Thursday, December 01, 2005

Welcome to Bulgoslavia

If you're going to go to Hungary, go on a whim. Someone else's, preferably. And do, if possible, fly with Hell's Angels.

They were adorable. They were heading for some Hell's Angels' Gathering (never join a group that's a bitch to apostrophise). Large and jolly and rather sweet - it was like a gay bears' outing, only with lady groupies who were lean-to-the-point-of-addled.

The Angels next to me would keep flexing their ballpoint-tattooed fists and saying "outrageous" things, like "Doug, I'm gonna get me a bloody mary. I will!" And then, when the stewardess arrived, would meekly ask for an orange juice.

Between then was squeezed a cardboard box, "It's the trophies, Doug. Well, they're awards really, but, you know, I'm uncomfortable with the idea of singling out individual achievement..."

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

sweet or sweaty?
i hope to god, in a confined space it was the former

Skip said...

oh heavens - i apologise. Hungarian keyboard. It's like typing with scrabble pieces.

The Blond and I said...

Always a pleasure to travel plan for you sweet one.

Did the rent boy turn up as promised?

Skip said...

Good lord! You mean Sporgo doesn't love me?