The following, in my humble opinion, is the description of the perfect date:

You show up dressed like a sexy ninja. I am wearing one of those over-the-shoulder-man-thongs from Borat.

We go and see a movie and afterward we disagree on certain key points in the movie such as lighting, cinematography and major plot twists in the storyline which leads into us having a brutal dual to the death in the streets of Hollywood.

Because you are a sexy ninja you kick my ass, which is not that hard because I can't fight in a thong. Bloodied, bruised, battered and on the cold unforgiving concrete I start to cry so you kneel down and try to sooth and comfort me.

That's when I sucker punch you in the cooter and you fall down next to me gasping for air.

There we are. On the road and in it; our blood paints pretty pictures on the shiny filthy city streets.

We then help each other up agreeing that the movie was crap anyways and we allow our mutual hate for Hollywood produced shite to unite us as comrades in arms; renegades protecting the last bastion of artistic integrity that is the short silent film.

We then stumble to the nearest watering hole where we drink to the memories of ancient Gods and lovers. We hail a cab (because there is nothing funny about D.U.I's - R.I.P Charlene, I Love You, you big dummy) then we proceed to the nearest 24-hour diner(Swingers) where we feast on cheap greasy food and strong coffee.

Sober, now, we then go and catch the sunrise at the beach only stopping our heated geo-political arguments, that have been raging on since the diner, long enough to watch the birth of a new day then we pass out promptly after God puts on an art show in the sky for us only to be woken up by the cops at 8 AM and told to go home.

Grudgingly we do so only to rinse and repeat said offenses as soon as our bodies and spirits are willing.