There's this guy Paul,

and I am nearby when he tells this story, showing off a framed print of this comic book page, the intellectual property of Frank Miller:

"So I give it to the Kinko's girl to scan, and she says 'I can't do that sir, it's copyrighted material.' So I go, 'I'm Frank Miller." [Here, storytelling Paul freezes every facial muscle in what is no doubt a flawless recreation of his excellent poker-face deadpan.]

"Then she started to argue with me, so I cut her off - I'm Frank Miller."

It becomes obvious to me that his story is that he cleverly manipulated a Kinko's employee...but wait a minute. Would a Kinko's employee care? Would they go that far and not bother to check his ID? Above all else, why would a successful and published comic book artist need to go to freakin' Kinko's to get a medium-quality print of their own work??

So I call bullshit!

"Bullshit Paul! You did not tell the Kinko's girl you were Frank Miller."

"Yeah I did, buddy."

"You are such a liar."

Paul is already walking away, but turns to deliver this gem before shutting himself in his office:

"I don't lie Joe. It's not worth it."



(For those who are slow like me, I would point out that Paul is not Frank Miller)