Attack of the Gotti-bes

Okay, it was bad enough when these Jersey(whoops, Long Island) guidos got a television show so that they could show the world what uncouth, disrespectful, "my grandpa was a mob boss so I'm SPEshul" jackasses they are. Okay, fine. To each his own. Nobody makes me watch their show.

But they're spreading. Now I see Gotti-bes all over the place. Some guy in a Caddy blew out a tire on my street and hit a parked car. What gets out of the passenger side? A Gotti-be. I walked to the store to get some half & half for my coffee. What's walking down the sidewalk in front of me? A Gotti-be. Every time I get on the subway, I see clusters of Gotti-bes.

Okay, so you wanna be fake thugs. Fine. But seriously, boys, haven't you ever seen the Christmas special with Mr. Snow Miser and Mr. Heat Miser? Do you not notice the resemblance? Yeah, in my day (I'm so fucking old), we had mohawks and Flock of Seagulls hair. We looked stupid, too. But at least we didn't get our hairstyles from holiday specials targeted at eight-year-old kids. This is Mr. Heat Miser. He likes things to be hot. His hair is supposed to look like flames sprouting from his head, albeit rather cottony flames. He only has three fingers and a nose that looks like it was stolen off of W.C. Fields' corpse. Is this really a stylistic paradigm?

Then again, your mother bears a startling resemblance to Donatella Versace as portrayed on Saturday Night Live, and your house looks like it was furnished entirely by one of those Staten Island "Italian lacquer" furniture stores, so maybe that explains your complete lack of taste. I saw a blurb recently that read that one of you (I have no idea which of you is which) just opened a tanning salon on Lahn Guyland, so at least you can keep that lovely orange glow at a low, low bargain price!