Comic Control Panel!
 
 

I really don’t understand bars.  I mean, I don’t understand most social settings or institutions, but the bar and club scene is particularly foreign to me.  The way I understand things is as follows:  Guys metrosexual it up – hair gel/ pastel shiny button up collared Banana Republic shirt/ low-rise, boot-cut, faded-wash denims/ and distressed, black leather cowboy boots – and go out in search of lay.  Their primary tool will be a wallet full of one and five dollar bills, with the lone $50 or $100 at the front, the contents of which will be gratuitously flashed to the entire bar at every opportunity to establish alpha male status.  Girls whore it up – no bra/ hooker make-up/ 6 inch heels/ plunging neckline/ obvious thong/ and a bottle of perfume – and go in search of attention.  Their primary tool will be their low alcohol tolerance and extra dirty martinis.  The boys will call the girl they lure in with their bait a gold digger, and the girls will criticize those eyeing the goods and feeding them free drinks for only being interested in them for sex.

Frankly, I’d rather stay home and watch tv, or go for a run at the gym.