"As everyone knows I'm a Full Blooded Italian. I don't need to prove it to any of you. I know many, many Italian words. Mozarella. Dolce and Gabbana. Gucci. Calvin Klein. Golaccio. See? Molti, molti words. My heritage is not in doubt so we don't need to talk about it anymore. My suit is Pinstriped and italic as a man befitting my station. I have a lot going for me, what I don't have? A Full Blooded Italian wife. My friend spacey said I can't keep this position of power without providing 60 kilos of hard drugs cheese (Parmigiano Reggiano to me) and a woman. A wife.

A Full Blooded Italian Wife. These are not easy to find. Times are hard. True Italians are rare. Omerta is incredibly important in life. You may be scared to come forward with such information. Don't worry - I will ensure all my Full Blooded Italian informers are protected (FBI for short) and kept away from nefarious ends. I, have come up with a way to keep us all safe and protected.

Gianna Schmianni unveiled his masterpiece. It was nothing more than a custom built shed, no larger than a toilet cubicle. Inside there were two compartments, separated by a hole in the wall and a curtain. 

"To aid in this quest you don't have to publicly come out here and shout your news for all to see. Simply step into my custom built Street Booth, pull back the curtain and peer through the hole separating me from you. Slip me your length of news. Thrust your passionate information through the adjoining wall. Allow me to slobber all over your greasy pearls of wisdom. Please help me. I have a hole in my heart that needs to be filled.

Together we can achieve success. Together you can find me a wife."

Gianna quietly entered his glorious booth and took a seat. He peered through the wall awaiting his first informer. He hadn't been this excited since discovering spaghetti carbonara and licked his lips excitedly.