his skull in both hands and yanked his head down while bringing his knee up. Face and knee connected with a wet crunch, and Joey dropped the man on the dock.
    “Sergio, thank God you were back there!� Joey said, wiping his forehead in relief. “Those animals were about to crack me like an egg!�
    “No problem, Joey,� Sergio said with a smile as he patted him on the shoulder. “Just one Sicilian looking out for another.�
    “Well, listen to me, Sergio, I owe you one for that. If you ever have any problems, just look for me at the Ravenite Club, and I’ll have it taken care of. We don’t forget favors like this, paisano.�
    Thus, Joey Giannini, and by extension the Gambino Family, was indebted to Sergio Bianchi. Nothing came of the fight by the dock, except for Elmo and one of the other hoods spending the rest of their lives in wheelchairs. The police who questioned them refused to accept that anyone else had anything to do with it; in their experience five black hoods could damage each other quite fine without any help, thank you. Sergio never really had any reason to call in his favor after that. At least, not until now.



    Chapter 3
    Coming Home




    Sergio drove his battered Ford pickup from the house in Tenafly to his own residence in Hasbrouck Heights, playing in his head how he would handle his wife, who was home now. He wanted to go with his original plan to beat her, but he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to hit a woman. He pulled his brown F150 to the curb in front of his rented two-bedroom house. Sergio took a deep breath to gather himself before walking into the house.
    Deanne Bianchi had fixed herself a sandwich, when she looked outside and saw that her husband was home. She hated the ugly, shit-brown Ford truck he drove, just like she hated the worn work clothes he wore. Deanne was sick of him; when she had imagined her dream life, it was not married to a low-paid dock worker in New Jersey. So when Danny Goldman had approached her after a theatrical production in New York (a rare outing her husband had given her money for), she jumped at the chance for excitement. The idea of an affair with a wealthy Jewish (something she found exotic) lawyer appealed to her unfaithful heart. She hardly cared that he was half the man her husband was, physically, and that Sergio had always been kind and caring. She remembered distinctly that night when she met Danny.




