“…but I do like bush – if you know what I mean,” you tell the young woman at the bar with you after explaining your political bumper sticker. This line, as per usual, does not work, and you move on to the next girl down the line.
“Hey, I’m in the army,” you proclaim to her. “And I guarantee if you let me take you home, you’ll thank me for my service.”
Somehow this suave come-on does nothing to move the emotions or genitals of your quarry, and she turns back to the bar without a word.
You need more bumper stickers.