I’ve got two:
My mec Eric, doing that little Quebecois thing where you put h’s in all the wrong places, told me that some orange juice was “too Hassidic”.
The singer in the band Prozzäk, who sings with a really thick English accent (affected), ended his song “Usted Es Muy Loco” with the line, “Then I’d say, ¿Quieres pasar la noche conmigeeeeeeeuuuuuuuuuuu?” The last “o” in “conmigo” got that wonderful British eeuu thing.
Not really a mispronunciation: but, my Korean fiancee, straddling a broom and bouncing around the porch. “Look! I’m a bitch!!”
Took me about 20 minutes to stop laughing, climb to my feet, and explain…
Also, as seen on Korean TV:
A Japanese woman (true story), visiting the US, goes into 7-11:
J-Woman: You have miruku?
Clerk: Huh?
J-woman: Miruku!
Clerk: HUH? What?
J-woman: MIRUKU! You have MIRUKU??
Clerk: I don’t know what you’re talking about, sorry… miruku?
J-woman: (grabs her own breast, and simulates a milking motion) I am cow! Miruku!
Clerk: You mean milk?!?
I died laughing when I saw this…
If the person who said this ever reads this message board, I risk being drawn, quartered, and turned into luteflodnak. So the name of this individual will not be mentioned to protect my hide. However, I will tell you that his native language is Norwegian, and he was speaking English.
He meant to say, about two mutual friends who we thought were probably dating without making it public: “They have such a SE-cre-tive relationship.”
But he said: “They have such a se-CRE-tive relationship.” 
Former Formula One driver Gerhard Berger (of Austria, and thus speaking with a German accent), after a particularly bad qualifying session: “I would have made a better lap time, but I was having a lot of problems with the chickens.”
[sub]Chicanes[/sub]
I nearly died laughing.
Not exactly what you’re looking for, but funny nonetheless. I’m playing pool with three girls in Queens not too long ago. Two of the girls are Hungarian and speak with a Hungarian/Queens accent. One of the Hungarian girls has to lean across the table to attempt a difficult shot.
“Z’okay,” she says. “I lay degerlz on de tay-ble.”
“What?” I ask. “What’s a ‘degerl?’” I figured she might have been referring to that weird thingy with the violin bridge on it that you use when you have to stretch to make a shot.
“You knoah,” she says. “Degerlz…”
After about 30 seconds, the third girl sees I’m confused and takes me aside.
“She’s talking about her boobs. She calls them ‘the girls.’”
So I’m shopping in a fancy-schmancy store and while I’m looking at leather jackets I hear a voice behind me, “Do you have sex card?” “Huh?” I repy as I turn around. There is a salesperson asking again, “Do you have sex card?”
He was Russian, and I was in Saks Fifth Avenue.
I have a feeling this might turn around and bite me when people start quoting my DubDope mispronounciations, but anyway:
I was skiing in France and was taking a much-needed class to improve my skills. French skiing instructors as a group are not fluent English speakers, although most of them try their level best - and they do know how to ski.
I was moving downhill under the instructor’s watchful eye when he started yelling “Use your ips! You need to turn from your ips!” I braked, yelled “Excuse me ?” and he started slapping his hips, which of course cleared up matters. Over lunch, we talked about the incident and the French habit of missing the leading “h”. Apparently he wanted to demonstrate his new understanding of the Queen’s English after lunch, because when I took a series of high-speed turns, he suddenly bellowed “Use those harms! Extend your harms more!” I was puzzled for a second, then I realized “arms!”, then it was a moot point because there’s no way you can curl up in laughter and keep your balance when going downhill at a pace like that.
My friends still made me pay the “First to eat snow after lunch”-round, the bastards.
S. Norman
I heard a story about Charles de Gaulle’s wife being asked what she looked forward to after his retirement.
Mme. de Gaulle: “A penis”
Questioner: “Pardon?”
Mme. de Gaulle: “A penis!”
Translator: “I believe the lady is trying to say: HAPPINESS!”
I’m not sure how true the story is, but its still funny.
i was in church waiting for the service to start , when a fellow choir member said to me: (in a russian accent): my husband loves to feed the birds in the garden."
“ah,” i said.
“he puts the seeds into the feeder and then the belka comes.”
" oh yes, the belka, they are wiley."
“what is belka in english?”
“squirrel”
“ah, my husband, he is at war with squirrel.”
at that point i lost it, she sounded so much like natasha in rocky and bulwinkle that i had to leave for a few minutes to regain some sense of decorum. i still laugh about it when i see a squirrel.
My family has a had a German exchange student stay with us for three weeks in October for the past four years. Our second German exchange student, Charlotte, was an absolute doll with near perfect English, so it came as quite a surpise to me when I took her to a coffee shop and she ordered “a beagle with cream cheese.” The waitress just stared blankly at poor Charley until I explained that she wanted a bagel, not a small dog.
