Recreational Fish Stabbing is sport at its barest: There are few rules, little preparation and absolutely no mercy.

If shanking a wiseacre trout right in its arrogant mouth sounds like it may be for you, you're in luck! Recreational Fish Stabbing has a very low barrier to entrance, with no expensive gear to purchase: If you have a knife, spear, sharpened rock or really pointy fingertips and a lot of murder in your heart, you have what it takes to excel at RFS!

The best part about Recreational Fish Stabbing is, without a doubt, the nigh-infinite scalability of the sport. If you find yourself growing weary of cutting fish until their faces aren't so pretty anymore, you can always move up to more challenging game. Why, how about a quick trip to your local estuary, where you can give that eel something to remember his mistakes forever ...

Tired of spoiling some rotten ocean-snake's Christmas? No problem, Sammy Stiletto: The bounty of Poseidon knows no end -- except the one at the tip of your blade!

Look in those eyes: That terror has a caloric value of nearly 300! Reputable doctors say that stabbing a paltry 10 sharks per day and absorbing their fleeting panic can replace three full and balanced meals!

See that headline, there in the upper right corner? This isn't just a giant flying ray -- it's the Underwater Outlaw of Adolph Hitler himself! Take that, Ratzis; the day you beat America is the day you learn to design a stab-proof fish.

Now isn't that the cat's bloody pajamas? The octopus is the deep blue sea's sad mockery of humanity: It thinks, it plots, it clutches at you with its slimy little limbs and it even uses rudimentary tools -- stabbing one is exactly like killing a Korean, but with no pesky meddling Sgt. Elias to tell you the war's been over for months! Yes, once you've gutted an octopus, there's just no going back to cowardly sharks and boring old Hitler Rays ...

Which can be rather unfortunate. So if you find yourself like this man:

Who is apparently bored to death with knife-fighting the Kraken, perhaps you should try your plasma-stained, frenzy-shaking hands at a spirited game of ...

Haha, that's no ball of yarn, kitty! That's fire -- and now you're fire, too! That's the greatest miracle of nature: Everything turns into fire with enough fury and kerosene!

There's a burgeoning movement amongst young sportsmen today who find themselves pining for the simpler times, when a man's boredom could be quenched by simply stripping off his shirt (this step is NOT optional), wading out into a nearby bog and punching the first thing with a face.

If the olden days sound like the golden days to you, remember: In Shirtless Freestyle Nature Punching, you have to walk into the forest clad solely in pants and pent-up frustration, but nobody says you have to stay that way! Mother Nature's a woman, and that means woman-fighting rules apply. You only owe her the one free shot, but after the first bite, it is perfectly acceptable to wield a rock or uprooted tree stump against whatever species you've chosen to wipe out that morning.

After all, an animal's skull and that skull-sized rock are both part of the natural world. Using one to destroy the other isn't cheating, it's beating; beating them with their own kind, that is!

Nothing brings out the fight in nature like installing a hasty bit of metal right between the eyes of its progeny. Even the most craven great ape will come charging right out of those bushes to help you alleviate your murderous blue-balls, and all you have to do is find and eat its children!

Sure, some may call you a monster, but whose fault is this thing you have become? They took you off the farm as a boy and hurled you crying into the bloodiest war in history. And just when you learned to hear the music in the bombs and see the impressionist beauty in the crimson smear of an exploded Italian, they told you to stop! War's over, Johnny! Pack it up, they said! Go home to the wife, they said! Home? Whose home is that, exactly?! The only home you've ever known is the ululating howl of a man meeting his own guts for the first time, and the closest thing you've got to a wife is your necklace of ears.

Well, maybe now the fatcats in Washington say it's illegal to shove a man named Fritz inside the barrel of a Howitzer, pull the trigger and hold yourself a wet confetti parade, but that doesn't mean the bloodlust goes away, does it? Stop killing Germans, says Gary Government! Well, nature's your German now, friend, and maybe it's time she learned a little something about wartime. Starting with that bit about how there's no innocence on a battlefield ...

Besides, something about killing a mother just trying to protect her cubs satisfies in a way that regular ol' hunting never will. Maybe it's that roar of rage when the light goes out in her baby's eyes, or maybe it's knowing you've wiped out two generations at the same time, or maybe it's just knowing that, even when nature's perfectly in the right to destroy you, even when justice is completely on her side, she's still no match for emotional issues and a shotgun.

Final Thoughts:

Well, you gruesome globetrekkers, you sacrilegious spelunkers, you nihilist Nimrods, that's it for this issue of The Old-Timey Man's Guide to Advanced Nature Subjugation. We hope these tips have helped you improve your hatred of animals, expand your love of unprovoked violence and maybe, just maybe, quiet the screams inside of your head long enough to sleep through the worst part of your hangover. So until next time, remember: When you look unto the majestic face of nature, you know what to do ...

Spit right in its damn eye, and tell 'em Subjugating Nature says hello to their whore of a mother!

Stay tuned for the next issue, where we ask:

Is there a cure for impotence? Science says "yes!" Science goes on to clarify: "It's fist-fucking a cougar!"

Get the first episode of Robert's Sci-Fi Serial Novel, Rx: A Tale of Electronegativity, right here, or buy Robert's other book, Everything Is Going to Kill Everybody: The Terrifyingly Real Ways the World Wants You Dead. Follow him on Tumblr, Twitter and Facebook.

For more from Brockway, check out If Old School Comics Were Written For (And By) Drunk People and Revisiting Old-School Text Adventures as a Jaded Modern Gamer.