What is it about motorways services and these fuckers, eh?
You have been driving for hours, desperately need a piss and a cup of coffee and you stop off at the nearest motorway services. On the way in, a budget car (Micra, Arosa, Astra) with a very well-presented (clean-shaven, immaculately coiffed, groomed and fragranced) and charming Italian bloke stops you and says "Buon Giorno! Do you speak Italian?"
When you say "Sorry, no, I don't" he apologises for his poor English. He then proceeds to claim that he is a rep travelling for an Italian fashion house (Versace or whoever) and he has a boot full of stuff left over from a show that he needs to get rid of. "It's-a all genuine!" Of course it is, you lying fuck.
The first time, I was very polite and patient until the bloke got far enough into his pitch for me to realise that something dodgy was going on (about a minute). I hurriedly made my excuses and left.
(He also caught me way off guard by fucking being in a Chatteris petrol station! I sure as fuck didn't expect this kind of shit in the middle of the oo-ar fens!)
Today I was in Sandbach or Kuntsford or somewhere like that when I was accosted. At first, I stopped because I thought it was a lost tourist, but as soon as he said he was from a fashion house, I just held up my hands and walked away. Over coffee, I watched the fuckers prowling round the car park like a pack of fucking vultures, looking for a stupid scouser or inbred villager to thieve from.
What sort of retarded cunt falls for that shit? Why the fuck can't the services shut the cunts down? Or call the police or something? They must know it's going on.
Still, I did get a nice Dolce & Gabbana leather jacket out of them.
Originally posted here.
10 comments:
As St Augsutine said "So we came to wide palaces and open fields of memory". Years ago I went to Australia House to see about emigrating. Outide I hear a Pssst. Luigi opens the back of a saloon and takes out a lovely leather jacket. Thing is, I was skint. He kept asking how much. Five quid I said. I got a Stronza, va fan culo, testa regazza under his breather. Maybe even a cornutto.
Ah, yes, that happened to me outside Sainsburys at Emerson's green a few weeks back. It took a while to get to the crux of the matter; knock off Armani suits.
This one asked if I was Italian - being small, slim and dark, I suppose I might look a little bit Italian...
I always get them to give me a blowjob first, they're very accommodating that way. Then I tell them to fuck off as the cum dribbles down their chins....
Good grief, I've never even seen this! It's a wonder they aren't plying their trade at boot sales...
This never ever happens to me, probably because I don't look even the remotest bit Italian...I just get free bottles of loo cleaner if I'm lucky.
Happened to me on the South bank of the Tiber a couple of years ago.
Is it knockoff or just thrashed together in India?
The usual scam is that the "leather" is actually PVC and not a particularly good match at that. There are always enough idiots to keep them in funds after all. I still think the best "419" con was the "astronaut" in a secret Soviet Space Station, I honestly don't think anybody fell for that. However the universal language of "F*&K Off and Die Luigi" works pretty well.
TTFN :)
I got approached by one of these buggers in Woodall Services only yesterday. Just 'cause I drive an Alfa, doesn't mean I speak bloody Italian! Even worse, my poor little mother had one knock on her door a few months ago with the "I've got loads of leather jackets I've got to shift quick" spiel. Fortunately, she told him to piss off sharpish...
AB Gordon: you didn't get a testa regazza, you got a testa di cazzo which is dickhead.
Ron C-I got "knob head" which a native speaker confirmed as testa raggazza (?) can't spell in Italian. Pardone!
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