Vs. Oliver Cromwell
1970's Narrator: "Giovanni Bernidi is an Italian jetsetter. . . . . . a man of the world"
Shot of man in $3000 yellow silk suit raising his glass at a table. His hair is longish, his sunglasses are impenetrable, his smile is pearly-white
1970's Narrator: "He enjoys that lusty Italian cult of youth, and drives around in the finest cars and airplanes"
Shot of Giovanni turning the corner of his palatial estate in his white Ferrari, laughing with his head thrown back
1970's Narrator: "Every whim, every desire filled with the snap of a finger"
Shot of beautiful naked women bounding across the gardens and laughing
1970's Narrator: "It was heaven on earth, but a very dour Puritan from 17th century England would put a stop to THAT!
In his round crown hat, walking up quickly, Oliver Cromwell knocks the fine Italian cusine off the table with one ferocious swipe of his knobby cane. Giovanni Bernidi leaps back with outrage.
"You piece of shit! What is the meaning of this?!".
With a roar, Oliver Cromwell flips over the table. Catholic ostentatiousness is evil, and we must live our lives plain.
"You uptight Englishman!", as Giovanni makes a brushing movement under his chin. "We Italians invented the Renaissance! We're your masters!".
Oliver Cromwell chases Giovanni over to his sportscar, and his cudgel comes slamming down on the hood as the Italian jetsetter fires up the engine. With the pedal to the metal, Cromwell rolls up against the windshield and is tossed off to the side by the mounting acceleration.
"Ha, ha! Ha, ha! I live to make love another day, you limp dick!". However, being distracted, the white Ferrari tears through the olive garden and ruins the exterior. He crashes against a replica of Michaelangelo's "David".
Oliver Cromwell stumbles forth like an outake from "Night of the Living Dead" and the two fight it out to an inconclusive draw. When in doubt, turn to this:
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"You want a-nuther song? Well I ain't plain' one mutherfuckin' note until someone comes up here and puts sum money in my god-damned tip-jar! You know I only came here for one purpose. . . . . to take yor fuckin' cash! Why, I could make more profit puttin' out my meth-head neighbor's asshole and ringin' a bell, hollerin' 'Man for sale! Man for sale!'
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(Rheeee of Crickets)
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("I heard that, Missy!")
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