Last week, on a beautifully dark and rainy Thursday afternoon I had my second last ever uni exam for my degree. I parked at Maquarie shopping centre, and walked into uni for my exam, arrived a few mintues late, and was told that they didn't have a seat for me.

On the way back to my car, with a pounding headache after a tough exam... after walking through the cold rain and overly noisy shopping centre full of children, I was approached by a good looking blond girl, who had a sad apologetic look on her face. She looked at me, and pouted and then open her mouth, and asked a question that made me feel like a monster.

"Hi, do you have time for refugees today?"

Ouch. Who wants to smile enthusiastically, make solid eye contact, look all excited and then answer "Not me!". No one. Well, not entirely true to be honest... I mean, who here owns their own website and actually answered "It sounds bad, but I don't"? ....ME. Smooth.

Now, I'm honestly not a horrible person, those that know me will probably be either laughing or nodding in total agreement. I'm like that, I polarise people. Anyways, like I said, I am not the devil, but it is just that every single week there is another crisis, another group in distress, and another pair of overly well groomed jobless twenty somethings trying to coerce some guilty feeling white collar worker into spending money each month to protect the native moth population in the central Congo or something else. I just can't afford to help them all.

One time I was sitting in the forecourt of a shopping centre, and some English nut fundraising for the Hare Krishna dancing tambourine band decided to just sit down at my table, interrupt a conversation I was having with a friend and ask me "How my day / week / month / year / life had been going". Literally, he escalated his questions just like that, one after another. I don't care how long it has been since you had a bath Mr England, but I'm not giving you money when you interrupt my lunch.

And I hate those credit card stalls, when the pimply teenager wearing his fathers oversized suit tries to approach me and sell me an image of financial prosperity and responsibility. Yeah right. Number one, I'm not financially inclined. And point B, you look like a clown. In fact, you look like that same teenager that approaches me and asks me to buy cheap cigarettes and bourbon for them because you are underaged.

Oh, and to those American college students who continually ask me to sign up or register for events. When I keep telling you that "I'm so already WAY registered", I'm often lying. Remember, when I want to sign up I know where you are. Don't call me, I'll call you.

And don't get me started on those money collectors wandering the city streets with metal buckets and giant oversized koala buckets. Half of me wants to hug you, and half of me wants to kick you in the nuts, stamp on your oversized foot, push you onto your back and run away laughing like a school child.

Seriously. I have no aversion to attacking a koala.

So if you are a money collecting, unwashed, unsympathetic overly groomed and slick talking chump, and you approach me to make me feel guilty about starving goats in Micronesia just remember reading this post, and remember how you are pushing me to the edge... and ask yourself...

...do you feel lucky punk?

Well do you?