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 weirdoes 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.”