Western philosophers rated by fightability
Kant - You are in a town in Prussia. A frail looking man accosts you. He knows you know who he is. And he knows that you can see the glint in his eye that says the beating that he’s about to deliver unto you is going to be universalised. 8/10, it’s gonna get Copernican.
Hume - A jovial looking Scottish man approaches. Despite his large frame and somewhat soft appearance you… you… uh, what? Is he here? Are you here? Is this, is this just a bundle of sense data? Somewhere, however in some small recess of your brain - if that’s a thing, you know he’s barrelling towards you at incredible speed. 9/10, this is going to hurt. Without doubt.
Camus - You’re in a café. You think. It sounds like one, but all you can see is smoke and all you can smell is (other than smoke) deep thought. A man approaches. He smiles. Fighting you would be absurd, he explains, in beautiful floral French. You talk a while, about life, love, his work and honestly he just melts your heart. Fade to black. You awake the next morning refreshed and ready to continue fighting. 2/10, he left money on the sidetable. How rude.
Sartre - You make your way onto a bustling Parisian street. You think. Again, it sounds like one but there’s a still strictly ludicrous amount of smoke. It parts like the red sea. A bespectacled man approaches. He looks at you, and you know that while this man may not know himself, he knows how to fight you. The smoke envelopes you once more. He’s coming. 9/10, hell is this fight in particular.
Žižek - You’re in a fast food restaurant car park in Slovenia, and so on. You are bizarrely aware of the nature of society as you sniff. You don’t have a cold. For some reason you keep thinking about batman. The Soviet national anthem begins to play as a bedraggled man emerges from a bin and lurches towards you and so on. 7/10, the ideology may be pure but this fight is going to get dirty.
Diogenes of Sinope - You’re in a barrel. Masturbating. You reckon you could get used to this. Maybe you’ll go and interrupt a lecture later. Suddenly, the barrel is rolling. Someone yells at you in the most vulgar greek to stop cramping his fucking style. Oh, right. You get up, out of the barrel and lock eyes with the also masturbating Diogenes. In his free hand he wields a plucked chicken like a flail. 9.5/10, behold, a boss battle.
The Trinity - The notion of disrupting a lecture still appeals, so you head down the road to the academy. Before you arrive, you are manhandled into an alley and out and up onto the acropolis. It seems all of Athens has assembled. As you are shoved into… a wrestling ring, the crowd begins to roar derision at you. From the opposite corner approaches a man they bill as the Macedonian Menace. Zeus alive, you already know that syllogistically he’s going to beat your ass. The crowd roars even louder for some reason, and a second man enters the ring. It’s Plato. He roars and cracks an amphora of oil over his head. The crowd goes ballistic. He screams something about the form of the ass whooping. You cower. As if that weren’t enough, a third much older and frailer man approaches, and the two assembled part deferentially. Hovering about a foot above the floor of the ring is Socrates. I was wrong, he says - but more as a thought in your head than a vocalisation, I know one thing. He pauses for effect. The crowd is still. You’re fucking dead. 30/10, good luck.