Don't Call Me Scarface!Te tagghiu a fazza!
I live in a perpetual state of being banged up, bruised, cut, and bleeding. But somehow through it all I have never managed to get the injury that I have actually wanted-----a big gaping slash right across the face; something that would leave a big eye-catching scar that would suggest all kinds of illicit danger and adventure; something that is pure film noir anti-hero.
Surely, this obsession must have its origins in my childhood and the G.I. Joe action figures that were my constant companions. Joe was, for a little guy, the ideal man---rugged, tough, handsome---always alert and out on some dangerous mission to save the world. And most definitely not like Barbie's Ken who, while undeniable handsome in his own way, lacked any true grit and was really just another of her fashion accessories.
This scar has become one of the great and glaring omissions in my quest to become a more perfect man. But I feel that time is running out; it's gotta happen soon or else surely I must take matters into my own hands.
Bring me the big knife!
26 June 2017