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Like many of you, we saw Borat on Friday evening. We enjoyed it. We even tolerated the man behind us who insisted on imitating every Borat-ism as it appeared on-screen, if only because we, too, were sharing in hilarious communion. And after the movie, we, ourselves, admittedly participated in a few "high five!"s. We might have even said "niiiiice" one or two times.

But as the weekend wore on, our patience began to wear thin. We made the mistake of venturing out to a bar on the Lower East Side Saturday night, where we couldn't go two feet without a leering "I liiiiike" or a bad-accented "sexytime." And it probably goes without saying that we have no interest in showing our vagine to anyone. We are not number four prostitute in all of Kazakhstan!

More Borat ruminations, and a very important reader poll, after the jump.

It all reminded us of a few other terrible months in our lives. All those "clever" guys who wanted to welcome us to their underground lairs, even as they themselves were surrounded by frickin' idiots or men named Sh! Or people telling us they don't roll on Shabbos, or they have numchucks in their locker, or they want to talk to us about our TPS reports or where the fuck is their red stapler, or that that's the reason they now have a lazy eye. And no, we do not want to end the night with White Castle in our stomachs, okay?

We understand the urge to quote from funny movies. Really, we do. Funny movies are funny! And Borat is very funny. But Borat is Borat, and you, my friend, are not Borat. So please, shut the fuck up, and leave the Borat-ing to Sacha Baron Cohen. In the meantime, we need to know which Borat-ism has already made you wish you had never heard of a wizard sleeve.

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