Okay then, an on-topic one now.
Many years ago, when women wore shoulder pads and perms to make themselves look BIG and makeup that looked like a drag queen had exploded in front of them, I worked as a waiter. The restaurant I worked in catered to the older crowd, typically late fifties and up- at the time, the older portion of the WWII generation and the ones from before then.

Now normally this was fine- I got pretty decent tips from them, and only once did a table of drunken women grab at my arse- but once in a while I would get a real live one.

One evening I had a fellow who was (I hope) a professional Jack Benny imitator. He looked and sounded exactly like the man, and used a lot of his mannerisms- so if he didn't do this for a living, he was a pitiful wretch indeed.

After I brought them their drinks, he informed me, "I'm afraid that tipping waiters is against my religion."

I'm nothing if not fast with a reply. "I'm sorry to hear that sir, but my church is the Sixth Church of Rodney, who has proclaimed the waitstaff to be deities in their own right." (Yes, I actually did say that.)

He looked flummoxed for a moment, so I added, "Their creed states that I'd rather have a bottle in front of me than to have to have a frontal lobotomy." And with that I retreated to get their salads.

The meal went uneventfully enough, with pleasant exchanges regarding the requests for more drinks and such, and ultimately I brought the bill. When I came back to pick it up Jack Benny handed it to me and said, "Now if you want a tip you'll have to guess the serial numbers on the bills." And he held one up so he could read it.

"Very well," I replied. "The first number is one."

He looked startled. "You're right. How did you know?"

"Because the serial numbers on bills always start with a one or a zero."

He was impressed. "A man who pays attention to his money! What's the next one?"

"Three."

"And next?"

"Seven."

He looked up at me, baffled. "How are you doing that?"

I smiled. "Intuition. And the next number is four."

And I smiled at his wife as she peered over his shoulder and held up three fingers.

I got a very good tip, actually...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 5 Sep 2008, 16:49, 3 replies)

She's

clearly bored shitless of his ridiculous game then.

Good, he sounds like knob.
( Moey, Fri 5 Sep 2008, 17:03, closed)

Actually
they were with another couple who were struggling not to laugh as I did this. Apparently the guy seldom had anyone throw down the gauntlet and join in with a deadpan face, so they were loving it.

But yes, he had something of a tool about him.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 5 Sep 2008, 18:20, closed)

He sounds all right
bit of a harmless eccentric
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 16:24, closed)