The only condition I would have is that I would have two razor-sharp foot-long blades to work with. I think I could take the ****er. First, I'd drop into a crouch, then I'd scream unbearably and urinate everywhere (I would be sans pants as per my usual daily routine). The bear would inevitably be a little more than flustered by my display (without pants, it takes time for other beings to fully come to terms with the glorious appendage that adorns my crotch), at which time I'd launch into a rhythmic dance of jabs and slashes, all directed at the bear's most sensitive areas, namely its eyes and sphincters. Blinded by my furious attack, the bear would have no other option but to turn and flee. To the bear's dismay, I'd have anticipated this cowardly retreat and would launch myself bodily into the air (remember, I'm not wearing any pants for those of you working hard at your mental imagery), landing on the bastard's back and driving my blades deep into its kidneys. As the beast draws its last breath, I'd **** in its mouth (no pants) as any champion would in any situation where such behavior is deemed socially acceptable, like this one. Now, were I forced to wear pants, on the other hand, I'm sure the whole thing would go down a little differently and the bear would definitely have the advantage. Let's just everybody take a minute to picture me wearing a stained white t-shirt, some plaid knee-high socks and nothing else. I know. I so totally know.
