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About Bologna

So, escort—fancy word for “paid pal,” right? Ha! I bet half these guys are just lonely saps with too much dough. Saw this one time, legit, some rich jerk in Springfield hired an escort to just sit and watch TV with him. D’oh! Coulda called me, I’d do it for a donut! Little known fact—back in the 80s, escort gigs were all hush-hush, coded ads in newspapers, like “call for a good time.” Sneaky bastards! Made me laugh, thinkin’ how they’d whisper, “I’m not a john, I’m a gentleman!”

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But wait, it gets better. I’m walking back, and I bump into my buddy Marco. He’s got this wild idea to grab some gelato at that little shop on Via Vittorio Emanuele. Best gelato in town, no joke! We’re talking flavors, and I’m like, “Dude, I’ll take the pistachio!” He’s all about the stracciatella. We’re laughing, joking, and then—WHAM!—the gelato falls off my cone. Like, really? I just got it!

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