Man vs. Beast! Human beings love conflict. Millions of years ago this had biological basis for survival. Early humans were constatnly battlting for survival. Today, we have guns. We don't need to fight the animal kingdom. But if we did, these are animals you should be able to take down. Of course, we aren't serious. So don't call RSPCA/PETA!
The spindliest – and, evidently, most surly – of the ape kingdom and looking a bit like a giant, noisy spider, this fellow’s no match for a man who’s lost his job and is just trying to make his way home. Boot! He’s winded. Wallop! Knee to the face. Sure, he’ll fight back, but this is only ever going to end one way.
One of Britain’s few resident deers, but not one of our bigger ones. Choose your fight in June or July, when the males have just shed their antlers, and we’re thinking a sharp blow to a spindly foreleg before strangulation. Eye-to-eye and emotional.
The Paul Ross of the horse family, this forlorn-looking wreck will doubtless thank you for ending its suffering. It won’t be pretty, but a handful of blows to the face will soon have him on his back – now reach in and tear out his still-beating heart, like your grandaddy used to.
He approaches, chewing. Stealthy he is not, an ungainly mass of not-very-sharp teeth and dung-caked wool – but you feel his weight as he nudges you, all 450 pounds of it. And then he spits at you. It’s on. The way to take out a llama has to be scrambling onto its back and twisting its neck. Expect a sweaty, snarling fight and beware his feet.
No dogs stand four feet tall, which means this sleek, Antarctic fish-lover definitely qualifies – and because there isn’t an animal worse equipped at defending itself on the planet, the star of Happy Feet tops our list. He can barely run, he has no claws, his beak is no great threat to a man with a bloodlust, and we’re thinking 20 seconds from beginning to end. Work that midriff, Balboa.
Never take him on his home turf: lure him out of the water (take some Scampi-flavoured Fries) or he’ll just wear you out before dragging you down to the bottom. On land – preferably not ice, where he also has the edge – suffocation is your best bet. Your blows won’t do a thing to blubber that can be six inches thick, so straddle him, clamp his jaws shut and wedge a finger up each nostril. Seals don’t have blow-holes. Do they?
Basically a smaller version of a llama, and significantly less at home at a punk gig. Just choose your method – we’re a bit worried that this is all starting to take on the feel of some sick 1940s Boys Own “how to kill animals” book, which it really isn’t meant to. Remember: we’re assuming that all of the animals here attack you first .
An ugly bout for an equally unattractive creature, knocked up on one of God’s “off” days. Don’t let him intimidate you – he is, after all, seven-ft long – and stay focussed on the job in hand: a brutal and sustained raining of blows to his torso. All he can do is shove and shriek: self-defence in the wild comes from the fact that he’s fast and really rather large. Caged, he doesn’t stand a chance.
A large turkey is big, with a wingspan of six feet. Breast-meat aside, it is one of the least appealing animals on the planet, and his fighting skills are minimal – there’s no way he’s going to do anything but flap and go “gobble gobble” once you grab that fleshy caruncle under his beak and slip him into a headlock. “Sssssnap.” What was that?