OMG I had to laugh to myself in the subway the other day. How do you figure this dude is going to say “YO FIRED!” in Italian? I mean, The Donald even had the balls to fire Bush, for God’s sake!
Wait, wait! Wanna hear how it sounds with a British accent? Go!
The geniuses there cut right to the chase and called their show “The Apprentice You’re Fired!”
Best line? (Imagine me doing a mock British accent) “You should be branded tragic!” (Oh my God I have to find a way to reuse that line.)
Anyhoo, my curiosity about this key catch phrase in Italian made me even consider, for like a split second, the idea of watching real TV just to find out. You do know it’s been honestly years since I’ve watched real TV, right? Real TV in my house is defined as anything that doesn’t fall between channels 40–or thereabouts–and 46. Those are the cartoons. I honest to God haven’t watched any real TV other than cartoons in years, and I don’t even really watch the cartoons. For heaven’s sake folks, Italian TV isn’t worth it anyways.
(Shelley crosses fingers and makes obvious exception for TG4 weather girls in the golden days of Emilio Fede, requisite “hubba hubba” photographic evidence thus:)
Thigh-highs such a plus when reporting on “sun,” “sun with clouds,” and “random white lines.” Which I later learned means fog. So intuitive.
And … now?
Ok, so are you are aware that aforementioned Italian apprentice dude is actually and truly the Italian version of Donald Trump, right? Tell me you are aware of this. I mean, honestly, we need to give a major gold star to central casting on this one.
If you are unaware of Donalduccio Trumpazzio, his name is Flavio Briatore. Briatore is known in various circles as “Italy’s most infamous playboy” (although he’s now been married since 2008).
I’m not much of a pop culture authority around here (see: paragraph 1 in which I say I don’t watch TV) but my instincts are telling me that Briatore is a bit of a has-been, alla “The Donald” circa his debut in The Apprentice. Why do I say that? Because all the controversial gossipy clips about him go back to 2007 and 2008, when I think he was most likely in his hey-day, as well as was his “Billionaire” club in Sardegna. Post-crisi all this shameless money flaunting might seem just a wee bit gauche, especially when it involves trying to hawk alligator skin umbrellas to the tune of $50,000. (Yes, those are FOUR zeros, for alligator skin, used for an object whose sole purpose is to GET WET, and I didn’t make a typo.)
Anyhoo, not much else to report on here, folks. However, IMHO, “Sei licenziato!” just doesn’t have the same ring to it as The Donald’s original recipe. And will Briatore being doing that weird hand thingy, too? Ah, so many questions, so much to discover. Too bad I won’t be around to find out. I’ll be over zoning off into the distance while the TV flickers with something called The Fairly Odd Parents on channel 44. So, you know, fill me in, won’t you? After which I’ll be in line with Anne Hathaway waiting 20 minutes to get into the club, while Bruce Willis gets shunned.
What’s that, you say? My instincts were correct?
Why, yes; yes they were.
Above-linked article, worth linking this time under its proper headline “How Elisabetta tamed Italian billionaire Flavio Briatore” which includes the required-by-law booby shot, as stated in Italian constitution article XVI, act. 3, paragraph 72bis: “All Italian female television or media personalities must reveal, at all times, at least half of their abundant bosoms.” Said article calls Briatore fully transformed into a responsible father and husband, and further reveals that his beloved club Billionaire, where everyone brought $50,000 alligator skin umbrellas in case of rain, closed its expensive doors at the end of this summer.
Oh, sweet sorrow. But, like they always say, while wearing their brightly-colored rubber band “WWJD” bracelets: when God closes a door, He opens a window.
So now, without further ado, let the breezes blow in and ruffle the curtains as I turn it over to, and I quote the official-sounding narrator: “a man who took destiny into his own hands…”
Oh holy God … the 10 RULES OF THE BOSS. Yes, I’ll translate. It’s the very least I can do for you after having read this far. Yeah, don’t mention it. That’s what they pay me the big bucks for.
1. Chew barbed wire. (mmm sounds appetizing. Does that come with the amatriciana?)
2. Don’t give up. (Revolutionary. Truly reinventing the wheel here.)
3. Be hungry. (Clearly he is. Often. Look at his amazing physique.)
4. Be a good coach. (“Make them loyal.”)
5. Work is serious business. (Please refer to my comments regarding rule #2)
6. Success is the best revenge. (Nooo! Don’t rip off ol’ Blue Eyes!)
7. Business never sleeps. (It sounds like he’s grasped the concept of Greenwich Mean Time.)
8. Never underestimate me. (No worries there. Briatore doesn’t read my blog. And he adds “And don’t ever overestimate yourself.” Once again, not in my readership.)
9. No excuses ever. (I was going to think up a sarcastic comment for this one but the dog ate the paper I wrote it on. He goes, “If you’re arrogant, you’re out.” I guess that’s because only one arrogant bastard is allowed on screen. Not underestimating!)
10. The boss is always right. (Please refer to my comments regarding rule #9).
Wow. Truly exhilarating. I need a drink. Briatore, I’m fired.