See! I knew it. This is exactly what I was talking about. I’m screwed.
Considering that I’m already destined to be buried in the middle of a corn field, outside a small Kansas City town, I might as well tell it like it is. Anthony … or Tony “the specialist” Napoli, as you’d probably prefer — your ad needs work. There, I said it.
The picture is dumb. The arrow is unnecessary. The hand-written font doesn’t make sense. Connected didn’t need to be in quotes (although, it’s further proves my theory). And, the gradient fade on your photo is lame.
Whew. That felt good.
Holla. Gotcha Tony, I was just messin’ with you. This is fantastic … really. And, just like everything else you touch, it’s gold. Give a shout out to the boys for me.
The angels are looking down on us today folks. We’ve been blessed with yet another beauty from Little Italy’s own, Anthony Napoli.
Alright, I’ll admit … I bit nervous to give you anything less than gold. Not that you don’t deserve it — it’s just that your name is Tony, you live in Little Italy, you’re obviously very well-connected and you’re pointing at me like I’m next. I mean, I’m not an organized crime special agent or anything, but I’d say chances are good that you’re Remax office is in the back room of some Italian restaurant. Look, I’ve seen the Sapranos, I know how this works. I give you silver and you call in a favor. Next thing I know, my heads in a vise and I’m being forced to cough up a platinum nomination. No thank you!
Let me level with ya Tony. You’re good … really good. But, when I’m comparing you to Mr. Shuswap, Poker Jack and the rest of my gold nominees, you’re just ok. Give me a pun, show a little skin, I don’t know … just something more. That said and because of my will to live, I’m giving you gold anyway. Damn you.
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