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>A guy walks into a bar and sits down. After a few minutes,
>he starts dialing numbers... like a telephone...but on the
>back of his hand. He then flips his hand over, and starts
>talking into the palm of his hand.
>The bartender walks over and tells him this is a very
>tough neighborhood and he doesn't need any trouble from
>weirdos here. The guy says, "You don't understand. I'm
>very hi-tech. I had a phone installed in my hand because
>I was tired of carrying the cellular."
>The bartender says, "Prove it!" So the guy dials up a
>number and hands his hand to the bartender. The bartender
>talks into the hand and carries on a brief conversation.
>"That's incredible," says the bartender. "I would never
>have believed it!"
>"Yeah," said the guy. "I can keep in touch with my broker,
>my wife, you name it. By the way, where is the men's room?"
>The bartender directs him to the men's room. The guy goes
>in, and 5, 10, 20 minutes go by, and he doesn't return.
>Fearing the worst, given the violence in the neighborhood,
>the bartender goes into the men's room. The guy is spread-
>eagle against the wall. His pants are pulled down and he
>has a roll of toilet paper shoved up his butt.
>"What the hell!" said the bartender. "Did the locals rob
>you? Are you hurt?"
>The guy casually turns around, and says, "No, I'm OK.
>I'm just waiting for a fax."
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