Snagging Santa Barbara

Young gentlemen of Santa Barbara, my name is Clive, and I'm not your bra. I'm not your bro, your braw, your homie, nor your homeboy. I'm your complete stranger.
Don't get me wrong; one day we might be friends. I'll laugh at your jokes, play frisbee golf with you, and pat you on the back in a consoling manner when you break up with your girlfriend (who, I'll assure you, was a tramp of the highest order). Before our friendship can blossom like a wildflower, however, we need to fix this language problem you have developed.

Let's start with the basics. This is a bra:



Form fitting, supportive, and very likely similar to something you've frantically attempted to unclasp while in the back of a compact car. Clive Rockjaw, on the other hand, does not require unclasping.

Also:


(panties included for symmetry. and because, well, they're panties. one must complete the set.)

When we, as strangers, encounter one another in a public space, you have a plethora of greetings to choose from:
"Hey there."
"Hello."
"Howdy stranger."
or even
"Your manly presence humbles me. Please, allow me to pass so that I may go forth and improve myself."

Use of a phrase such as "Scuse me bra, gots to get to the sex wax behind you." will result in immediate shunning and contempt. You might see this as stern or "harshing your buzz," but without standards, this town would fall into chaos. Then where would me and my good friend Marshal Garter live, work, and party? We'd have to retreat to Carpinteria or....Oxnard. That, my linguistically stunted friend, would make Clive Rockjaw angry. And you wouldn't like me when I'm angry. I spit a lot when I yell. It's very unpleasant.