    Chapter 4
    The Irish Whore and the Jewish Bastard




    Deanne had just applauded the final bows of the cast of A Streetcar Named Desire, when the man sitting next to her tapped her on the shoulder. He was only slightly taller than her, balding and stoop-shouldered. His finely tailored European suit did nothing to disguise his thin arms, soft hands and protruding gut. But everything about him screamed money.
    “Excuse me ma’am,� he said in a gravelly voice, giving Deanne a crooked, roguish grin. “May I be so bold as to remark that you are the most beautiful woman in this theater?� Deanne, a simple woman, was taken aback and very flattered by the compliment. She knew she was attractive, but had just that morning been bemoaning her slightly sagging breasts, rounded tummy and soft, spreading buttocks. She blamed it all on her husband, knocking her up right after they got married like the good Italian Catholic boy he was. The man’s compliments caused her ego to swell, and she immediately thought of the fact that her lower-class husband never said things like that anymore.
    “Why, thank you very much, Mr. -?� she replied, her head cocked to the left.
    “Goldman, Daniel Goldman. But call be Danny, my dear. And what is your name?�
    She hesitated a moment, and then gave her first name and Irish maiden name. “Deanne…McElhone.�
    “Ah, I had suspected you to be a good Irish girl,� Danny exclaimed, holding up his index finger. “You have the classic Hibernian complexion and figure. I have a particular weakness for Irish women.�
    “Thank you,� she said, feeling slightly awkward and not knowing what to say next.
    “Listen, Deanne, I was just going to go back to my place and order out some Chinese or something, but what say you and I go out to eat somewhere in the Village?�
    “That would be wonderful, Danny, I’d love to!�
    So the unfaithful wife and her new admirer took a cab to West Village and dined at an expensive French restaurant, all out of Danny’s checkbook. While they ate, Danny explained that he was a successful lawyer with a practice in the city, but that he lived in Tenafly. Deanne was duly impressed, and he felt his confidence grow. He began to talk about his accomplishments, and the simple Irish girl, obviously from the middle-class suburbs of Bergen County, was in awe of it all. Danny Goldman knew he had hit the jackpot, and he began to make subtle sexual innuendos, testing for resistance. To his surprise and delight, Deanne responded positively, encouraging him to go further.
    “Well, darling, it’s getting a bit late and we’ve finished dinner. Do you think you might want to see my apartment in Upper West Side, or would you need some more wine first?� Deanne gave him a coy smile, tossed her hair, and said,
    “I’m pretty sober, honey, and I’d love to see your apartment!� Inwardly Danny celebrated his victory. This young woman would be a wonderful toy to play with until he became bored of her. Casting lecherous eyes at her voluptuous body, he didn’t see that happening anytime soon. He called a cab, and the Pakistani driver whisked them away to Danny’s apartment.
    Thus, Deanne began her affair with the Jewish lawyer. She explained her lateness that night to her husband, saying that she had ran into a few of her girlfriends from high school and they had eaten out and entertained themselves on the town. Foolishly, he believed her without question, secure in his position as her handsome Italian husband. For the next few months, she would visit Danny Goldman at his Tenafly residence, and go to plays and concerts with him, every time on the pretext of visiting a female friend or relative. Finally, Sergio caught wind of her gambit when he overheard her talking on the phone to one of her friends about “Danny darling.� Nothing she said confirmed that he was a lover, but his jealous Sicilian heart was stirred to rage, and he resolved to find out who this “Danny darling� was. He took a day off from work without letting her know, and left the house early. He parked his truck at his father’s house on the corner of Wood Street and Roosevelt.
    “What do you need, son?� Alfonso Bianchi stood in the doorway of the single-story brick house, one hairy hand on his hip and the other raised in a questioning gesture.
    “Hi Pop. I need to borrow your car. My truck has been acting up lately, and I don’t want to drive it to work today.� Sergio felt bad lying to his father like that, but he didn’t want him to know what was going on.
    “No problem, Sergio. Just don’t scratch it.� The old Sicilian pulled the key out of his pocket and handed it to his second son. “Have a good day at work, kid. Oh, and your mother wants you and the wife to come over for dinner sometime this week.�
    “Okay dad, I’ll call her later.�
    “Arrividerci.�
    “Ciao, Pop."
    Sergio parked a little down Kipp Avenue from his own house and waited for his wife to leave. He sat there for over an hour, and then, at 10:34, she walked out of the house. Sergio smiled in spite of himself at the site of his wife. Even from afar he could discern her curvaceous figure and lustrous red-brown hair. She walked quickly down the red brick steps, down the concrete walkway, and to the door of her blue 1986 Volkswagen Beetle. She started the vehicle up and pulled away from the curb. Sergio followed, gripping the steering wheel tightly to keep calm. Deanne turned right onto the Boulevard, the main street of Hasbrouck Heights, lined on both sides with bakeries, butcher stores, barbershops, convenience stores, and two Chinese restaurants. Deanne stopped at Casa Del Dolce, and Sergio watched from the Town Car as she exited the bakery with a white box and a smaller paper bag.
    I bet the bag is for her lover, he thought bitterly. The box must have been his Tuesday night cannoli, but he knew he wouldn’t enjoy them. She started her Beetle up and continued down the Boulevard, finally making a left onto Union Street. She passed the “Welcome to Lodi� sign, and turned into the parking lot of the Visentini Brothers Italian import shop. Sergio parked across the street, pulling his black knit cap low over his eyes. After about twenty minutes, she left the Visentini Brothers, carrying two brown paper bags, long, crusty loaves of fresh Italian bread sticking out of one bag.
    Maybe she’s jut shopping for us, he thought. Buying bread and salami like a good Italian wife. He began to calm down, thinking that maybe it was all just a misunderstanding. For all he knew, “Danny� could be one of her girlfriend’s children. But he was going to continue following her, just to make sure. Deanne stopped at the Exxon on the Boulevard to fill up her tank, and then headed northeast, through Hackensack, eventually getting onto Route 501.
    Why is she heading towards Tenafly? What could she possibly do there? They cruised down 501 for about fifteen minutes, then Deanne got off and drove into Tenafly. She began to slow down as she turned onto Oak Street, one of the more affluent areas of a wealthy town. The houses were spaced wide apart, with large front and back yards, and huge, ivy-covered trees lined the road. Most houses had small wooded areas in their yards. All the cars were expensive; Mercedes SUVs, BMW sedans, and Audi sport coupes. Deanne put on her blinker, and Sergio parked on the road, watching her turn into the driveway of an expensive white house. It was a Victorian era structure, with the original wood siding and a slate roof. She parked her Beetle next to a gleaming silver BMW Z8. Sergio watched her knock on the red front door. The door opened, and a hand took hers, pulling her inside. Sergio began to seethe as he got out of the Lincoln. He walked down the street, his hands deep in the pockets of his worn leather jacket. Carefully, he cut through the small stand of trees and shrubs to the right of the white house. Crouching at the edge of the trees, he peered through one of the large bay windows. He could see the large, richly furnished living room, replete with oriental rugs, antique couches, and a massive plasma-screen TV. Deanne’s voice filtered through the open window:
    “Oh, Danny! You are always so eager to get your hands on me!�
    Goddamn it! I’m gonna kill them! Sergio’s face grew red as he tried to control his rage. Then, the two adulterous lovers stumbled into the living room, Danny pawing lecherously at Deanne, in full view of the watching Sicilian. Sergio clenched his fists, and felt his stomach churn with nausea. There was his Irish whore of a wife, kissing a fat old Jewish bastard! His hot Sicilian blood boiled with rage, and he nearly rushed into the house to kill the bastard with his bare hands, right then and there. But he was able to control himself, and walked slowly, heavily back through the trees, nearly tripping on a branch as he lost himself in grief and rage at his wife’s unfaithfulness. He couldn’t understand how she could do something like that to him! She was raised Catholic, she should have known better. Sergio pulled himself into the Lincoln and started the engine. He began to pull away from the curb, but was forced to open the door and empty his stomach on the asphalt.
    As he drove back to his father’s house to drop off the car, the only thought running through his head was that of killing the bastard who was screwing his wife, in many different and painful ways. By the time he switched vehicles and entered his house, he began to shout his rage aloud.
    “That fucking putanna!� he screamed, using his favorite Sicilian epithet. “How could she cheat on me? I was a good husband, I gave a child, provided for her, what more did she need? And the asshole who did the job on her isn’t even as good-looking as me. He’s a bald, fat old fuck, for Christ’s sakes!� Sergio leaned on the bedstead, trying to calm himself. “I’m going to kill the bastard.� He said it softly this time, coldly. The rush of blood had faded from his olive-skinned face. Sergio flexed his powerful muscles, gained the honest way from long hours of dock work. He pulled a marinara-stained t-shirt over his hairy chest, and reached into the drawer of his nightstand. His fingers closed over the checkered grip of his Colt 45 pistol. “I’m going to kill him,� he said again. “And then I’m going to beat her like I used to beat other kids in school.� He put his leather jacket on, packed his clothes and portable belongings in two duffle bags, and walked out of the house. Sergio drove his truck a little ways down the street, waiting for his wife to return from the bastard’s house. He didn’t want her to be there when he killed him.



