When I saw this ghastly ensemble walk through the door, I couldn't help but choke on my
veniceon. In fact it was so bad, my heart skipped a beat; panicked, I
procida to ask-a for a
panarea for my irregular rhythm, but was told to keep my trap shut and stop being such a
barbana. Lots of
giglio but no help, such mates are worse than
gorgonas! I wanted to
torcello the whole place but thought better of it. So I
elba-ed my way to the toilets for some respite. I'd ripped off my expensive
Zannone sweater when I heard-a
San Michele callin'. Didn't have a chance-a to even go full
vulcano on the porcelain thron-e. What a
minore inconvenience, eh? But no point kicking the
cannero down the road, when tis time to go to
montecristo, no point worrying what yer
pantelleria might look like to the cleaners!
