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An Italian walks into a bank in New York City and asks for the loan officer. He tells the loan officer that he is going to Italy on business for two weeks and needs to borrow $10,000.
The bank officer tells him that the bank will need some form of security for the loan, so the Italian hands over the keys to a new Ferrari.
The car is parked on the street in front of the bank. The Italian produces the title and everything checks out. The loan officer agrees to accept the car as collateral for the loan.
The bank’s president and its officers all enjoy a good laugh at the Italian for using a $500,000 Ferrari as collateral against a $10,000 loan.
An employee of the bank then drives the Ferrari into the bank’s underground garage and parks it there.
Two weeks later, the Italian returns, repays the $5,000 and the interest, which comes to $25.36. The loan officer says, “Sir, we are very happy to have had your business, and this transaction has worked out very nicely, but we are a little puzzled.
While you were away, we checked you out and found that you are a multimillionaire. What puzzles us is, why would you bother to borrow $10,000?”
The Italian replies: “Where else in New York City can I park my Ferrari for two weeks for only $25.36 and expect it to be there when I return?”

What do you call an Italian with his hands in his pocket?
A mute.

I noticed a big difference between NY Italians and Chicago Poles when I was young: if you told an Italian joke, the NY Italian would probably laugh and tell you a better one. Tell a Polack joke to the Polish guy, and you risked getting your head punched off your shoulders.

A short,fat,bald Italian man went to a brothel one evening and selected an absolutely gorgeous blonde.As they went upstairs the Italian had a beaming smile on his face as he thought of what lay in store for him but the woman viewed the ugly man with distaste.
However, as they undressed the blonde was astonished to find that the Italian had a very,very large penis.
“Oh,what a magnificent cock you have there,” said the woman.
“Yes, I am very proud of him,” said the Italian, “I call him Caesar.”
“Can I bring some of the other girls round to have a look at him?” she asked.
“Certainly not,” said the Italian.
“But why not?” pouted the woman.
“Because I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him,” said the Italian.

What happens when the gotti boyyz came 2 fame?
they came to shame ruinied a powerful name, and became some more ameican lames. Italian americans loss more respect.



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