Just a hypermacho-projecting LARPing man-child projecting his insecurity about his own fragile masculinity onto others.
I'm not impressed. I'm saddened. All the A-Team vans in the world can't seem to help the guy out. I drink what tastes good, and no, dude, I'm not gonna go back to smoking a pack and a half of fuckin' cancer a day just to gain YOUR approval, nor am I gonna give up nicotine. I'm gonna get my nicotine how I get my caffeine -- how I like. And you get no say in it, ya sad ass little twat. Go crack your cheapie lil Indiana Jones -wannabe bullwhip at that.
One of these days I'm going to get around to learning electronics engineering. I only want to invent one thing -- a device with a directional mic and a loudspeaker. And I only want it for one purpose: so that when the piece of congealed fuckpudding with a leaf blower walks by my third floor apartment which faces onto a parking lot where the nearest tree is a palm about 50 yards away, I can open the door, put that speaker in his fucking face and laugh like a maniac when the sound knocks his ass over the rail and into said parking lot. Because just making a lot of noise for no productive reason = "working" in Ciudad Juarez, but it's just obnoxious here.