So today Paul McCartney called me out of the blue. We haven't spoken since a disastrous New Year's eve party where I hit on his daughter but told her that her clothing designs were probably too impractical for the average woman to wear. Paul told me I was forgiven and wanted to know if I'd help him move a sofa into his new apartment. What was I gonna say? So, I drove to meet him and found him waiting in the parking lot wearing one of those gray, collarless suits he wore on the Ed Sullivan show in 1964. "Cute One", I said, 'cause that's what his friends call him, "what's with the suit?"
"Oh, I dunno," he replied sheepishly, 'me Sergeant Pepper costume needs a wash."
"OK", I said, still a little perplexed, "well, what about a pair of jeans or running pants? You're gonna get that dirty." So Paul rounds on me and shouts "are you here to help me move a sofa or enforce a dress code? I'm Paul FUCKING McCartney."
I just sighed and decided to let the matter drop. Paul can get really mad when he wants to.
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