That one story that you find yourself telling time and time again without having actually been around when it happened? This is mine. It came to me via my Hungarian friend Dora who got me into (and out of) all kinds of situations while I was living in Sweden, and who was present for the entire thing. Without her accent and gestures it loses at least 30% of its hilarity, but it’s worth preserving nevertheless.
Dora and her friend Angelica went to a party. One of the ones where everyone has invited someone who’s invited someone else, until you have a room full of mutual strangers. In the midst of this party, they found the man known only as Stoned Bosnian Guy. Or maybe he found them; the precise details have been lost. This much we know: nobody at the party knew who Stoned Bosnian Guy was, or who he’d come with. The facts are, he was Bosnian, and he was very, very stoned.
At some point, SBG took it into his addled head that Angelica was going to be his friend. Their brief but poignant dialogue went something like this:
SBG: Angelica…let me fuck you, Angelica.
Angelica: …..No.
SBG [more insistently, with emphatic hand gestures]: Let me fuck you, Angelica. I will fuck you for six hours, Angelica. SIX HOURS. You will be so happy, Angelica. Six hours.
Angelica: …………………………………No.
At this point, realising that the evening was not going to progress the way he’d hoped, Stoned Bosnian Guy started crying and, while continuing his hand gestures, offered his final reflection: ‘I miss the rivers in my homeland.’
I still can’t decide how upset I feel about not having been present for this.
The Ridiculous Miss Mickum 