Streeter: Ooooh, look at moneybags over here! Looks like you threw on the one nice shirt you own, borrowed a tie from your roommate and took your special gal out to the nicest restaurant within walking distance. You almost convinced me you’re a sophisticate, save that you can’t pronounce anything on the menu. “Whores devors” huh? You didn’t even want chicken parmigana, you only ordered it because it’s the only thing your moronic brain could process. To add that extra touch of culture, you rounded out the meal with a lukewarm sixer of bud light. C’mon man, tone down the classy stuff, you’re making the rest of us look bad.

Amir: “Ah yes, I see now. Michael, party of douche. Yes, right this way, sir. We sat you over here in the section called the most horribly awkward two hours of your entire life.” I mean, do you even know the rules? Did you even know there ARE rules? Evidently not. Right off the bat: Bringing a jacket. I see you didn’t know that, but don’t worry they have one you can borrow. It has an “immature retard” name tag on it, but that should be fine because you're an immature retard. However, you possess many other shortcomings that you can’t just “borrow” form the restaurant. Stuff like knowing how to order wine, knowing how each fork is used, and knowing not to ask the waiter which one of those French words means “burrito.” You truly are a horrible, horrible companion and lover.