Short of the date rape drug, a 750 ml bottle of Grey Goose Vodka at the table will do. ☑ Cologne on nads. ☑ Shiny shirt. ☑ Clubbing douche shoes, which convey to others (both female and would-be competitor males) exactly how DTF you are. The pointed toe is both a threatening lance and phallus. The half-conscious girl — her liver brined in solvent, smeared lipstick as impressionist labia — who just face-planted into your lap gives you a semi-woody as you coil her hair into a handle and push her face deeper into your cologne and sweat drenched nads, the left lower one almost pulsing with the Eurotrash rave bass. You sign the tab, hail a cab, and dig your shaft into her armpit in the darkness of a loft with high ceilings and rent.