He was mildly tipsy last night and in the course of a five minute conversation he rubbed my upper arm, took my face in both his hands and then clasped and held both my hands for pretty much the whole rest of the conversation. I was smooshed in between his couch and the door so I couldn't even back away, and I couldn't leave because we had to talk about my rent. He's always trying to get me to come in there and have some kirsch or whatever, too. When I decline he always goes, "what are you so scared of?" Uhh...if you have to ask...

His name is Ernie. As Melissa Bank put it, "I believe in the naming of assholes"