to the wretched androgyne wading amongst us last night at the pub. Oh, is it a boy or a girl? How clever. How very 1990's Imperial Drag.
Look, you would repulse me enough based upon your mannish attire, worn in such a way to obscure any potential mammaroid sightings. Your walk is indicative of the chain-wallet crowd, and your fake tan is baffling given it is summer and you could obtain some shade via natural means. Most stunning at all is your choice of hairstyle, known to all as the Horn of Aggression. Get a load of these examples:
Sweet merciful Jesus. Death take me quickly. You realize, sexless man-woman, that this particular abortion of style has unsophisticated roots long documented in cave drawings?
Get the message? No? I will elaborate further, you shame yourself and worse yet everyone around you as every bar patron is forced to contend with your personal choice. The beer tastes flatter, and no one knows which bathroom you are going to use. It's extremely poor form.
If being compared to a Cro-Magnon, Neatherthal, or Australopithecines doesn't motivate you to change, allow me to also point out you resemble the douchebags of Jersey or Long Island. I mean, we've all seen these cliched pics circulating around Al Gore's internet for years now, but since you didn't get the memo:
I weep for the future. Until nuclear artillery is an option, please stay the F out of my bar.