Calling all wispy, rat-faced pitchmen for couriers that parade fully grown men around in ballet dancer-snug brown sac chokers.
If that meets your description, and it most certainly does, take that simian shock of mangy Blind Melon hair and those sinister Ewokian eyes and gallop forthwith back to helming your local community college figure drawing class.
I'd sooner walk my package (please note: double entendre) across the Yucca Flats in size 5 tap shoes and crotchless lederhosen than watch your smug pucker-face for one more nanosecond.
I'll punch you.
Die, you devil-eyed, soulless monstrosity. You genocidal, saw-fanged Dingo From Beyond. Die.
Sweet, merciful Lord, I'd joyfully take a reanimated Billy Mays over this drooling man-jackel. Make it so my sweet Prince of Peace.
Unless, of course, he has a bead on a gig for me. Then please forward him my carphone # so he can give me the specs.