St Mary’s Bay Piss-Up

or How To Have Fun With Foreigners
The Baltic Bride had her parents in tow. At least, I assume they are her parents. They were far too old and unattractive to be invited on their own merit, although they appeared human, in an aged, raisin-like way, and I had always assumed the Bride was raised by feral animals. The Bride quickly abandoned them for the Parnell Piss-Tanks she calls friends. They proceeded to drink too much and screech loudly, as usual.

The parents were standing alone, looking at a loss. Mother taught me that, at social events, one should initiate conversation with the shyer guests, so I approached them. Bah. Who am I kidding. They were standing between me and the nearest bottle of champagne, and I thought I might collect some good dirt on the Bride on the way, as an added incentive.

“Hello,” I said.
The parents looked around fearfully, flapping their hands, grunting something unintelligible.
A-ha. They don’t speak English.
I shook their hands. “Your daughter is a complete fat-head. Fo’ shizzle.”
They smiled nervously, nodding.
“In fact, if the fat-heads of the world had a revolution, she would be crowned Empress of the Fat-headia empire. Word up.”
They look alarmed. I wonder if fat-headia means something peculiar in… whatever language it is that Baltic people speak.
“I’m a potato,” I added, hopefully.

The mother started waving urgently at the Baltic Bride; but I was bored with the game, and the champagne bottle was winking at me, lasciviously.
“Good-bye,” I said, waving. “Titty-boom-boom.”
They smiled when I left them, relieved.

Who said foreigners are ruining this country? They can be a source of immeasurable fun.

When Mr X is pissed (and he is a winner of a gold in every category of the Piss-Tank Olympics), he says that he married the Baltic Bride because “she gives the best blow-jobs in town.”

This is utter rubbish.

He’s never had a blow-job from me.