The Spot-On Quote Of The Week…
…is awarded to Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi who is reported to have said the following after dinner was served and eaten at one of his special parties:
Now we’re going to do some bunga-bunga.
According to Yahoo News, Philip Pullella reporting:
In verbatim transcripts published by at least two Italian news agencies and several newspapers, a woman named Maria told magistrates that in June 2010, a Berlusconi associate invited her to a party at the prime minister’s villa near Milan.
“After the dinner, the prime minister said ‘now we are going to do some bunga-bunga,” the term magistrates say the participants used to describe their parties.
Maria says she did a belly dance while another young woman walked around the room dressed only in a bra and panties. Maria told magistrates a Brazilian woman wearing thong underwear danced a “hard version of a samba” as the men watched.
“Even the other girls danced, showing their breasts and their bottoms and they all went near the prime minister who touched them in their intimate parts,” the news agencies and newspapers quote Maria as telling magistrates.
Marysthell Garcia, Nicole Minetti, Ance Spirga, Lavender Ogolla
-First of all, we are talking about an Italian head-of-state here — so what’s the big surprise. Mr. Berlusconi is certainly an improvement over those stick-in-the-mud Commies the Italians used to make PM.
-Would you rather have old Silvio as your country’s leader, a man who appreciates wine, women, and song, or some namby-pamby, policy-wonking, nagged-to-death Bolshe who’s a sociopathic Narcissist?
-I am reminded of my favorite poem by Robert Service:
The Concert Singer
I’m one of these haphazard chaps
Who sit in cafes drinking;
A most improper taste, perhaps,
Yet pleasant, to my thinking.
For, oh, I hate discord and strife;
I’m sadly, weakly human;
And I do think the best of life
Is wine and song and woman.
Now, there’s that youngster on my right
Who thinks himself a poet,
And so he toils from morn to night
And vainly hopes to show it;
And there’s that dauber on my left,
Within his chamber shrinking —
He looks like one of hope bereft;
He lives on air, I’m thinking.
But me, I love the things that are,
My heart is always merry;
I laugh and tune my old guitar:
~Sing ho! and hey-down-derry.~
Oh, let them toil their lives away
To gild a tawdry era,
But I’ll be gay while yet I may:
I’m sure you know that picture well,
A monk, all else unheeding,
Within a bare and gloomy cell
A musty volume reading;
While through the window you can see
In sunny glade entrancing,
With cap and bells beneath a tree
A jester dancing, dancing.
Which is the fool and which the sage?
I cannot quite discover;
But you may look in learning’s page
And I’ll be laughter’s lover.
For this our life is none too long,
And hearts were made for gladness;
Let virtue lie in joy and song,
The only sin be sadness.
So let me troll a jolly air,
Come what come will to-morrow;
I’ll be no ~cabotin~ of care,
No ~souteneur~ of sorrow.
Let those who will indulge in strife,
To my most merry thinking,
The true philosophy of life
Is laughing, loving, drinking.