Here we go again, media shots everywhere of the poor old Concordia, still looming like a beached whale off the coast of Italy for the entire world to see. If I keel over, Pumpkins, promise you’ll throw a tarp over me so that my bits and ballasts aren’t exposed.
Cruise industry execs must be heaving a collective, universal groan at the sight. Last year’s profits were just as sunk as that poor ship. And now, right in the middle of Wave season, there’s massive coverage about resurrecting the poor old broad so she can be moved. Of course, the paparazzi will film every stage of the refloat attempt - barnacle covered hull, cranes, sponsons and parbuckling prevention in full view - reminding scared passengers everywhere never to venture out to sea again.
It’s surprising that nobody has arranged a hit on that lothario captain, I mean, seriously Pumpkins, stereotypes aside, this is Italy we are talking about, dahrlings! He is now saying that while he blamed himself for a few months, he realizes from seeing the contents of the black box (a term I’ve always found distasteful) that he was given incorrect info and lost his way!
No… it wasn’t that he was trying to impress that luscious young thing, nor his buddies ashore… no, no! He just had the wrong coordinates!
Now, I’ve strayed off course now and again, Pumpkins, lord knows I have, but this guy takes the espresso.
Stecchino’s a finko.
I need a drinko.
