Portagues Vs. I-talians

With St. Patty’s Day coming up, I wanted to focus on ethnic stereotypes. Great holiday by the way. I really honestly don’t know much about being Irish myself. People hear my name and they’re all like “ohhhhh, you’re so Irish”. Hm. I enjoy drinking and yes I am Irish as are most white people, but sadly, I was so heavily immersed in being Italian that I really have no fucking clue how to be Irish. I just don’t. I consider being Italian-American a hobby, a part of my day-to-day life. I love the culture and my family’s heritage and being from the most attractive European country of all time. Please note here that being Italian and being Italian-American are two different things, much like being a classy European and a trashy American, but for the sake of this entry, we’ll leave it at Italian. Over the years, I’ve noticed that there are certain other kinds of people out there I get along with better. Us Italians get a long well with Greeks, Jews, but more so than any other brand of people, the Portuguese. I’m not sure why this is the case, but I’d like to take some time to investigate this relationship between I-talians and Portagues. Call up Babs Walters cuz this shit’s about to go down like where your face should be in relationship to my vagina.

I’d like to keep things light and positive to start in the samsies category of the Venn Diagram. Why do we get along so well? I think it starts and ends with family. Family is the basis for it all, for better or for worse. All Portagues and I-talians have at least one grandmother who is a fantastic cook, owns a car till the day she dies (regardless of if it hasn’t been driven since 1989 and that it’s a Bonneville), is always dressed to the nines, and smokes like a chimney. And by smoke, I mean their brand of choice happens to be Parliaments or Virgina Slims and they store said cigarettes in a sparkly case that they used to give us to play with as children. We also have a father who, in the nicest way possible, is “frugal”. He will argue with the cable company and the credit card company and your mom when she gives to much money to church every week and whatever the fuck else, BUTTTTT, they love collecting random pieces of crap. Clothing, hobby items, grown man toys, things they find on the side of the road that are still good. There is no limit on how much they will spend on these “good items”. Finally, our mothers are overbearing and throw temper tantrums when ANYTHING throws off planning holidays and family events. The upside is that they’re always down for a drink after a long day’s work, which is then passed along to their children who tend to not have off buttons.

The funny thing is that there are so many things we do the same, but they end up done so differently. For example – how we treat our religious statues. Seems a little silly, I know. But hear me out. Now us I-talians, we do what’s reasonable. Oh? You’re moving? You don’t say. Take this St. Joseph statue and bury him upside down in your backyard, and pray to him. Your house will do well on the market. The Portagues, they scare people away from their houses. Their front lawns looks like the fucking Elephant Graveyard. It’s like everyone from Heaven picked the tackiest Portague family to spend Spring Break with. The Virgin Mary is getting her tan on, baby Jesus is asleep on the grass, angels chillen in bird baths, and I’m pretty sure it’s mid-July but there is a Christmas manger built out of their bush art. Good lord.

Next, of course, and probably most important…is food. We fucking love eating and food and being fat asses. Portagues and I-talians go toe to toe when it comes to food. But lezzbee honest here…I-talians take the cake when it comes to food. Absolutely Big Pun intended. Granted, I love some good linguica, some chourico here and there, and Portuguese Sweet Bread is delicious. But c’mon now. We have a fucking sandwich dedicated to meats. You’re honestly going to try and compete with gabagol? You’re really going to try and compete with a nice proscuitte and melon platter on Thanksgiving? I think not. And fucking deserts galore. Pizzelles. And the God of all cookies – Anisette Cookies. The Portagues try…but its just not the same. We can both agree on a five course meat and carb dinner, but I know who I’m siding with. The inventor of the Heart Attack on a Plate.

Personal hygiene is a tough one. And not a lot of people notice this because of how attractive we are. If you’re on of us, you’re either hairy or greasy. Like a wolverine soaked in margarine. There are only two places I don’t shave, bleach, wax, or tweeze. My ass and my back, and I am thankful for that, because I have seen it worse for others. And I mean sure, you might think it’s disgusting that I can clog a drain with one fowl swoop of a razor. I get it. But the trade off is that I’m not a grease ball. I am lucky to have pretty good skin that tans and delivers me compliments from creepers on the beach or at the grocery store. But others are not so lucky. You’re hungry? Perfect. No need for Pam spray here, just use my forehead. Yummy. Smiley fries and pimple jizz. I need a brand new razor blade every week and you buy your make up the way that I buy my milk. I think in this case we’re tied. Unless you’re a Portague who is both hairy and greasy. Then I win.

Here is a category that Portague females win – features. Don’t ask me why but I-talian broads get stuck with big noses. That’s like a trade mark. Probably why the Jews love us so. Sundials on our faces. This trait skipped me, thank God, and I was able to usher in the nose ring era for my high school. Go team Kerry. Holy fuck, side note, I entered high school EIGHT years ago. Holy shit, I’m like a dried up old lady. Gross. Anyway, Portagues get some fucking bullshit combination of ass and titties. Usually both, which makes it worse. Granted, there is the random I-talian chick that has a nice rack or a fat ass, but typically not both. Or you could be like me and have no nose, no ass, and no tits. But I feel like EVERY Portague bid I’ve ever known has a bangin’ body. Like fuck off dude. Fuck! I just an epiphany! It’s gotta be the whole Brazilian thing. Everyone knows Brazilian girls are totally sexy. And they’re technically from Portugal. That’s just like cheating. I can’t compete with a Brazilian bid (but I will). Ok, ok, ONE point for them. Whatever.

Last note and quite frankly, a serious quadruple point snag for I-talians. THE GODFATHER. MY COUSIN VINNY. GOODFELLAS. THE SOPRANOS. We’re heavy in the entertainment industry. The best movies are about how wonderful it is to be us. Yeah, ok cool. You guys have soccer players. Woohoo. I can hear the four soccer fans in America cheering right now for you. Call us when you make the football team. The AMERICAN football team. Shall I go into music? Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, and the God of all I-talian songbirds – Andrea Bocelli. I weep in joy every time I hear this man’s voice. Oh, and we also have Lisa Lampenelli, Jenna Jameson, and Randy “Macho Man” Savage. I can’t even think about anyone cool from Portugal right now, because my eyes are filling with tears listening to Andrea Bocelli. 10 POINTS TO FUCKING GRYFFINDOR ON THIS ONE.

Final score – Portagues – 1, I-talians – 12. Before everyone gets all angry and says that I’m biased, I didn’t count the ties. That would be cheating. Suck on that. Na Na Na Na Na Naaaaa Naaaaa. Winner winner chicken dinner. There’s really no point to this post. Other than to point out that we’re all mutts and everyone is pretty much Irish. I just wanted to put aside everything I like about being a wonderful Italian-American to get ready to bring out my Irish on Saturday. Everyone enjoy your St. Patty’s Day responsibly. Meaning that if you plan on drinking all day, take a nap before you drive to the bar.

*9/10 Portagues were infuriated with my post and proceeded to refer to me as a guinea brat, a stupid wop, a fucking dago, an obnoxious guidette, or (if they don’t understand what this one really refers to) a goombah. I am rubber, you are kind of Brazilian. Whatever you say bounces off me and makes you smell. So there.