Honestly I'd love to get into a barfight with Pat. His empty, piggish stare reveals a fundamental lack of attentiveness, a situational unawareness; put simply, his head's not in the game. He'd take three thumps to the dome before he even knows he's in a fight. His skinny, noodley arms would offer no threat to me as I rain blows down upon his soft, flour-sack-esque body. And his plump fleshy cheeks look really comfy to sink your fist into, like a speedbag filled with feathers.
Unfortunately, he's such a lisping effete homosexual that me accepting his offer to 'take this outside' might be misinterpreted by a third party as me accepting a blowjob.