H, hey, stop screwin' around, I ain't puttin' that thing on!

[His case is probably not helped by the feather duster in his hand. Look, he was just pulling it out of the cart to see if there was anything better under it! Holding it for a friend. He looks down at it and grimaces, because he knows exactly what it looks like, and flings the thing off into the crowd, smacking a photographer right in the face with the wooden handle.

. . . Okay, maybe it was useful after all, but--]

You're the one who's supposed to wear stuff like that, not me! What am I gonna do, make 'em drop dead from laughin' in my face? No thanks!