I just stumbled across an old Facebook post that paints a real picture of the way pretentious, chauvinistic, metrosexual “men” bring me to the edge of violence when I’m dining alone at ritzy steakhouse bars in Midwestern cities. See for yourselves:
I have a short fuse tonight. I know this because after five minutes of sitting next to these metrosexual sissies and listening to them talk to the waitress in a sickeningly condescending way, I want to fight all four of them at once in the alley behind the building then cool off by sipping beer from their empty skulls. Check please!
Let Me Be Frank With You 
You could probably bring all four to destruction by arrnaging for them to get a fleck of salad dressing, butter or steak sauce on theirclothes. A simple “Oops” on your part followed by a glorious victory and no assault charge.
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That is a fine plan. Fine enough, in fact, that if like to offer you an unpaid job as my official sidekick, Jon. Think it over and get back with me when you’ve decided.
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