Where do I even start?
First of all, a giant bobblehead on a tiny, wizened body is never a good look (just ask Lara Flynn Boyle). Our least-favorite features are blown up like a bad allergic reaction to shellfish, and the person sketching you is often wearing suspenders. Don’t let the sugar rush from the cotton candy cloud your judgment when you are walking down the midway. Your money would be better spent on Whac-a-mole. Do I have to draw you a picture? The only thing that looks worse than your caricature is your caricature after I punch it in its bulbous, pen-and-ink face.
(artwork: created by someone named Emet during lunch when I was an intern in Washington, DC. Clearly, I was bitchy even in 1988.)