Just lemme get my whistle and my iron-spiked boots on and you will know the sheer unbridled primal fury that is
MAX!(Throw me one a them Luckies, bud... A swig of that agave wouldn't hurt either...)
I'm down with my man Harry. Those buggy whip arms of yours can't match the 25 inch pythons of the Inspector. You can talk all you want but when 250 pounds of rompin' stompin' sexual satisfaction comes down on your sparrow-like chest out of that tree stand, you are going look like a Taliban catching a daisy-cutter.
Death from above, baby.