I pull into the turn-around lane of 183 on Lamar with Butterfly. My window is down, because Butterfly's car is VERY HOT in the summer. This is not an invitation to chat.
"Do you got some money for me to do the Lord's Work?"
(internal voice: Well, no. Nor do I know what that would be, or how many bottles of ethanol alcohol it would take for you to find Jesus.)
External voice: "Sorry, no."
Freaky Bum: "Well, you must either hate women, hate God, or love money."
There was a bit more rambling here, along the lines of "serving god" some more, but I don't remember it, that bit just stuck in my mind.