To the manager

To the manager

(try to read this in an Italian accent to get the feel of the
letter)

YMCA Hotel
London, England.

Roma, 1 June, 1993

Dear Signore Directorre,
Now Im a-tella-you a short story how I was-a-treated at your
hotella.
I am a-comma from Roma as a tourist to London and stay as a young
christian man at your hotella.
When I comma in my room I see there is no shit on my bed?, so I a-calla
the receptione and tella her,"I wanna shit." She tella me, "Go to the
toilet." I say "No,No. I wanna shit on my bed." She say "You better not
shit on your bed you sonnawabitch!"
What is sonnawabitch?
I go down for breakfast in your ristorante. I order bacon and eggs and
two pissis of toast.I only a-getta one piss of toast. I tella waitress
and point on my toast, "I wanna piss." She say "Go to the toilet." I
say "No, no. I wanna piss on my plate." She say to me, " You better not
piss on your plate you sonnawabitch!"
What is this sonnawabitch?
Later, I go for dinner on your ristorante. Spoon and knife is on the
table but no fock. I a-tella the waitress "I wanna fock," and she
a-tella me, "Everyone wanna fock." I say "No, no. You dont understanda
me. I wanna fock on the table." She say to me, "So, you wanna fock on
the table you sonnawabitch. Get your ass out of here!"
So I go to the receptione and I aska for bill. I no wanna stay in this
hotella no more. When I have payed the billa the portier say to me,
"Thanks and peace on you." I say, "Piss on you too sonnawabitch. I go
back to Italy and I never comma stay in your hotella no more you
sonnawabitch!"
Yours sincerely,
Sperminelli Vermechenti.