Last year’s exchange student, Melanie, was here just before Halloween. One of the American hosts had a huge party for all the exchange students while her mom was across the street at the neighbors’ costume party. Early in the evening, my sister took Melanie across the street to introduce her to some people. Upon meeting Melanie, the hostess of the costume party (who was dressed as the Evil Queen from Snow White) asked her, “Do you know who I’m supposed to be?”
“Oh, yes!” replied Melanie cheerfully. “You are the bitch!”
My sister was mortified, but the hostess thought it was hilarious and didn’t mind that Melanie had mixed up her b’s with her w’s.
Years ago, I worked with a funny, outgoing Vietnamese fellow named Ut (pronounced “oat”), who spoke very broken English. One day, I told him that I knew some French, and he indicated that French was also the secondary language of his former country. So every other day or so, he’d drop by my desk and joke around by asking how to say various phrases in French.
One morning he asked:
(My translation help in parenthesis)
“Hey Neo… (Neil)
Say u meet a beeyoooiful giwl, (beautiful girl) and say u weely wike her (really like her) and… u wanna take her to bed; How u say in Fwench vewy nice?”
I reply with a straight face…
“mike rotch ease eatch eh”
Of course when he repeated it with his accent, it sounded exactly like I thought it would sound like;
“My crotch is itchy.”
With Ut not knowing what he was saying, he proceded to go to everybody in the company and repeat that phrase, thinking he was being funny, and that no one understood him because he was speaking french. Ut said it to the office staff, the shipping staff, the ladies in payroll and accounting. For 3 days he did this.
On the fourth day, he came to me and said with a smile,
“U not teaching me NO MORE FWENCH!”
My whole department almost died laughing.
I once helped a friend of mine (who’s a kindergarten/primary school teacher in the UK) make up some scenery for their school play. She was nice enough to give me some tickets as a thank you.
The school play was based around Robin Hood. The role of Friar Tuck was being played by a very young German kid, aged about 7 or 8, who’d only moved to the UK a year or so before. Even so, his english was excellent, so no-one foresaw a problem.
It was probably stagefright that led him to mix up his consonants as he walked on and introduced himself, but the audience pretty much wet itself laughing when the little man shouted out “I’m Triar Fuck, the trusty monk”.
I was at a meeting once where a graduate student from Spain gave an account of a very long and frustrating meeting with the Tuition Remission Committee. Only he kept calling it the Tuition Remission Comedy.
All things considered, he wasn’t too far from the truth.
I used to work in a deli with mexican lady. One day the boss was gone, so I asked where he was at.
me: Where’s Jason?
her: Joody Doody
me: …
her: Joody Doody
me: oh… jury duty.
My orgo professor is from Serbia and has trouble pronouncing a long E.
“… All right, everyone, take out your workshits…”
I nearly got into a fight with a guy in a Subway in LA trying to order a sandwich. How was I to know that tuna isn’t pronounced “tchoona” in the US?
While in Cannes this summer on a university-sponsored trip, my friends and I all decided to indulge ourselves in a little trip to Haagen-Dazs. So as the fluent French speaker in the group, I got to order first so everyone else could follow the example. I walked up to the counter and, looking at the sign, thought I asked for an ice cream cone. I forgot to pronounce the “n” fully, and made the word masculine. The guy behind the counter arched his eyebrow at me and said, “Une cône?” I finished ordering, and sat down while everyone else ordered. As we walked out of the store, I finally realized exactly why the guy had looked at me oddly and corrected me.
Une cône is French for “cone.”
What I said - un con - is French for “asshole.”
The French floor of the dorm is still laughing their collective butt off about it.
My parents are from Czechoslovakia and most of their friends are also Czech. One day, my parents friend Vladina was telling us how her father is “retarded”. We all gasped, we had no idea! We asked her how he’s doing and she said “Oh, he’s fine, but he’s very bored” and we asked how come, doesn’t he have any nurses or friends to help him? She got confused and mentioned some ex co-workers who try to take him out and after a few minutes we realized that her father was “RETIRED” not “retarded”. She’ll never live that one down!
Another friend was from a royal European family who had recently moved to the US. His wife had dropped off some film at K-Mart to get developed. When he went to pick them up, he told the clerk his name and she said “Prints?” He beamed and said “YES! PRINCE!” pointing to himself. He thought she had recognized him as being a member of that royal family.
I often get lunch from a little sushi place across the street. The woman at the counter always asks me, “runchi batsu?” You see, I always order the “lunch box,” but she always checks first.
I can understand her 'cause I know what she’s saying, but ordinarily I’m really bad with accents. Once, when I lived in a frat house, somebody called and asked for Gerilee. I said, “sorry, there’s no Gerilee living here.”
He said, “no, not Gerilee: Gerilee!”
Well, this went on for a little while, reminding me of the Inspector Clouseau bit Peter Sellers used to do:
Inspector: “Do you have a reum?”
Concierge: “What?”
I, louder: “Do you have a reum?”
C, repeating: “Do I have a ‘reum’?”
I: “What?”
C: “Oh, you want to know if I have a room!”
I: “Yes, that is what I’ve been saying, you stupid feul.”
Anyways, it turns out the guy on the phone was asking for “Jody” with a thick, Australian accent.