Enemy of the Kingdom: Cargo Shorts Guy

We saw you last night at the bar. We see you every night. Your date looks so pretty in her cute little dress, with her trendy shoes, overpriced purse, and perfect hair. So why the fuck are you wearing cargo shorts, a baseball cap, and ironic canvas tennies from 1955? Are you carrying tools in those pockets, Tim Taylor? Are you time-warping to a basketball game against Richie Cunningham? Or are you bathing in irony to cover up the stench of your own self-loathing? Maybe you don’t realize you’re on a date. Here are three clues:

1. Wherever you go, there is a girl standing beside you. She seems to know your name.

2. When you picked up that girl, you had to wait ten minutes for her to finish her hair. Because she’s not wearing a baseball hat, douchebag, because you’re going on a date. At night. And not to a baseball game.

3. You want to make the sexie-sexie with this girl, and despite every ounce of wanker pouring from your being, there remains a chance that she will let you.

We’re not saying that you need to spend as much time on your couture and coiffure as she does. This is Houston, after all, and you’re not (openly) gay. But jeezus, shitbird, show some respect! She has chosen to spend the evening with you, so the least you could do is take off your hat and put on some pants. You'll still be a tool, but at least it won't be so obvious to the rest of us.

We measure your tact against a scale of Mossad torture methods, and you rate a Glasgow Smile.

A wag of the finger and a slap to the skull, Cargo Shorts Guy, because you are an Enemy of the Kingdom.

Many thanks to JR for pointing out this specimen of class. Have a Fucktastic Friday, Loopizens.