Montezemolo to take summer rant break

The Priory: The CEO of Ferrari, Luca di Montezemolo, has privately informed friends and business colleagues at the Italian team that he will take the rest of the summer off from yelling and screaming at the media, writes our anger management correspondent, Phil Briskets.

The 66 year old bouffant-coiffed Italian has spent much of the 2010 season barracking the media, FIA and rival teams concerning various issues that get under his expensively coiffeurred mane.

These include the perceived favouritism of other teams, mis-guided drafting of the technical regulations and the inability to influence officials via vast bribes or the threat of extreme violence upon them and their families.

Ferrari bother has sent Luca mental, say experts

“Luca has had a busy year already, running the Ferrari empire,” professional di Montezemolo watcher, Toni Bastardo! told us.

“There’s been the launch of the new Scagletti, the Fiat Union trouble and err….that thing with that guy: you know – the one who didn’t want to do that thing and had to be persuaded to do that thing via some extra special persuading if you understand what I’m talkin’ about?”, he told us.

“People don’t seem to realise how pressurised this man’s life is,” Bastardo! continued.

“This is a very important, influential man – you know what I’m sayin’? who’s bustin’ his balls every goddam day of his life tryin’ to get stuff done; yet all these other people seem to do all day is disrespect the man.”

Jesus fuggin’ Christ! He ain’t fuggin’ dead yet!

“I tell ya, they’re lucky he’s takin’ a break from all this shit – if you pardon my fuggin’ French – cuz if it were me, I’d be out there breakin’ some arms and some legs – if you understand what I’m sayin? Ya goddam muthafuggin’ asshole,” he pondered.

It’s thought that Mr Di Montezemolo will begin acclimatising to his less confrontational regime by practising deep breathing techniques developed from aspects of Buddhist teaching.

Eventually, through trancendental mediation he will then ease himself onto a higher, beatific plane of thought sufficient not to provoke him into periodically slamming his staff’s heads in car doors or stabbing business rivals in the eye with a fountain pen when they displease him.

“Eeeeeyyyyyy! Fuggeddabowdit!!”, he exclaimed to journalists; shrugging his shoulders innocently in an immaculate blood-spattered Giorgio Armani suit.

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