Animal has a stronger punch than fluky expectationalists expected. I knew of this since childhood, after years of training to be a kangaroo boxer in the underground runaround. I was good but the ‘roos triumphed night after night, respecting me but not without annihilation and circumfrence-chewing destruction. We still joke about it, as the years pass by like strangers. My unhandsome fists aged better than theirs. Jumpy ultraviolet mites and ticks quenched their thirsties on the sleeping kangaroos, ripping their statuesque faces and physiques into edible carcasses fit for travelers from sunless footlockers.