Fighting geese is sometimes necessary.
The belligerent bastards always fucking start it. The fucker I had to deal with made a beeline for me from the other side of the Thames; it honked and hissed at me on the other bank, plunged into the water, swam across, dragged itself out, spread it's wings wide, and then charged at me).

I fled, accidentally leaving my lunch box on the bench within easy pecking distance of the bugger. My course of action was to get a sturdy forked stick which I positioned to catch it's neck if it should try to go for me while I drove it back to retrieve my lunch.

No amount of explanation that it was the arsehole in this situation was enough to placate some angry passing pensioners.
(eViLegion Chief Commissioner of the Scottish Lunacy Board, Fri 17 Oct 2014, 17:41, Reply)