Mercifully my dear husband reads the “bastards” as he calls them. I say mercifully because for years he has so nobly protected me from the brunt of their horror by reading it, capturing it, archiving those screenshots and then processing the rage. Being Italian that is a struggle. Italians are not famous for their emotional control. They get riled up and they will let you know.
When he felt or feels I need to know something he tells me, but he bears the sorrow and anguish so much of the time silently, day after day without a word to me. Sometimes he will mutter in Italian, sometimes be blown away at the stupidity. But it is never good and today reading that shit Terhune wrote about my heroic husband made me furious.
What a total jerk to mock Renato. He should beg to have five minutes with a man as great, as brilliant and as entertaining as Renato. Renato's life stories are epic and his own history astounding. He has traveled the world, known so many incredible people and cared so tenderly for his disabled brother and mother after his father died.
To have this sniveling, sneering, arrogant POS Tracy Terhune call him demeaning names? I do not think so. That really pissed me off.
And what does this have to do with Rudolph Valentino? Everything. Absolutely everything.
Free Valentino from the tyranny of Terhune.
