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About Rome

Once, I heard this story—some chick in Vegas got paid in casino chips! True story, swear on my Duff! She’s all, “Cash me out, baby!”—hilarious, right? I’m laughin’, but then—D’oh!—I’m sad again, ‘cause it’s messy, ya know? These gals got lives, and here I am, a doofus, oglin’ ‘em. “Blessed are the forgetful,” I mutter, wishin’ I could zap this night outta my skull like Joel and Clem. Maybe I’ll stick to donuts—safer, cheaper, and Marge won’t kill me! D’oh!

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So, I’m walking down Via Roma, trying to shake off the coffee disaster. The sun’s shining, but it’s that weird, sticky heat. You know, the kind that makes you feel like you’re melting? I pass by the old church on Piazza della Libertà. It’s beautiful, but I’m too frazzled to appreciate it. I mean, who has time for beauty when you’re a walking coffee stain?

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