Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Cover that up!!!!

Maybe it’s because I have a granddaughter now but I’ve noticed a disturbing trend among young women.

I think it may be a new type of disease.

I call it “A.F.S.”

Attention Fat Syndrome.

I don’t think you can manage this with Ritalin.

Now I know some people are going to get upset with me for pointing this out. They’ll say you’re no waif yourself Tone how can you pick on fat girls?

Well first of all you would never see me in a tube top.

Second, I don’t own a single pair of pants that make me look like I have two butt cracks.

Third, if I wore a dress, and that would take huge amounts of tequila, I wouldn’t wear one that is three sizes too small and makes me look like pregnant trailer trash.

Fourth, I’m not picking on fat girls.

I don’t care if anyone is fat. I really don’t. I’m fat. I love fat people. Fat people are some of the happiest people on earth. When was the last time a fat president invaded anyone? When was the last time a fat person stole your purse? When was the last time a group of fat people shut down the freeway to run a marathon?

There was a rumor that Walt Disney, before he died, was thinking of opening a “Fat Land” right off of Main Street. There was talk of a huge buffet ride. I would have loved that ride.

Being fat is fine.

But if you’re fat don’t dress like a five dollar crack whore. No one’s going to believe it anyway because crack whores are usually skinny.

At least that’s what I’ve been told. I don’t actually know a five dollar crack whore but I’m told they look a lot like Granny from the Beverly Hillbillies or a San Diego city councilwoman.

And I’m not saying you have to exercise, diet, or get in shape or any of that crap either.

Exercise all you want.

You’re still going to die.

Trust me.

No, what I’m talking about is this need to expose rolls of fat over jeans that are three sizes too small.

What the hell is going on?

They obviously want to draw attention...To their fat.

It’s A.F.S., Attention Fat Syndrome.

And I’m not condoning the skinny girls doing this either. You’ve seen them. With their thong popping out of the back of their low riser pants to form an upside down peace symbol below the tramp stamp tattoo they’ve got right above their butt.

We don’t need to see that.

But what’s worse is when fat girls wear those pants, you can’t see the thong!

Do they really think that’s attractive?

It’s got to be some type of illness. It’s A.F.S.

I did a comedy show the other night where a group of young women that worked for, (rhymes with Denny Draig), showed up looking like hookers.

Fat hookers, with boobs and fat and butts and fat and legs and fat popping out of outfits that were way too small. Maybe they thought the high heels they were wearing would offset the fat.

I know they worked for “Denny Draig” because they were shouting it out of a drunken stupor all night long.

I give them credit. They were all wearing black. Black is supposed to make you look slimmer. BUT ONLY WHEN IT’S COVERING EVERYTHING UP!!!!!

If you work for a diet company you might want to, oh I don’t know, try out the diet!!!!

But if you don’t, under no circumstances should you show the world your stretch marks.

It’s not like its art!!!

It will never be art!!!

Cover that up!!!

The only time you should show your stretch marks is if for some reason they have formed the image of the Virgin Mary.

Even then that’s an image I prefer in food.

I was complaining about this to one person who said, “It’s just a fad. Like when you grew your hair long in the 60’s it’s just a fashion statement."

If it’s some type of fashion statement then what the hell is it trying to say?

Harpoon me?

It’s A.F.S. ladies and gentlemen and it’s just as real as A.D.D.

My wife and I went to a wedding the other day where some of the young female guests wore dresses so tight it looked like they were smuggling in illegal aliens.

I believe in the universal law that states, “A woman should never, never, never ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, never ever wear a dress that makes her look like she has pubic fat.”



Too far?

I’m beginning to think the Muslims may be right.

Cover that up!!!

Hey I’m all for “you” being comfortable with your body. But that doesn’t mean that “we” have to be comfortable with your body.

The only exception to all of this is the beach. If you want to expose large amounts of fat to sunlight then you go right ahead. Personally I don’t go to the beach because of the risk of spontaneous combustion and I don’t want to blind surfers when they’re coming in near the pier.

We have no right to complain about anyone fat at the beach. You’re supposed to show skin at the beach whether it’s fat skin or skinny skin. So if we choose to go to the beach then we accept the fact that there will be fat flowing free, whether it’s our fat or someone else’s.

It’s like doing your grocery shopping during the daytime Monday through Friday. If you’re going to do it then you have to expect old people clogging up the aisles staring at food that doesn’t contain fiber and using the wrong coupons. You brought it on yourself so shut the hell up and deal with it.

But if you are fat and you’re at the beach don’t be too upset when the Sierra Club tries to roll you back into the water screaming “KEEP HIM OUT OF THE KELP!!!! KEEP HIM OUT OF THE KELP!!!”

But other than the beach there’s just no excuse.

It’s like these young people just don’t give a damn. They don’t care how they look or what anyone thinks of them.

Part of me says, “Good for you, never conform or worry about what other people think.”

The other part of me says, “Good for you, now put on this parka.”

