There is something unsettling about the idea of buying livestock on eBay, something that pushes my already battle-crazed mind one baby step closer to total insanity. I should fight Google Ads, purveyors of dadaist nonsense across the Internet, but I fear.

I fear having my mind blown.

Because how do you take a swing at something that you not only don't understand, but that assaults your fragile mind with a constant stream of gibberish?

Punching
Quality new and used items. Find punching now!
www.ebay.com

...the Google Ads would say as I take a swing. "Arrgh!" I would reply, "you make no logical sense! How can I find 'punching' at eBay? Madness!"

Madness
We have a full stock of madness waiting for you. Sale on madness.
www.techhaven.co.uk

"Son of a GUN!" I would shout, "you... it... arrrgh!"

Son of Gun
Find the hottest deal to make
son of gun. Compare before buying.
www.focusbear.org

Eventually, I'd just collapse, frothing at the mouth and making little whimpering noises.

Whimpering
Learn all about whimpering. Get the
best opinions on whimpering.
www.ethoughts.com

Google Ads are the spiritual descendent of that &^%$ paperclip thing in Microsoft Office. I cannot fight them. They will blow my mind.

What with the U.S  Department of Homeland Security helping to protect young and old alike through clear instructions on what to do in case of nuclear strike, chemical attack or unwarranted xenophobic paranoia (although they skimp a bit on that last one), it is time to examine their work to see if it is concise, accurate and contains pictograms of people I figure I could beat up.

Here is one such pictogram. In a museum, it would probably be labeled "Man With Whistle/Man Shouting," or perhaps "My Father Never Knew About My Five-Legged Bug Collection" if it was one of those, you know, fruity museums.

The amazing thing about Americans, I am discovering, is that they can project sonic waves of pure orange force. This is a little-known fact, and will probably come in handy in case of terror attack. Examining the pictogram, I have determined that while I will not fight the terror whistle guy, I'm pretty sure I could take the terror yell guy no problems.

The terror whistle guy has a pretty intimidating full head of hair, first of all. BLUE hair. I think that would be pretty disconcerting. Plus, he seems pretty efficient with that whistle, and he keeps his eyes open, which is a good idea in a fight. And he has technology. We can only see the whistle at the moment, but he's obviously a tool user. What has he got in his unseen other hand? It could be a ball peen hammer or a framing hammer or a tack hammer. I don't want to fight a guy with a hammer.

The terror yell guy? Pfft. Look at him. Screaming like a sissy, making the old Electric Company HEEYYYY YOOUUUU GGGUUUUYYYYSSS! shout resound in my brain. He's got his eyes shut, a fighting style easily countered by my Shao-Lin "Sighted" fighting technique. And he's bald as an egg, which will mean my goatee should give me the psychological advantage under the standard "hirsute=powerful" equation used in modern fighting. He probably isn't holding a brick hammer or drywall hammer or rip hammer in his other hand. His other hand is probably fluttering around in the air, doing that thing that opera singers do when they belt a note.

Luckily, the Americans have not learned to direct their orange sound-force waves. Note that unless they are planning to attack a helicopter, their sound waves will be totally useless in combat. They tend to veer up and a little bit to the right.

I would not fight the terror whistle guy, but the terror yell guy looks like easy pickings.

I just hope the whistle guy isn't his brother or something.

A bear? No way. There's no way I'd take on a bear. I mean, let's do the math here:

Bigger? Check.
Stronger? Yep.
Faster? Yeah.
Claws? Yessir.
Fangs? Hooboy.
Killer Instinct? Bingo.

And of the above, I have ... well, mabye 1% of #6, after significant amounts of gin and external stimuli. There is NO WAY I would take on a bear.

But...

...what if the bear was really depressed?

I mean, what if it was upset about something on the bear news or had read something tragic in the bear paper, like maybe a new album by the bear Céline Dion? Or what if maybe the bear had just lost its bear job at the factory and didn't know how it was going to feed its bear family?

A distracted bear, a mourning bear, a dejected bear.

I would consider fighting a half-hearted bear.

The key would be to keep it depressed, I think. "What's the point, bear?" I would grunt in my best Bear, darting in and out with fists raised. "Even if you take me, we all die sometime." Or maybe I could scan the paper that morning and pick up on some facts that would depress even the heartiest bear. "I hear honey futures are way down, bear," I could say, doing a quick bob-and-weave, dancing like Ali. "I just read that berries give you cancer. You like that, bear?"

The trick will be not to push the bear beyond depression into rage. Jibes like "yo' momma" jokes or references to the bear being impotent or effete might just launch it from a mope into fury, which is the last thing I want, given that the bear is bigger, stronger, faster, and more savage than me with both claws and fangs. A fine line will have to be walked.

It will be a psychological battle, really, with the half-hearted bear. A fine line between mourning and mockery, between torment and taunting.

I would consider fighting a half-hearted bear.

But it'd have to look pretty damn half-hearted from a distance first.

Relentless bastard. No matter how long you scrap or how hard you hit, no matter if you're on a roll or fighting like some crumb-bum from the Bowery, Weather continues. You can run out of the house every morning with your hands taped and a vicious gleam in your eye, a gut full of whiskey and a soul full of torment, and Weather will be right outside waiting. Just. Waiting.

Most of the time, Weather is what you might call passive-agressive. I could get right in there and start swinging, and Weather won't hit back. It just takes it, and takes it, and takes it. But when Weather gets it in mind to take you out, brother, you get taken OUT. A lot of guys are afraid of weather. Big big men with hard hard fists still won't even dream of taking Weather on. But I'm a dreamer, baby. And my dream might one day be Weather's nightmare.

I don't know if I'm ready to take on Weather...yet.  I would probably have to give up after a couple of weeks of straight fighting. I don't know anyone who can take Weather down, and Weather's been around for as long as anyone around here can remember. Even if I did send Weather home with a busted lip and a bloody nose, I bet when I went outside the next day Weather would be right back in the game.

Some day, I'll work up the nerve to take Weather on. I'll quit in disgust a few days later, but at least I'll have taken a few good swings. Maybe I'll give Weather something to remember me by.