Kid Chameleon
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- Apr 14, 2012
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Ascolta, Valentino
(Cutto: A street-looking fella with a white vest, a pair of ripped jeans that look two sizes too big for him and a moustache and bit of gruff on the chin that make him resemble Begbie from Trainspotting or as his countrymen have called him, a poor man’s Frankie Garage – Google it on Google.it if you haven’t got a Scooby about what I’m on about.)
(Stroking his chin, apparently in pensive mood, this brand-new character begins to speak with an Italian twang.)
“I ‘ate the nord of Italy, Valentino Ferrari. You are from Venezia, near Verona, where people dare to say to us Neapolitans: Welcome to Italy. You sit up there, drinking, judging persons from the sud and think you are regal and elegant?”
(We still don’t know the name of this guy, but judging by the way his minstrel-like eyes are moving, he’s what you’d consider ‘out there.’)
“From what I see of you, you are typical polentone: Arrogant, slimy, you make a’ my skin crawl. I wanna go and dive into the Bay of Naples for a bath after watchin’ your performance.”
(Then, he scoffs in a dismissive way.)
“You think you’re Italian because you wear a football t-shirt? What have Venezia ever done in the Serie A? Two words: Diego Maradona. Oh, you and your pals from Verona didn’t like him too, did you?”
(The southern Italian shakes his head.)
“I can’t see anything I like about you, stronzo. You’re from the nord, you’re Veneziano and your name’s Valentino? Mio dio, I wanna kick your culo from Amsterdam to Notting’am, you testo di cazzo.”
(That means: I want to kick your ass from Holland to England, you dickhead. Continuing with the theme of Nottingham, which I thought was an odd inclusion… )
“I’m the Robin Hood of Italy. I steal from the rich and I give to the poor. What I’m gonna do to you in Olanda is steal a victory from you, take your pride and POW…Vaffanculo.”
(Whoever he is, he’s a foul-mouthed young man with a chip on his shoulder and I refuse to translate what he said at the end, but you can guess.)
“Sono Roberto Veroli. Piacere. Ascolta, Valentino…
“They call Adrien Broner ‘The Problem.’ Consider me your problem since now. I tell to you that you don’t know ‘ow to ‘andle this problem, but don’t ‘ave any ideas of entering the Grand Prix, you cazzo grande.”
(Adjusting his shirt, Veroli, with mischievous eyes and his hands in pockets, struts forward to confront the camera one final time.)
“Ti ricordi mi chiamo? Roberto Veroli. I am LA TUA PROBLEMA in Amsterdam. ‘ow are you going to solve this?”
(Roberto points to his chest and smiles before winking at the camera. FADE.)
(Cutto: A street-looking fella with a white vest, a pair of ripped jeans that look two sizes too big for him and a moustache and bit of gruff on the chin that make him resemble Begbie from Trainspotting or as his countrymen have called him, a poor man’s Frankie Garage – Google it on Google.it if you haven’t got a Scooby about what I’m on about.)
(Stroking his chin, apparently in pensive mood, this brand-new character begins to speak with an Italian twang.)
“I ‘ate the nord of Italy, Valentino Ferrari. You are from Venezia, near Verona, where people dare to say to us Neapolitans: Welcome to Italy. You sit up there, drinking, judging persons from the sud and think you are regal and elegant?”
(We still don’t know the name of this guy, but judging by the way his minstrel-like eyes are moving, he’s what you’d consider ‘out there.’)
“From what I see of you, you are typical polentone: Arrogant, slimy, you make a’ my skin crawl. I wanna go and dive into the Bay of Naples for a bath after watchin’ your performance.”
(Then, he scoffs in a dismissive way.)
“You think you’re Italian because you wear a football t-shirt? What have Venezia ever done in the Serie A? Two words: Diego Maradona. Oh, you and your pals from Verona didn’t like him too, did you?”
(The southern Italian shakes his head.)
“I can’t see anything I like about you, stronzo. You’re from the nord, you’re Veneziano and your name’s Valentino? Mio dio, I wanna kick your culo from Amsterdam to Notting’am, you testo di cazzo.”
(That means: I want to kick your ass from Holland to England, you dickhead. Continuing with the theme of Nottingham, which I thought was an odd inclusion… )
“I’m the Robin Hood of Italy. I steal from the rich and I give to the poor. What I’m gonna do to you in Olanda is steal a victory from you, take your pride and POW…Vaffanculo.”
(Whoever he is, he’s a foul-mouthed young man with a chip on his shoulder and I refuse to translate what he said at the end, but you can guess.)
“Sono Roberto Veroli. Piacere. Ascolta, Valentino…
“They call Adrien Broner ‘The Problem.’ Consider me your problem since now. I tell to you that you don’t know ‘ow to ‘andle this problem, but don’t ‘ave any ideas of entering the Grand Prix, you cazzo grande.”
(Adjusting his shirt, Veroli, with mischievous eyes and his hands in pockets, struts forward to confront the camera one final time.)
“Ti ricordi mi chiamo? Roberto Veroli. I am LA TUA PROBLEMA in Amsterdam. ‘ow are you going to solve this?”
(Roberto points to his chest and smiles before winking at the camera. FADE.)
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