Years ago there was a spittle-flecked crazy broad who would stand in front of Zabar’s with blowups of really gross porn and rail about women being exploited. I guess Ms. Introspective went off and cloned herself, because Fairway is now plagued by nutcases all wrought up and frothing about foie gras. At least they spare us the shots of splayed webs, but I always wonder why they give the store next door a pass. And now I know whose welfare they are truly worried about: On a 23-degree Sunday with winds whipping, not one of the livertarians was anywhere to be seen. Why do I have visions of Cheetos gavage in a warm living room?