You, take out your boobs.

OK, quick explanation of today’s status update. My friends, Kirt and Morc for the purposes of this topic, and I were having lunch in the cafeteria at work. The topic went, unsurprisingly, to films before turning, even less surprisingly, to Italian horror cinema. There was discussion of a scene where a woman’s nipple is bitten off by her zombified child in an inexplicable series of events. Morc speculated that this scene was indeed written by someone at a typewriter, though with much incredulity I countered this postulation with doubt, believing instead that the scene was of a more improvised nature. I went on to propose that the scene played out much more like so:

Me (in my best Italian accent, sounding probably not unlike Sesame Street’s The Count): You, take out your boobs.

As Morc would gleefully point out now an older man happened to be walking by at this exact moment, and did a quick double take, having apparently overheard my command. He did not comply, much to everyone’s great relief, and walked on. He then came back over and sat behind us, probably hoping to get some idea of what had just happened. And that is the story of how I told an old man to take out his boobs. Cheers!