Why is it you take the smartest broad in the world, look under the hood, and she's STILL a sucker for smarmy bullshit?

Who is this Lindsay Logan of which ye speak?

yes there is something about Italians, it's called Garlic breath. Also, they rank in the personal hygiene dept only slightly above the French.

They are in general a good looking people I will grant you that. The women, especially in Northern Italy can be great beauties. But they tend to gain about 100+ Kg after the age of 30.

Wait, wait, wait... how do we know that:
1. The mail is genuinely from Italy, and
2. The emailer is genuinely Italian?

Anyone remember the end of Aerosmith's Sweet Emotion video? Where the "sexy" operator was a babuska-shaped ugly wearing a mumu and holding a brat? Without knowing otherwise, this "Lorenzo" might be some snaggletooth inbred hilljack who's one talent is sending email. I'd take this with a grain of salt if I were you, Anni.

Besides, he's tryin' to romance the drunken party ho. How good can his judgement be?

"he's tryin' to romance the drunken party ho. How good can his judgement be?"

Ask Casca.

I'd have to rate Lorenzo's judgment high, since he's not trying to get into the pants of a nun, or professional virgin. Yes the drunken party ho is the high percentage target.

Probably should've capitalized, so as to draw a distinction between run-of-the-mill drunken party ho's (hoes? hos?) and The Drunken Party Ho.

You see, Casca's right: The standard issue run-of-the-mill drunken party ho is a very high percentage target, therefore a very high percentage... ummmm... payoff (*ahem*).

But The Drunken Party Ho, aka Lindsay Logan (*snicker*)... I say, the high probability of success does not necessarily lead to desireable gain. After all, what's more high maintenance than the platinum edition, Hollywood issue, The Drunken Party Ho? As well as flighty and potentially annoying, not to mention likely to leave for either the next perfect, chisled, 6-packed-abs, mellifluous voiced actor, or the next leather wearing, dark haired, pale complexioned, emotional-outlook-perpetually-tragic singer who accidentally stumbles down the Block-of-Fleeting-Fame? Let's get real: I don't change my car's oil as much as some of these folks change their beaus. Hell, I probably don't change my socks as often.

Casca's right in general, but in this specific case, I stand by my analysis of Bubba, aka "Lorenzo". Sure, good judgement if it were standard drunken party ho's in question, but he's going after The Drunken Party Ho. Bad judgement, I say. Plus, weak kneed romantics mistake his prose for italian accented broken english, when in reality it's the sad result of a no-higher-than-3rd-grade education at a one room cardboard shack deep in the heart of Kan-tuh-kee. Indulge in the fantasy if you must, but just remember someplace in the back of your romantic imaginations that somewhere, there's an inbred hilljack drooling on the keyboard of his 486 imagining Lindsay Logan being his trailer wife.

Shit El, I imagine that there are several, and what's all this stuff dissin' the trailor park homies? Tweakers need love too.

Actually, you have Rex Grossman Syndrome. Just put the fucking ball where it goes, and stop thinking about all of the variations, and ramifications. You'll be happier.