There you are, minding your own business, innocently chatting up a transvestite, when you’re confronted by a dreaded raver girl. She stares at you with her cool eyes and pastied nipples, sizing you up, coiling as if to pounce — and suddenly you black out and awake an indeterminate amount of time later at the bottom of a dry well, battered and reeking of lotion. As children, we all learn this scenario in school — but it couldn’t happen to you, right? Wrong.
Found this nifty little post and thought I should share. This could have saved me some trouble in my youth, but I doubt I would have heeded it’s warnings.
Money, Hoes, & Clothes! 
Word on the Street