I didn’t wake up like this. The crabbiness rolled in like a thunderstorm, provoked mainly by the tacky, schlocky, unnecessary street fair on my block today, and exacerbated by everyone else—countless pedestrians drifting into my path and stopping dead in their tracks; the six-year-old who couldn’t open the front door of my building fast enough; the schmuck on Worth Street with whom I got into a fight about his ineffectual honking; my dog for nearly biting my finger off; the PR rep who sent me umpteen photos from a party to which I wasn’t invited; and so on. This post, of my dear collection of “fuck you” photos taken over the years, is for them (not the kid) and everyone who’s planning on being a pest today. Now if you’ll excuse me, having spit out this gob of bile, I’m taking myself to a nice lunch.