Celluloid Shopper

I was recently filmed in slow-motion, swaggering stone-faced through an electrical storm of paparazzi flashbulbs and blue smoke, wearing my slim-fit Armani suit with gleaming loafers and dark glasses. Brushing contemptuously past the camera, I leaned into the lens and snarled, my upper lip curling viciously, like a blood-soaked scimitar flashing in the air. Then I karate kicked an invisible opponent before shooting my cuffs, and striding purposefully out of frame in silhouette. All I had really wanted to do was buy a new pair of trousers for the weekend, but that's what the men's department at Macy's is like these days.