I’m starting a nonprofit called the A.F.S. Foundation. We’ll be accepting donations of cash, plus size clothing and gift certificates for meals at “Denny Draig.”

If that doesn’t work I’ll convert to Islam.

Saturday, October 28, 2006


It’s a girl!!!!

We have a new granddaughter.

Angelina Isabella Calabrese was born at 5:01am, October 27th 2006. 6 pounds, 2 ounces, 18 1/2 inches long. She's a keeper.

Why does it always sound like were describing a trout when we talk about newborns?

It’s been forty five years since a girl was born into the Calabrese family.

I don’t know why we’ve only made boys up to this point.

My wife says it’s because the man determines the sex of the baby and that we all have lazy sperm.

I wouldn’t call it lazy. It’s more of a let’s do the job and then take a nap feeling actually.

A baby girl.

I’ve ever seen my wife this excited in her life. I could hear my Visa card weeping in her purse.

The first thing that came to my mind was that my son doesn’t have enough closet space for two women in his house. And that he’s going to need a second phone line.

We finally have a girl in this family. It really hit me when I saw my son change her diaper last night.

She has a vagina.

We have a family of men that was always trying to get one of those. We only had boys up to now. Now we have to keep men away. We need to formulate a protect the vagina strategy. We need to start now.

“Look how cute she is honey. We have a granddaughter. What’s with the weird look on your face?”

“She... she... has a vagina.”

“No S%*& Sherlock. You just figured that out?”

“But... We need to do a something. There will be boys. They will want,,,”

“DAD!!! Not now!!! I have enough things going through my head without you....”

“Christ Calabrese!!! She’s not even a day old.”

“Okay okay... I’m sorry. It’s just... well... never mind.”

It dawned on me at this point that this wasn’t my problem. I could tell because my son now had the same horrified look on his face that I had just moments ago.

And then another thought hit me. At some point we were going to have to baby sit that little angel. She will need her diaper changed. I can’t be around for that.

Other than my wife’s and watching “Real Sex” on HBO that’s the only other vagina I’ve seen in over thirty years.

Well there is the occasional dirty e-mail that I will get from a friend or the time I accidentally ended up on an internet porn site when I was searching for information on raising goats to make mozzarella cheese.

But porn vaginas are more like stunt vaginas. Not like actual real vaginas.

While all these things were running through my head the voice of reason finally called out to me...

“Hey Poppa!!! I have a baby sister!!! Don’t touch her head Poppa only her feet. Her head is mushy so we can only touch her feet right now.”

“Hey little buddy give Poppa a hug. Now you’re going to be her protector right? You’re going to watch out for your little sister right?”

“If she ever stops crying, she’s been here for like five minutes and all she does is cry. I can’t take this crying all the time Poppa. She gives me a headache.”

“Well women do that. But she’s still your little sister and you’re going to need to watch out for her.”

“Fine but she needs to be quiet once in a while. She should be happy she’s cute.”

“Yes... well... she’s very cute but she’s just a little baby, and she was just born, so she’s going to cry a little bit.”

“Well when she gets big like me she needs to stop that. Look at her Poppa she’s so tiny but she makes so much noise.”

At this point my oldest son and his wife and five month old son arrived and I had all my kids and grandkids together for the first time.

I thought of my mom and dad and wished they could have been around to see this.

They would have been so proud.

And to think it all started out because of my lazy sperm.

Thursday, October 26, 2006

My wife is some kind spy or something...

“Uh… honey… why is there a miniature satellite dish in your dressing area?”

“What are you talking about Calabrese?”

“What is that? It looks like you’re trying to track incoming missiles.”

“It’s a diffuser.”

“What do you need a diffuser for? Is something about to go off?

“Something is about to go off all right.”

“What, I can’t ask a simple question?”

“Why are you bugging me? You know better than to bug me when I’m trying to get ready.

“I was just curious. A guy can’t show a little interest in his wife’s weaponry?”

“It attaches to the hair dryer numb nuts.”

“The hairdryer? Come on, seriously, what is that thing?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“Oh I get it. It’s a secret. You could tell me but then you’d have to kill me.”

“No, I’ll kill you because you’re annoying me.”

“What is all this crap? It looks like James Bond has moved in with us.”

“It helps keep my hair curly.”

“But your hair is naturally curly.”

“It doesn’t naturally curl the right way.”

“Uh... isn’t curly just curly? Plus I thought you wanted to wear your hair straight.”

“I did.”

“But now you want it curly?”


“What happened to all the other weapons you had here? What happened to that stuff that makes your hair straight?”

“Listen up Calabrese. You are not going to talk about my hair on stage. You are not going to write about my hair in your blog. You are not going to mention my hair to anyone. Capiche Calabrese?”

“Are you part of some secret government agency?”

“Knock it off Calabrese.”

“You’re no fun today.”

“I am trying to finish curling my hair.”

“Is it because you know I love it when your hair is curly and you’re just trying to please me?”

“Yeah… that’s it. I figured I have way too much time in my life and I need to spend a little of it diffusing my hair to please you. I live to please you. I yearn to please you.”

