One time (c. 1984) at Twenty-Nine Palms a Marine in my battalion stumbled across a sidewinder and decided he would get the gas can from the jeep and set the snake on fire. Instead the chucklehead ended up setting himself on fire and had to be med-evac’d out. The guy wasn’t seriously hurt or anything and I always thought he got what he deserved. The snake got away.
I don’t like snakes, but I wouldn’t hurt one if I didn’t have to and I wouldn’t want to see any animal being tortured—cute and fuzzy or ugly and slithery. I’ve never understood the type of person that would swerve their car to run over something or just has to kill an animal because it crosses their path.