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The Drunken Russian: “Motherfucker! Read this and tell me what it says! Did you leave the fucking garage door open and the lights on!?”

And Martini replies in his usual Costa Rican accent…

Martini: “I…”

The Drunken Russian: “Answer the fuckin’ question!”

Martini: “…you’re hurting me.”

You guys have to understand, The Drunken Russian is a 6’3” two hundred+ pound beast. And Martini is like a tiny 5’6” mouse…

The Drunken Russian: “Motherfucker! Do you know what it’s like to have to squeeze my fat ass through a window that size!?”

And he directs Martini’s head towards a tiny 2x1 window opening…

The Drunken Russian: “I had to climb over the fuckin’ sink. Over a fuckin’ mound of dirty dishes. With the fuckin’ neighbors staring at me!!”

And they both start exchanging words in Russian. Martini? Yes, he’s from Costa Rica, and yes, his parents are Italian, but for some odd reason, the guy’s third language is Russian (with his first and second being Spanish and English).

They finally settle down. The Drunken Russian always told me how annoying Martini was, but I’ve always found his annoyances entertaining. That is, until he directed his annoyances at me…

Martini: “I never met a black person until I was seventeen.”

Oh god, another conversation about race. I’m avoiding this one at all costs…

Me: “Do you like oranges?”

The Drunken Russian knows what improv skit I’m about to go into. Basically, you pick a random object and rant on and on about it. Confused, Martini looks at me…