“You’re being sarcastic now aren’t you?”

“Ya think?”

“I need to ask you a question.”

“Fine. What?”

“Can I get a Yo Yo?”


“Can I get a Yo Yo?

“A Yo Yo…. Will it get you out of my hair?”



“Can I get….”

“Now what?”

“Can I get a new football?”

“You’re a grown man. If you want a football go get a football. You don’t have to ask me for stupid things. Now get the hell out of here and let me finish my hair.”

“Okay okay... I was just… you know… keeping you informed about decisions about money.”

“Calabrese move it!!!”


“Hey Motta, its Tone, guess what? It’s cool for me to get the new computer.”

“Dude, you mean she actually said go ahead and buy it? She’s going to let you buy a new computer just like that??? That’s amazing.”

“Not really. We’ve been married a long time and she realizes that I’m a grown man and that I’m quite capable of making these decisions. It’s all about communication my friend. Gotta keep those lines open. When a woman wants to talk you gotta be ready to listen.”

“I envy you.”

“I am a lucky man. Yes my friend a good marriage with open lines of communication is like a pair of comfortable shoes. Sure they get a little worn, but if you take good care of them they’ll get even more comfortable as they get older. A good pair of comfortable shoes can last a lifetime.”


“Apparently I should be comparing you to a Ninja. I gotta go Motta I’ll talk to you later.”

“Comfortable shoes?”

“I.... uh.... Motta started it.”

“Comforatble shoes?”


“I knew you were up to something.”

“I was just trying to be a grown man responsible enough to make decisions on my own and smart enough to not bug his wife when she’s getting ready.”

“You want a new computer?”

“No… I do not “want” a new computer. I “need” a new computer.”

“Fine go ahead, buy one, if you think you really need it.”


“You heard me. Go ahead. Buy it.”

“Uh… you’re… scaring… me.”

“Why? Like you said you’re a grown man. You can make decisions. Go ahead.”

“Wait… You’re scaring and confusing me.”

“If you think you need a new computer then I’m all for it.”

“Well… I mean… Are you sure? I guess I don’t really need one. But if I did I could just go out and buy it? I… I… um… okay then.”

“Okay I’ll see you later. I love you and stay out of trouble.”

“Okay babe. Your hair looks good by the way.”


“Motta, it’s me Tone. She was totally okay with the whole computer thing. She realizes who the man of the house is.”

“So when are you getting it.”

“Um… I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll wait a couple of months to see what new stuff comes out. I’m not in any hurry. When I see what I really want I’ll just go buy it. I’ll talk to you later.”


“And then the idiot compares me to comfortable shoes.”

“You’re not letting him get another new toy are you? Especially a computer.”

“Of course not. I just let him think it was okay. He’s so confused right now it will take him six months before he even brings it up again.”




Okay so I’m imagining that last part but I’m not stupid. I know she tricked me. Maybe I will get a computer. That would show her. Yes, I’ll just go out and buy one. I have the right to buy a new computer if I want one.

Maybe I just don’t want one right now.


Wednesday, October 18, 2006

Is there really any difference between a South Dakota bird watcher and a Chargers fan?

Sometimes it takes one little thing to get the brain juices flowing again.

I overheard the following conversation between two tellers at the bank today.

“Go out with him he’s cute. He has a job and everything.”

“He’s an FBI agent and he’s white.”

“You only date black guys?”

“No but I’m Latin and I think Latin guys are more exciting.”

“But he’s in the FBI, he has a gun, he’s probably really exciting.”

“What if he’s from South Dakota and only wants to talk about birds?”

“Guys from South Dakota talk about birds?”

“Yes they’re very boring.”

“But birds?”

“White guys talk about stupid stuff like birds and plants and fish.”

“They do?”

“Yes, that why I like a guy with you know… dreadlocks or something… It says something about them.”

“Yeah, like he has a prison record or something.”

“Okay I’ll give the FBI guy a chance.”

So listening to these two young women I started to think… is this how women really talk? Is this how the life shaping decisions in their lives are formulated.

And it dawned on me.

It really is.

Women really do think differently than men.

If two guy tellers had had that same conversation it would have been over in ten seconds.

“You going out with that FBI chick? Man she had a great rack.”

“Hell yeah I’m going out with her. Not only does she have a great rack she has a gun.”

Now some of you are thinking. Come on Tony, these were young women and young women think differently than older women. Older women would use a lot more common sense.

Um… Noooooooo…….

(EDITORS NOTE: Tony's wife got pissed off and the entire middle of this blog post had to be deleted.)

In the grand scheme of life the reality is the “game” is played every day. It doesn’t matter if you’re a white FBI agent from South Dakota who’s only interested in birds or an overweight middle aged married Italian man who just wants to watch the Chargers play the Steelers.

For a man, you win some, you lose most.

But the game gets played over and over and over again.

Men, women, we will always be on separate teams.

Bottom line….

Can you fix the score so that in the end you at least get “some”?