Brazil rejects G-7 Amazon aid citing its lack of involvement in decision to grant it

People are always trying to give me money, and I just don't want it. Like the other day, I was just walking down the street, minding my own business, when this guy with a foreign accent accosts me, grabbing my shirt and shouting in my face "You must take zis million dollars in zee bag! I beg of you, do it!"
"Not for all the tea in China!" I replied hotly. "You've got your nerve, coming up to a complete stranger and threatening him with a bunch of money. This is America, pal -- we don't cotton to things like that!" I pushed him away and continued down the street, ignoring his howls of misery and rage.
Not a day goes by that I don't find stacks of rubles or rupees or renminbi on my front porch each morning. I've had caskets of jewels thrown through my living room window. Big black pearls dropped down my chimney. Gold Krugerrands stuck to my sidewalk with superglue. Sheesh! It's enough to make a guy go cuckoo. Naturally I burn it all in my backyard, in a bonfire. For which I always get a permit first. I'm no scofflaw. 
Now when these crazy people offer me FOOD, that's a different matter. I'm very open to that. No prejudice against it atoll. 
Fer instance a man came to my door last week with
 a savory steak and kidney pie. He was dressed all in tweed and wore one of those deerstalker caps Sherlock Holmes is always pictured with.
"Care for some steak and kidney pie, old boy?" he asked me in an impeccable Oxford accent.
"Cheerio, old bean!" I replied, taking the goodies from him and inviting him in for a piece.
"Thenk yew, no" he said. "I must toddle off to the Club, dontcha know. Rugby scrummage and all that rot."
"Tallyho!" I waved to his back as he tried not to step on the Krugerrands still glued on my sidewalk.
An old woman brings me a demijohn of birch beer once in a while. She just shows up out of the blue, knocks on my door, and leaves the jug, flying off on the stalk of a sunflower like a fairy tale witch.
The German ambassador drops off liverwurst and the Thai cultural attache brings me salted duck eggs with heaps of sticky rice.
I don't really know why they do this for me -- I'm just assuming it has something to do with my sparkling personality and artistic genius. 
But I give fair warning: The next person who tries to fob blue chip stock off on me is going to get a sock on the beezer . . .