So there's this guy whom all your friends seem to like. They're very passionate about him. They sort of pass him around. Every so often, they all go after him as a group. And you... just never saw the appeal. I mean, they keep saying how appealing and interesting and exciting he is just to be around, but none of that is registering with you. You've seen him with them and while they're clearly attracted, you could never figure out why.

However, they're your friends. You respect their collective opinion. And so, after a lot of stalling, you finally decide to give him a chance.

The date doesn't go all that well. In fact, he's kind of boring. Sure, he's sort of got a nice body, but intellectually, he talks a lot without ever reaching any points or conclusions, just moving the same facts around the vague core of the idea over and over again. It gets to the point where you sneak off in the middle of dinner and call your friends from the bathroom to ask if you're out with the right guy. And they tell you this is normal, but just wait until you get him into bed!

...all right. So maybe he's one of those guys who only comes alive in personality (and everything else) when he contacts sheets. And they're still your friends, and you trust them, so...

...actually, you're not even sure how you made it this far, but here you are in the bedroom with him. You make yourself comfortable, strike a pose. Look him over. He does have a nice body, for the very little that's currently worth. You have a very good view of it because he's standing about three feet away from the bed.

And then he starts chanting to himself. "We're going to have sex, we're going to have sex, we're going to have sex."

...all right. Some people need to psyche themselves up a little before they start. You can wait this out for a few seconds.

The chant goes on for forty-five minutes.

You adjust your position a few times, but he doesn't notice. He never really looks at you at all. You watch as he dances around the edge of the bed while never quite approaching you at any point. The chant never stops. At times, it becomes slightly lulling and you almost fall asleep, but then he randomly changes volume and jolts you awake again. You start to wonder if it's you. Maybe this is a really subtle way for him to say you're not even remotely his type. Thoughts of leaving occur. Repeatedly. Except that he's sort of dancing around on your clothes.

At that forty-five minute mark, he parks himself on your jacket and leans against the wall, panting a bit. You sneak off to the bathroom again and start dialing. Yes, he does this, your friends tell you. Isn't it exciting? He's just taking a break now, but he'll get going really soon now, we promise! And Just wait until he makes his move!

Working mostly on a sense of morbid fascination plus a vague feeling that you're being pranked, you return to the bed. The chant resumes.

This time, you do fall asleep. A few times. But he keeps changing decibel levels. And dancing around. Every so often, he falls to the ground and twitches for no reason, which means he's sweating on your jacket and it will never, ever be clean again.

At the ninety-minute mark, he stops again. This time, you make the call directly from the bed and are thus informed that when he goes on for this long without doing anything, the final result will be the single most exciting thing you've ever experienced.

After a quick check with the Guinness people and the sad discovery that what you are experiencing (or in this case, not) does not qualify for any record category, you begin to drift off again to a constant background lull of "We're going to have sex, we're going to have sex, we're going to have sex."

And then he shouts. "YEAH!"

You sit up a little. "What happened?"

"We just had sex!" he announces from about eleven feet away, already on his way out the door. "Wasn't it great?"

...

Two weeks later, after having gotten out of jail when the assault charges were ultimately dismissed by a laughing judge, you begin to remotely consider the tiny possibility of someday speaking to your friends again. And when you finally do so in early autumn, they stare at you in total confusion before informing you that they all loved it.

So in their group opinion, clearly there's something wrong with you.