I need to teach him a serious lesson, but there’s just no limit to what he could have hidden in there. I could swing at him, and he could pull out a shield from his back pocket, or he could dodge and retaliate with a whip grabbed from his knee pocket. Honestly, he could pull out a small pebble from his left pocket and a wooden yet tastefully engraved slingshot from his right and hit me before I could even get within striking distance. Even if I managed to poison his tea, he could have the exact antidote stored in the zipped-up pocket to the left of his thigh. Really, there’s nothing he couldn’t account for.

He’s wronged me in a way that cannot be remedied by simple communication or explanation but instead must be shed on the battlefield in blood and tears. That being said, I just can’t seem to draft a strategy for my attack. With each move I plan, he has the possibility of pulling something out of those incredibly bulky pants to thwart my approach. He doesn’t even seem to mind that they make him look like a 1950s paratrooper. He’s truly sacrificing basic fashion principles for combat prowess.

I’ve also got a score to settle with an athlete, but I’m worried that their giant coat will repel my attacks like a turtle shell.