This is a particularly unpleasant submission, so don't read it if you've been a victim of unwanted fondling.

 Airports are strip searching passengers with a new screening device designed to have the bored guy at the monitor burst out laughing when he sees a tiny penis, a weird third nipple, or concealed bondage wear. The designers of such intrusion may wish to consider building a screening device for perverts in bars.

No amount of bartender anti-pervert surveillance can detect the deep pervert in a mask. Recently, such a man got under the radar.  Seated at the bar, he began his mission by observing and listening, as you do when you are a pervert on the move. Having detected my British Isles accent, he laid out his neutralizing agent, and delivered an appreciation on the joy of public television's relentless addiction to Jane bloody Austen, spoken in a rather camp, and jolly English snob's accent. He sounded authentic, and I tittered, until he said, "No one cares what I say. I'm just a big fat homosexual that no one cares about." Another customer was crying for more milk, so I moved on.

Now primed to roam, he set out on his invasion. I heard him say to a couple, the same pitying line he had said to me, this time in a Bostonian accent. Maybe he was an actor? Maybe an entertainer? Time passed and I saw him mingling in a group of people trying to develop a collective cold shoulder. It was then I noticed he was wearing cotton dockers and I began to get suspicious. The golf shirt increased my monitoring alert. And then, out of nowhere, the balls began to land at the bar.

"Hey dude. That guy over there just fondled my girlfriend's ass."
"Hey bartender, that dude just squeezed my girlfriend's breast."
"Hey man, there's a pervert with wandering hands."

The ejector seat was pulled out but not required. The Gods of Alcohol intervened, and a thunderous crack bounced around the bar. He was face down at the bottom of the stairs, blood on his flaccid chin. Sensing exposure, he leaped up, and flew down the exit fairway, no doubt to find another drinking hole to take aim at.

On interviewing the victims, his modus operandi became evident. His chameleon accent, and homophobic mask of pity, allowed him to cultivate sympathy, and wander from casual hugs to invasive assault. His face was entered into the catalog of banishment.