I remember walking down the street in Portland once and seeing a guy with a sandwich board listing all the things that would purportedly send one south in a big hurry. So I stopped and started reading the board, which made him perk up hopefully. Then I looked thoughtful and started counting on my fingers, muttering "Yeah, I suppose I'd have to count that one...nope, haven't managed to score that one yet...well, that one's physically impossible..." until I finally announced, "Looks like I'm doing pretty well, I've managed to cover most of your list!"
He furrowed his brow and said heatedly, "Well, then you're going straight to HELL!" At which point I smiled my sunniest pixie grin and said sweetly, "At least I won't have to run into you there...", turned on my heel and walked away. It felt great.
(And just in case anyone feels I was being cruel to the poor well-meaning pilgrim, one of the prominently displayed slogans on his sign was "GOD HATES FAGS!" I can't be having with that shite.)