I went for my daily run this morning, and as usual, I saw a surprising number of men, outside their houses, on cell phones. I ran four miles — I saw four men. This equates to one man per mile. This equates to peculiar. This is pretty much standard for my morning weekend runs.
Okay, guys, so what’s up with this? Anthony Weiner is having his weenie publicly castrated as we speak, and you’re out on your front porch on your cell phone? Four of you? On a Sunday morning?
Don’t say your reception isn’t good in the house because we know that’s crap. Don’t say you’re talking to a customer, colleague, patient, boss because we suspect that’s also crap. Maybe you’re talking about getting together with the guys for an afternoon of putting and Pepsi (try Pabst). This is plausible. Or … dare we go THERE?? To talk about HER??
Gents, thanks to Bill, Anthony, Elliott, and Arnold, and of course to Tom, Dick, and Harry, do your best to avoid doing the cell phone on porch on Sunday morning thing or some jogger may come by and blow your cover.