Dear Suspiciously Over-Friendly Street Lobbyist,
I've tried to be pleasant. I answer a pretend cell phone call when I see you leap -- seemingly out of nowhere -- into my path. I smile tightly at you -- yes, my eyes may say 'Fuck you', but I make the effort to form my mouth into a forced mask of joy -- and shake my head as I make hesitant eye contact, and yet still you torment me. Some of your brethren politely ask if I have a moment for the environment, to which I can say, simply 'No." You, however, have mutated into an aggressive and ruthless breed. Your eyes are wild, your wide smile eerily reminiscent of Jack Nicholson in "The Shining". You wave at me, literally block my way, say things like "Ma'am, I know you like children!" There are so many things wrong with that sentence, starting with the ma'am. Also, how do you know I like children? Also, I'm on the phone. There is no way to put this delicately, OK? You are a blight on society. You are worse than telemarketers. You are like locusts, frogs, and blood rain poured into one brightly-vested human form. I know this sounds harsh, but come on -- you deserve it. I'd rather hear "Nice ass" from a lumpen bodega clerk than one of your manipulative, venom-tinged pleas.
Does that make me a bad person? Maybe. Think about that the next time you ask me if I like children. I don't even like kittens. I am your worst nightmare.