I'll tell ya, it's a warzone out here. You don't really know what it's like until you find your clothes torn to shreds, haven't eaten for days, making shorts out of Poison Ivy to gain some dignity, and getting Jock Rash from *them*.
They can smell you're blood, I tell you, and once they're locked on, they don't stop. Ever. Kill one, and two more take it's place. They hunt in packs, and show no remorse - wounded prey makes them like it more.
You gotta carry a gun and show them the same. When they charge you, look the Kangaroo straight in the eyes and charge at *it*. Let loose your assault rifle, none of this three-round burst nonsense, full auto, reload, then another burst. When you're out of ammo, you throw your gun at the three suckers that are still alive, pull out your knife, and wrestle them up close and personal, waiting for an oppurtunity to gouge the eyes out.
Yeah, you take on three hand to hand, and barely make it out alive, blood covering your body, the only thought in your head being the taste of raw roo meat, the onyl thing you've been able to eat since the rest of your family was eaten.
Only then do you realise the horror as you get surprised attacked by the Koalas, and need to pull out the whacking stick and make a final stand.
