A guy walks into a bar and sits down.
After a few minutes, he starts dialing on the back of his hand as if it’s a telephone. He then flips his hand over and starts talking into his palm. The bartender walks over and tells the guy it’s a tough neighborhood and he doesn’t need any trouble from weirdos.

"You don’t understand," the man says.
"I’m very high tech. I’ve had a phone installed in my hand because I was tired of carrying a cell."

"Prove it!"

So the guy dials up a number and presents 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," says 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 five, ten, twenty minutes go by. Fearing the worst given the violence in the neighborhood, the bartender goes into the men’s room.

The guy is spread-eagled against the wall. His pants are pulled down and he has a roll of toilet paper shoved up his butt.

"Oh my god!" says 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."