This neck is a world-class wuss wagon, as it can’t hold up Caruso’s leprechaun head while it’s attempting to emote. His wizened mug clearly has no acting chops on its own, so it relies on a droopy neck to add gravitas to every CSI: Miami scene. Whenever dude is about to inflict some verbal damage on a sweaty Rico Suavé, he puts his hands on his ass-clown hips and lowers his head. You know what’s coming. Staring at the ground, clearly unable to straighten his cervical vertebrae, he mutters something to the effect of “Gonna get you, sucka,” pulls off his sunglasses, and looks up—lips pursed with disapproval—as the future ass candy is hauled off to the big house.
Lift your head, jackwipe! Do you have scoliosis? Did you leave your back brace back in 10th grade? Did your trapezius muscle atrophy from looking for spare change on the ground during those lean years after you left NYPD Blue? Is the South Beach sun too damn bright for your photophobic Irish-Italian eyes? Do you think you’ll turn to stone if you look someone, anyone, in the eye? Are you begging for a wicked case of whiplash?
That last question is rhetorical since I’m going to serve up my own cocktail of hurt on this puny neck. I’m going to whip it right round, baby, right round. I’m doing it—and the body it belongs to—a favor, since the resulting neck brace can only improve Caruso’s posture and dramatic posturings.