In the Wild West they named a revolver, The Peacemaker

If all of my Uranium turned into lead and my nukes were useless, I would aim my rifle.  If my guns had no ammunition, I would use a knife, sword or a lance.  If those blades were dull, I would use a bow and launch arrows at my adversary.  If my bowstring broke, I would resort to slinging rocks or clubbing my enemy into submission.  If I should ever run out of rocks (a proposition highly unlikely), I would use my fists.  If my fists held only bread, wine and roses, I would sit down with my neighbor and share a meal if I didn’t run away first.
Oh no, it’s not me that finds a good fight entertaining…my instincts were implanted with aggression long before I was even born.  It’s my nature to be competitive, to protect my side of the fire hydrant and to impregnate the choicest females.  Of course I have read the moral codes of biblical origin, of course I agree with them, but, but, I have a nature that defends and offends.  I am dangerous.  I come with a warning label attached.  I am injurious to your health.  I am trained to abuse and to create havoc.  I worship strength and endurance.  I admire anyone who sets morals and ethics aside.  I will sign no conventions of war that tolerate leniency.  I believe in the domination and in the subjugation of the weak.
On the other hand, it does take more courage and fortitude than I possess to turn hardened, sharpened and pointed iron into plow shears and pruning hooks.  It takes confidence and character to beat them blunt.
And it takes millennia of heartache to even be conscious of the fact that we have the power to change the paradigm.  That is, if we want to…

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