You know what the perfect end to a perfect evening is?

It's when you exit a tacky gay bar in the Castro after telling off some piece of Euro trash who hit on your friend only to blow him off and hit on your other friend and then you pour a drink down the back of the sweatshirt of some fucking asshole you've loathed for the last two years and then the sad little hipster bar back tries to retroactively kick you out of the bar after you've already left.

That's what you get for trying to talk trash about me to my then-boyfriend at our friend's holiday party you boring, scientist motherfucker. WHAT.