troll.

"Grunge in m'pants, grunge in m'pants..."  The old geezer truckled down Mulberry Boulevard on a Sunday afternoon with his camouflage beanie and a stick of licorice.  I'd spotted him walking up this particular stretch of road at this particular time of day with that particular stick of licorice twenty two times before.  Every day this happened.  But I'd just have to bear with it.  I stopped my ears with buds, took a deep breath, and began blasting Megurine Luka [(c) Vocaloid] so he'd be able to hear it and I wouldn't be able to hear him.  Didn't work.  He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and confrontationally spread wide-eagled his two arms.   "Nnnnuuuuunnnnkkkkkkaman???" Is what it sounded like through Dancer in the Dark.  What, me?  I didn't hear nothing.  Walk past, just walk past...
"Nnnnuuuuuuuuuuunnnnkkkkkkaman!!!"  Come on.  "I'm sorry, sir, did you say something?"  "Did you just call me an old geezer, you foul-mouthed young whippercreamer?  Why, you know, those days, my days, mmm.... The young men, that's me, or was me... Mmm.  The young men were respectful to women!"  You're not a woman... "Sir, I never said anything, I never even thought you were an old geezer."  Well, maybe I did.   But he won't know.  "There.  You just said it.  Old?? ME?  Quaint, antique, perhaps.  But not old.  Why, in my nnnuuuuunnnnkkkamananananan."  It sounded like that because I'd gotten past him and put Excalibur on.  This was the twenty-third time.  It's nice being nice... But some people don't have unlimited patience.  I'm one of those.  "Pmmmummdinnnn!!"  That was different.  I turned around.  "What's wrong, sir?"  "Please, I'm dying."  "Excuse me?"
A devilish grin formed on his face.  "If a tree falls in a forest and no one hears it, does it make a sound?"
That was the twenty-fourth time.