If Only I Were Joking

So Harry Reid walks out of a bar and into a dark alley. A vaguely Fristian long-headed goon comes up to him and snorts, "Give me all your money."

Reid pauses for just a second. "Well, you can have my money, and my credit cards, and even my IDs--I don't really know what my identity is, anyway. Just let me keep my wallet."

In a second all he owns is gone, except his wallet, which isn't even real leather. Reid smiles, thinking, "I am a brilliant compromiser, I am."