Dear Mr. Big Shot Know-It-All Comey,
Okay, you're Irish. I'll cut you some slack on account of that, because - obviously - what do you know? But, take it from me, Connie Staccato, whose father-in-law signed Paulie the Waiter's citizenship papers, there is nothing about Donald Trump that remotely resembles a mob boss.
That big orange cafone a mob boss?? A capo di tutti capi? Don't make me laugh. He wouldn't last five minutes. He wouldn't last five minutes in Mr. Roger's Neighborhood.
And I don't know who you were dealing with when you were out busting The Outfit, but it must have been the waterboys because even the numbnuts underbosses know:
- you don't go around flappin' your jaw.
- you don't put ketchup on a steak.
- you should have a decent tailor, for crissakes!
I'm sorry, but you caught me in a bad mood. I had an appointment with a urogynecologist today, and then I come home to this nonsense. If you don't know what a urogynecologist is, count yourself lucky.
Anyways, now you owe me some quality entertainment.
Consultant, All Things Sicilian-American