Huh, I’m willing to believe that you’re correct but I used to get custom tailored suits (pick out all the fabrics, choose where you wanted pockets, etc.) from a guy in NYC and he only referred to himself as “semi-bespoke” because he was using existing patterns.

“……..TRY GETTING A RESERVATION AT DORSIA NOW YOU FUCKING STUPID BASTARD! YOU, FUCKING BASTARD!….”

In reality, it doesn’t mean exclusive, nor “unique”.

Pretentious != possessing and expressing taste. Having and blowing lots of money != possessing taste.

There are plenty of sports douchebags, the “IT guy” can also be douchey as well.

I like good food and booze, but that doesn’t preclude me from thinking a PRESS RELEASE could have sounded prickish. I’m sorry we’ve insulted a corporation, this will surely never happen again.

The Daily Californian
http://www.dailycal.org/2013/01/22/campus-sees-surge-in-sugar-babies/

– but its bones are detectable in stories in the Huffington Post, Fox Business News, the Christian News Network, MSN Money, KITV.com/ABC News, KCTV 5/Kansas City, NewsOne, TMDaily Post, Above the Law, and other supposed news sites. All of these write-ups are functioning as advertisements for an online site that charges fees to supposedly match coeds to potential sugar daddies.

A. J. once reserved a table a year in advance Chez Robert where a huge, icy gourmet broods over the greatest food in the world.  So baneful and derogatory is his gaze that many a client, under that withering blast, has rolled on the floor and pissed all over himself in convulsive attempts to ingratiate.

So A. J. arrives early with six Bolivian Indians who chew coca leaves between courses. And when Robert, in all his gourmet majesty, bears down upon the table, A. J. looks up and yells: “Hey, Boy!  Bring me some ketchup!”
(Alternative: A. J. whips out a bottle of ketchup and douses the haute cuisine.)
Thirty gourmets stop chewing at once.  You could have heard a soufflé drop.  As for Robert, he lets out a bellow of rage like a wounded elephant, runs to the kitchen and arms himself with a meat cleaver.  …  The Sommelier snarls hideously, his face turning a strange iridescent purple. … He breaks off a bottle of Brut Champagne … ’26.  …  Pierre, the Head Waiter, snatches up a boning knife.  All three chase A. J. through the restaurant with mangled, inhuman screams of rage. …  Tables overturn, vintage wine and matchless food crash to the floor.  …  Cries of “Lynch him!” ring through the air.  An elderly gourmet with the insane bloodshot eyes of a mandril, is fashioning a hangman’s knot with a red velvet curtain cord.  …  Seeing himself cornered and in imminent danger of danger of dismemberment at least, A. J. plays his trump card. …  He throws out his head and lets out a hog call; and a hundred famished hogs he had stationed nearby rush into the restaurant, slopping the haute cuisine.  Like a great tree Robert falls to the floor in a stroke where he is eaten by the hogs: “Poor bastards don’t know enough to appreciate him.” says A. J.

Robert’s brother Paul emerges from retirement in a local nut house and takes over the restaurant to dispense something he calls the “Transcendental Cuisine.”  …  Imperceptibly, the quality of the food declines until he is serving literal garbage, the clients being too intimidated by the reputation of Chez Robert to protest.

SAMPLE MENU:
The Clear Camel Piss Soup with boiled Earth Worms

The Filet of Sun-Ripened Sting Raybasted with Eau de Cologne and garnished with nettles

The After-Birth Suprême de Boeuf,cooked in drained crank case oil,served with a piquant sauce of rotten egg yokesand crushed bed bugs

The Limburger Cheese sugar cured in diabetic urineand doused in Canned Heat Flamboyant

So the clients are quietly dying of botulism.  …  Then A. J. returns with an entourage of Arab refugees from the Middle East.  He takes one mouthful and screams:“Garbage God damn it.  Cook this wise citizen in his own swill!”