 Listen, in Las Vegas, because I've seen him, he would take off his shirt. He'd be dripping wet with sweat. Dripping with sweat. And he would take off his shirt after it was dripping. He'd swing it around a little bit. Would anyone grab it? I wouldn't want to touch that. He would throw it. The girls were screaming. And they would. I didn't do that. A sweaty shirt? Yeah. No thanks. Your shirt smells delicious. Yuck.