A man walks into a bar, catches a girl’s bra size, age, bank balance, and occupation and immediately looks gloomy, moody, averts his eyes and pops a seroquil. He’s seen a surveyor for a sexual attraction study. Other women in the room are deeply sympathetic and offer to bear his children. Sadly, they’re all lounge lizards.
If you want to pick up women, you go grocery shopping. The old drop-the-mayo-on-her-foot routine works every time, and you get to pick and choose. That’s why they call it shopping. Duh.
All I ever picked up in a bar was a hangover...