    Chapter 5
    Calling in the Favor


    Sergio walked into the Ravenite, feeling out of place. He was wearing a pair of worn jeans and his battered leather jacket, and stood out like a sore thumb among the club patrons clad in expensive suits, evening gowns and other elite attire. Ignoring the glances, he walked straight up to the bar and called for the bartender, who happened to be a buxom young redhead clad in a halter top with barely enough material for a handkerchief.
    “Excuse me, miss, is Joey Giannini here?�
    “Yes, Joey is in the back. Who should I say is looking for him?�
    “Tell him it’s Sergio Bianchi, and tell him it’s about Elmo by the Docks. He’ll understand.� The bartender winked at him, and sashayed to the back of the club, hips swaying seductively. This caused Sergio to remember that he hadn’t had sex in three days, and that in turn reminded him that he would likely never touch his wife again. Soon to be ex-wife, he corrected himself. After about ten minutes, Joey Giannini walked into the front of the club. He looked different, but it had been four years. Joey had gained some weight, but he looked tan and relaxed, a far cry from the pale, nervous creature of the night he had been last time Sergio saw him.
    “Sergio? Sergio Bianchi?� Joey shook his head in disbelief as he embraced Sergio slapped him on the back. “How are you, you son of a bitch?�
    “I’m not good, Joey. That’s why I needed to see you.�
    “Okay, okay, I see what you’re saying. Elmo by the docks, huh? That sure jogged my memory. Follow me, paisano, you can tell me more when we get somewhere more private.� Sergio followed Joey, noting his dark green silk suit and white snakeskin shoes. Two large doors led to a smaller back room of the club, an area full of cigar and pipe smoke, inhabited mostly by older, suit-clad Italian men and a few miniskirted barmaids. Joey waved to a couple of the men, and led Sergio to a booth near the back.
    “So, Sergio. What’s the problem?�
    “Well, Joey, it’s like this – I just offed a guy.�
    “You serious, man?� Their conversation paused so they could order drinks from one of the barmaids who had made her way over to their table.
    “As I was saying, I just killed this Jewish lawyer in Tenafly, yesterday.�
    “You’re crazy, man! Why?�
    “I had a damn good reason, Joey.� Sergio replied hotly. “The bastard fucked my wife.�
    “Oh, well that’s a different story. Good job then.�
    “That’s what I thought. But now, the police are going to come looking for me pretty soon, especially after my wife breaks down and tells them that she thinks I did it.�
    “You left your wife alive?�
    “Yeah. I couldn’t kill her, Joey, I mean, she was my fucking wife, even if she was an Irish putanna.�
    “I guess not.�
    “So she’s obviously going to testify against me, because I guess she liked this bastard better than me, even though he was a fat old fuck. Maybe because he was Jewish. The novelty of a Sicilian husband and his salami had worn off, and she wanted some Hebrew cock for a change. That bitch!�
    “Okay, man, calm down. We can take care of this. I certainly owe it to you. I’ll give you a place to sleep for a while, lay low, and we’ll settle this with the cops. Don’t worry about a thing.�
    “Thanks, paisano, thanks so much.�
    “Like I told you four years ago, Sergio, we don’t forget our debts.� Sergio started to get up, but Joey motioned for him to stay seated. “Don’t leave yet, Sergio, have a few drinks and a sandwich or something. Just out of curiosity, how did you handle your wife?�


