Whitterer on Autism

Nonna, the Italian diabetic in Buca di Beppo:-
“Wot? I thought it woz an Italian restaurant? No Neopolitan ice-cream?”

Son to Nonna:-
“I thought Buca di Beppo meant ‘Beppo’s mouth?”
“No……..not mouth……hole……..hole as in ‘place’ of Guiseppe.”
“Yur both wrong,” announces the pre-teen with much eye rolling, “it means ‘Joe’s Basement,’ coz Joe is American for Guiseppe.”
“So what’s Italian for basement dear?”
“I wuz sayin basement to be polite, it jus means ‘hang out.’”

Adult Daughter to Mother and the timely echolalic:-
“I just don’t get it. What’s the point of having medical insurance if they’re only going to pay out if there’s an R in the month and a full moon.?”
“6 months late, if you’re lucky, minus huge deductible, ignoring all out of pocket expenses, just to be generous, say….. 65% tops?”

“It’s wicked man, it’s wicked man, it’s wicked man.”

Siblings:-
“Eeeow! Why are yah makin those weirdo squirrely noises huh?”
“Er…..I’m copyin dah weirdo squirrel…..over there……in dah tree……dinya hear him?” [with pointy finger]

Older brother to little brother, as he steps aside to let him go through the door first, “dere you go,……… age before beauty.”

A warning, bellowed helpfully, at Nonna’s swiftly retreating form, as he hurls his body around Thatcher, “don’t run! You’ll turn yourself into prey!”