Everybody should have a pet Guido. I've had mine since before it was even fashionable. Shit, I've had mine before we even heard the word Guido.. almost five years now. Mine's not exactly authentic - yes, he's Italian, but as far as I know he's never been to New Jersey, and his tan isn't as good as mine. Also, he's studying for a double bachelor in Business and Communications. But apart from that, he's the real deal. The haircut, the muscles, the chauvinism, the bar fights, the tendency to think every girl he meets is 'the one', the noisy little car with neons, the nightclubs, the love of Lil' Wayne... he's basically a complete inversion of my personality. Many people have no idea how the hell we get on. I guess opposites attract... and thus, I have a pet Guido.
To avoid embarrassment, and a potential bro-down, I'm going to call him Tony.
Every so often, Tony opens his mouth and gold spills out. Yesterday I decided that he's going to be my Karl Pilkington... his very outlook on life is going to make me rich and famous. So from now on, I'm going to include a weekly quote, that you too can marvel in the complexity of the tapestry of thought which must go on underneath all that hair-gel. Ladies and Gentlemen: I give you - My Pet Guido.
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