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As I was walking down the street the other day thinking about the pantyline of the young girl in front of me, I was approached by a homeless gentleman.
He was wearing nothing more than some newspapers and and old pair of grey slacks.
"Excuse me, sir," he asked, and his breath hit me harder than I had hit my girlfriend's kid earlier that day. "Please help me out with a dollar."
"I'm sorry, I don't think I--" I started, but the bum cut me off.
"Hold up a sec," he said, reaching into his pocket. I thought I was going to be murdered, but he pulled out a cell phone.
"I'm getting a call," he said.
I was relieved that he wasn't shooting me in the face but upset that he was a homeless man with mobile phone service.
Then I realized that he probably just found a non-functional cell phone in the trash. He was probably on the line with Hitler or Jesus or Paul Lynde or some other dead guy with which a crazy homeless man might converse.
So I just started walking away.
"Hey, man, where are you going?" he asked.
I simply turned around with two fingers up to my ear in the shape of a phone.
"I'll call you," I said.
Date Written: March 24, 2005
Average Vote: 2.75