Just Sayin'

So I'm wending my way thru the teeming sea of humanity at Hollywood and Highland when some rapper guy pushes a CD in my face, because, of course, you can tell just by looking at me that gangsta rap is my favorite thing in life, right up there along with torture porn.
Strike One.
" You like music?" he asks. "That's me!" he bragged, in a rapperly manner.
"I have my own CDs"' I replied, handing it back to him. In fact, I wished I had one of my own CDs to give him so we could do an across-the-board trade, and each have a colorful new beer coaster to take home.
"Are you from England?" queried Mr. Rapper, the easy tourist dollars apparently obscuring both the map of Israel on my face as well as my Boston accent.
Strike Two.
"Don't you like music?" he persisted, as he handed the CD back to me. I scanned the packaging and saw that he was also on iTunes. He obviously went thru Diskmakers, just like I did. "it's five dollars. Come on, help me out".
Strike Three.
"I have my own CDs I need to sell."' I countered, handing the laser-inscribed hot potato back to him or the second and final time.
As I made my escape past Elvis, the Transformer, and the busload of easily-impressed tourists from England, I wondered how many CDs he manages to sell in a day. Is this a viable marketing strategy? I'd rather perform on the 3rd St. Promenade, and let the people hear me first and make up their own minds.
Just sayin'.