Back in Sicily I operated a typesetting business. As we specialized in italics, all our numbers were crooked. It was a font for the mafia.
In South America, medicine is so corrupt. Even joint replacement surgeries are controlled by the Columbian cartelage.
How does a mobster turn down fudge? A: “Fudgegettaboutit!“
The outdoor landscaping industry is controlled by the Camorra mafia. It’s a mow Napoli.
I quit the mafia to become a housekeeper. Now I’m a maid man.
Is my business just a cover for the Mafia? I take a front to that.
The gangland baseball star established a huge mafia umpire. Of course, he won’t say a word about his past hits: He follows the code of homerta, and brushes off all allegations as baseless. But he has been seen patrolling the alleys, and out of left field, he takes a swing at the pitcher. ‘Don’t try to put one past a man with three balls,’ he gloats. Despite facing the heat for two controversial strikes–and repeatedly ending up in foul territory–he ends up walking. Of course, the other guys balk. The next inning he decides to stick a cap on a fan. This time the hard liners get to him. So he winds up in the pen. Before, he would feast on sliders, but now he kills time sacrificing flies and collecting booze tins on his mickey mantle. Some say he dabbles in CyYoungtology. During this short stop, he pulls off a deadly sidearm delivery. He rallies, ends up running all the bases, and despite being violently tagged, he makes it home, safe. The truth of the matter? You could ask the catcher, but the catcher knows squat.
Who was the dirtiest mobster? Tony Soap ran out.
When it comes to bad mafia puns, the Gents defer to the crapo di tutti crappy: Don Corneone.