    Chapter 6
    Take This, Bitch



    Sergio walked up the brick front steps and opened the door. There was Deanne, sitting at the table with a ham sandwich in her hand. She had made it with Wonder Bread, mayonnaise and precooked shrink-wrapped ham. Just the thought of eating such a thing made Sergio slightly sick. Her poor taste in food was one more thing to intensify his anger. When they had married, he had to get his mother and sisters to teach her how to cook good Italian food, and she had never really gotten the hang of it.
    “Hello, Sergio,� Deanne said, a slight sneer on her face. “Have a good day at work?�
    “Yes. I killed your lover.� Deanne’s pink face went white, and her eyes opened wide in shock. But then she recovered quickly, and smiled, cocking her head questioningly.
    “What lover? What are you talking about?�
    “I don’t know his name,� Sergio snarled. “Some old fucking Jew.�
    “Honey, why would I cheat on you?�
    “How the hell should I know? All I know is, I saw you two through the window of his house in Tenafly today. Explain that.�
    Deanne’s look of feigned innocence melted into an expression of fear. “B-but how?�
    “I followed you, bitch. I borrowed my dad’s car and followed you to Tenafly. Then after you got back here, I drove over there and killed that Jewish bastard.�
    “You really killed Danny? How could you?�
    “God damn it, Deanne! He fucked you! Of course I killed him! How could you do this to me?�
    “I’m sorry, Sergio, I-I just…�
    “You just what! What, bitch! You don’t have a reason!�
    Now Deanne grew angry herself, screaming, “All you did was work all day, we never did anything interesting! Do you think I was happy being married to a fucking guido stuck in a dead-end blue-collar job? Danny Goldman offered me excitement! Can you blame me for going for it? And he was damn good in bed, fat and old or not!� Sergio lashed out viciously, striking her square in the stomach with his right fist. Deanne cried out and doubled over, falling to the floor.
    “You dirty, filthy Irish putanna! I gave you money, a son, everything that was in my power to give! And you repay me by whoring yourself out to a fucking lawyer from Tenafly!� And so Sergio beat her, striking her on the arms, legs and torso, but never the face. He could not bring himself to crush her pretty face. He stood up, leaving her in a crumpled, weeping heap on the kitchen floor. Sergio ripped the only phone off the wall and smashed it on the ground, keeping her from calling the police until he was well away. With a sick feeling in his stomach at what he had just done, he climbed into his truck and drove away.


    © 2004 Jonathan Rosselli


    I'm not sure where to go after Chapter 6, but I've been considering that Sergio would join the Gambino Family. Suggestions would be appreciated. Also I don't know if it works to have the antihero (even though he is an antihero) beat his wife like that.
     
  2. Sleek_Jeek

    Sleek_Jeek New Member

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    We all already know you've got some definite issues with your own pent up aggresion. Why do you keep pointing it out? Is this a cry for help?

    I bet you're a big Dolph Lundgren fan.
     
  3. Rosselli

    Rosselli New Member

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    Why don't you settle down. I hate Dolph Lundgren, because he played the Punisher badly.

    "I'll bet you're a big Lee Marvin fan."
     
  4. Sleek_Jeek

    Sleek_Jeek New Member

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  5. Rosselli

    Rosselli New Member

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    I have no idea who that is.

    And I was quoting Resivoir Dogs, I hope you got that.
     
  6. MatahChuah

    MatahChuah Active Member

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    That was a great story man! Didn't get bored with any of it.
     
