>walk into the local bar, ready to slay poon
>brand new valsetz squeak on the shiny, beer-slick floor as i walk up to the bar
>straddle the stool in the corner, must have my back to a wall
>lower my Genuine™ Oakley™ sunglasses to get a better view of the mamasita a couple seats down
>call the bartender over, ask him to pour two shots of tequila and bring one to the lady at his 7
>he grabs the Patron and reaches for the glasses but I stop him
>draw a small hardcase from my softshell’s pocket, retrieve two Muzzleshot shot glasses i bought specifically for this type of engagement
>he pauses for a moment, then shrugs and mutters something about getting too old for this
>”That’ll be twelve fifty sir”
>PIG Dexteritys are still to bulky to let my hand into my Crye pants’ front pocket
>remove my glove, pull out the kydex card sheath holding my Amex
>barkeep delivers the shot, points in my direction
>tip my patch-laden Arcteryx velcro cap at her and raise my shot
>she scoffs, comes up to me and throws the overpriced sip of alcohol all over my official #thepewpewlife shirt, ruining it instantly
>some hick in a flannel jacket comes up to us, calls me a gear queer and puts his arm around her
>sob quietly into my shemagh as they leave together
>mfw i already cleared that guy with an ocular patdown when i walked in