They call me the Frugalman. And I'll be mighty happy to tell you why. Pleased as punch. Pickled tink, in fact! See, I started out life as a luftmensch, then progressed to a schlemiel, then finally hit upon the idea of resizing myself like a tailor would with an old coat, to become the world-renowned Frugalman. My motto became: ANYTHING TO SAVE A BUCK. I had it tattooed on my forehead. To save the expense of printing up business cards. At first not many people were interested in my new personal brand. But all that changed when I bought an old apartment building and began tearing it down to get at the used razor blades. See, years ago, when they first introduced safety razors, the disposable stainless steel blades became a safety hazard. If you threw them in the trash they'd fall out and slit open a wrist or slice off a nose. So it became standard procedure to build into the back of medicine chests in bathrooms a slit for the safety blades. Once done with a blade, the man just slid it into the slot and forgot about it. Like mailing a letter. The blade fell harmlessly into the space between the lathe plaster walls. And there was enough space between the walls to hold tens of thousands of used razor blades. Where they sat gathering dust, doing nobody any good. Until I, the Frugalman, got the bright idea to buy old apartment buildings to tear down. To get at the blades and sell them. Those old blades made by Gillette and Wilkinson Sword were made of the highest grade metals. They're worth a bundle now. Worth tearing down a decrepit building to get at. Plus, I'll never have to pay for my own razor blades again. Boy, the publicity I got from that stunt was tremendous! Of course it was mostly about the poor dispossessed tenants I had to throw out. But hey, today you won't find anyone else out there who claims to be the Frugalman. Mostly because it's too dangerous. I have to live in my car. Maybe I'd better take the "Frugalman" sign off the side of it . . .
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