  7. Sleek_Jeek

    Sleek_Jeek New Member

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    I didn't get the Resvir Dogs quote, sorry. I'm only violent in life, I don't need to see it in movies. I get panic attacks in departments stores, but I don't go out of my way to watch violent movies, if thats what you're asking.
     
  8. MatahChuah

    MatahChuah Active Member

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    Panic attacks in department stores? What the hell?
     
  9. Rosselli

    Rosselli New Member

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    How could you be violent? You're such a whiny bitch!
     
  10. MatahChuah

    MatahChuah Active Member

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    Remember, this is coming from the same guy who said he could be called a libertarian.
     
  11. Jarinor

    Jarinor New Member

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    Violence and libertarianism go hand in hand. You gotta love it when people are protesting supposedly heavy handed governments by going on riots that destroy other people's property who have nothing to do with it. Sometimes I have half a mind to go along to rallies to stand with the cops and beat the fuck out of the stupid, mindless, easily-led dipshits who are protesting because they're young and that's what you're supposed to do.
     
  12. Sleek_Jeek

    Sleek_Jeek New Member

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    :) I've never been to a protest. :)

    I'm not allowed to tell you what I was talking about... (oooo, mysterious and incriminating...)
     
  13. Blinky969

    Blinky969 Active Member

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    Oh dear shut up.

    Dude, your story sucked, if for the only reason that it was only violence and has no discernible point or motivation. Why is this guy such a fucking dick and why is he doing half that stupid shit?

    For just a pulp novel I would add more sex and continue down that road, but if you want to make it resemble anything other than the typical dime novel shit, it needs work.
     
  14. Rosselli

    Rosselli New Member

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    Um...the Jew fucked his wife? He needs more motivation than that?
     
  15. Blinky969

    Blinky969 Active Member

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    I don't know, the whole thing just smacks of some cliched "This is sicilian culture, they're all in the mafia and they all just go around blowing people's heads off."

    It's not bad for a fifty cent paper back, but if you're shooting for something better, it falls short. You just reverberate the fact that Sergio is Sicilian, like that's supposed to explain the fact that he lives like a fucking animal. That's as derogatory as saying all black people would make great farmers since their families have picked cotton for so long.
     
  16. Rosselli

    Rosselli New Member

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    Since I'm Sicilian myself, I can say pretty much whatever I want about the ethnicity. But that's not the point. I could just as easily write about an Irish guy named Finn O'Malley who married a slutty Polish woman. It's just a story about an angry, violent husband who has been cheated on and is taking due action. Sergio isn't in the Mafia anyway...I just said I contemplated having him join.
     
  17. Sleek_Jeek

    Sleek_Jeek New Member

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    Uhhhh... Whatever, it still plays to a stereotype. Not only does it promote violence and a ridiculous stereotype of Italians in America, its also a story about spousal abuse...

    Once again, I'm concerned for your mental health.
     
  18. bryant1380

    bryant1380 New Member

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    Guys, at least he fucking wrote a story. Damn, why you gotta run somebody in the ground? Tell him you liked it, or didn't, and leave it at that.

    Actually, they're only good at picking it. And singing. There's more to farming than that, like business sense, and good accounting practices.
     
  19. Jarinor

    Jarinor New Member

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    Sigurd, I was not a fan of your work. One, what type of dock worker carries around two sets of steel knuckles when they're working late? Two, I just plain didn't like your characterisation. That said, I thought you mixed up the events well. A bit of a cliche, but it wasn't cheesy.
     
  20. Blinky969

    Blinky969 Active Member

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    retard, I knew there was a reason why I love you... lmao

    Just because you are an ethnicity doesn't mean making stupid generalizations about them any more or less intelligent. And saying, oh he's not IN the mafia, he just calls in favors, is a pretty fucking blurry line, it's like saying you're not a drug dealer, you just occasionally traffic things that get people high.

    All that being said, it's not bad for what it is. For a story of its genre, it is fairly well written, although a little basic in its style. It's the stereotypical blood and gore fest, although usually a healthy amount of sex and nudity is involved in those, which never hurts.

    All in all, I was only trying to say that as long it stays as was it is, a nice little story about killing, maiming, and moral terpitude, and you don't try to turn it into some convoluted expose on the nature of the sicilian psyche, with annotations by Professor Plum, its good. I've seen far too many blood and guts novels passed off as "real" literature, perhaps I'm a tad quick to judge. I'm probably an ever quicker judge since I've never been a big fan of simple slasher books either, I like those whole twisty-topsy-turvy plots with all the highs and lows of a trip on ecstacy.
     
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