FRANCO PATATINE

It was early morning in Cardiopalmo, the town where anything could happen... and where, in fact, it did.

The sun was shining high, a little higher that day, reflecting on Franco Patatine's yellow revolving apartment building, which moved pigmentedly on itself like a slow and useless carousel.

Franco, on the other hand, wasn't so calm: standing on the terrace, bare-chested and wearing his unmistakable green boxers, he was hanging out apple, banana and pineapple-shaped clothes with maniacal precision, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

In the meantime, he was talking to himself. Or maybe not.

“Of course! It's true, I swear! I said yes... GREEN, I said GREEN! But what do your bees have to do with it? Ok, it's fine with cheese... Hairy? Why hairy? SHIT! You're right! Hairy and dear! Ah-haaa! Ok, see you at the rare cartridge junkyard!”

Just as he finished his sentence, fate decided to intervene.

His right foot slipped

Time seemed to slow down. Franco fidgeted, trying to regain his balance. He reached out, desperately searching for a handhold…

All I found was a pair of giant underwear with a duck drawn on it!

They weren't regular underwear. NO.

We had an animatronic built in.

As Franco tightened his grip on them, a metallic voice activated with a BEEP:

“ATTENTION! FOR A SAFE FALL, BEND YOUR KNEES AND STRETCH YOUR ARMS FORWARD. WE ADVISE YOU TO AVOID HARD GROUND AND FIND SOFT SURFACES LIKE CARPETS, BEDS OR… WELL, RANDOM WOMEN.”

“WHAT?!” Franco shouted, as the underwear continued to explain landing techniques like an airline stewardess.

“IN THE EVENT OF A VIOLENT IMPACT, SHOUTING ‘HELP’ MAY HELP. ALTERNATIVELY, FAKE A VOLUNTARY LANDING TO PRESERVE YOUR DIGNITY.”

His underwear tore.

And he fell.

Below him, the large yellow window of the toy store approached quickly. Too quickly, almost too late.

In his panic, he farted.

It wasn’t the most heroic gesture of his life, but it at least accompanied his spectacular entrance through the glass, amid an explosion of shrapnel and bouncing dolls.

He landed with a thud on top of an unknown woman, who let out a scream that shook the chandeliers. Trying to get away, she tore her dress… and her bra.

(It wasn’t clear why she was wearing a bra, but this wasn’t the time to wonder.)

In the chaos, Franco Patatine forcefully stepped on the tail of a brown dog, who, terrified, leapt in desperation… leaving a “souvenir” right on the shiny shoes of an angry gas station attendant who had just entered, it was Gianni Puzza.

The man lowered his gaze. Silence. Then, with a strangled scream, he instinctively stepped back…

And ended up against a pyramid of toy boxes.

The shelves shook. The children ran away, colorful, like confetti and the alien Santa Claus boxes fell one after the other, lighting up the room with flashing red eyes, like an army of little hellish invaders.

And, just at that moment, a red balloon burst with a deafening bang…

Right in the face of an African robber in a silver balaclava.

The criminal, who until that moment had been calmly selecting the objects to steal and Hitler's first name, suddenly found himself blind and mute, staggered backwards, swayed sexily... and landed directly on Franco Patatine.

They both slipped, like a ball on a bowling alley

Rolling between dolls and pieces of shelves, Franco stopped only when his vision was invaded by something unexpected, infernal that terrified him.

He looked up and found himself, with horror, staring at the panties of an old lady who was looking at him perplexed, with a bag of radicchio in her hand.

Silence. Time stopped.

Franco blinked.

He fixed his orange quiff, stood up as if nothing had happened, took a deep breath...

And, without even dusting off his boxers, he threw a sexy look at a girl nearby.

Surprisingly, she reciprocated.

Naturally.

And with a fascinated smile.

Franco then approached her with his gaze fixed on her full lips...

until he was an inch from her face!

he grabbed her and kissed her noisily! making her lips crack! the woman's hair swelled with excitement and her dress burst!

A subtle sinister velvety sound was heard, yes, it was a fart!

Franco Patatine carefree put his helmet back on and with his playboy walk, he went home climbing up the rusty and sad gutter that surrounded his rotating yellow condominium, hugging it as if to guard it affectionately.

The eggs on the stove were almost ready, excellent! he said and called Cleopatra Zibibbo his neighbor, come it's ready.

Juggling between ancient artifacts Cleopatra reached him thoughtful and enigmatic as always, she was a calculator, obsessive at times, but he knew it and didn't spare any expense therefore.

How are your studies going he asked her delicately?

In short... the algorithms are correct... and also the temporal dynamics, however some alterations of the surface leave me perplexed

now it's the third attempt and ... the dishwasher doesn't start. Mm.. she thought have you tried to rotate this little wheel here? Which one? Patatine asked?

Come on! let's not think about it anymore there are more urgent things, I'm going to cut my nose hair!

Cleopatra blushed, but tried not to show it, she had a weakness for him but she would never let him know, she had sworn it to her son Excalibur.

The bell rang and a squirrel vanished into thin air, Franco still clogged with hair went to the door. He picked up the receiver, lowered the receiver and let Alberto Skywalker up.

Alberto Skywalker was his mentor, a high-class man, with exaggerated expectations and great balance, always ready to assert his wisdom and resourcefulness

it was he who allowed FrancoPatatine every day not to stumble with an infernal crash on the carpet full of camel crumbs. He was his hero, his ...let's drive carefully.

Cleopatra Zibibbo was instead a frivolous woman always with many thoughts in her head and very much in need of affection.

Once when she was little she had even lost a chocolate in a disco but her mother had not noticed and this had always been a reason to boast for her and gave her security.