"Parmigiana," which translates to "from Parma" is a bit of a misnomer. The I-think-I-might-have-to-change-my-underwear dish above did not actually originate in the Northern Italian city of Parma. The true story is much more sordid. And thus, like the tomato sauce-slathered chicken, much more titillating.

The true tale of the mighty Chicken Parmigiana involves cases of mistaken identity, paternity battles, knife fights, more than one case of amnesia, a chef gone rogue, a recipe gone missing, chance encounters, brief trysts, seduction, rape, weddings, funerals, parades, bar mitzvahs, and the entire ensemble cast of the 1964 traveling production of L'incoronazione di Poppea. But I won't bore you with the details. Suffice it to say, it was the combined wet dream of every Days of Our Lives writer, ever, and M. Night Shyamalan.

That being said, I do have a very keen interest from whence the Chicken Parm came. But, I don't care about the story. I'm talking about the little old Italian birds with recipes in their heads and pit stains in their frocks. Now, I've never really had a thing for old broads who sweep carpet and decorate their lawns with religious idols. However, looking at the Chicken Parm image, I feel like I could make an exception. And by exception, I mean bang ALL of them. One by one. Vigorously. And in crazy positions. I would do it as more of a "thank you" than anything else. "Thank you, dear Rosetta or Violetta or Nicoletta or Volkswagen Jetta. Thank you for giving this brand new boner an old world feel. And thank you for putting that marinara, that sweet, sweet nectar of the heathen Roman gods, betwixt thy chicken and cheese. And thank you for letting me put my own sacred nectar betwixt your ample, sagging bosom. I'll always love you."