GR-r-r-r-r-r

Take for example a police officer was driving down this side street and saw these two guys punching and kicking the hell out of each other.  He screeched  his patrol car to a stop, grabbed his club, jumped from the car, and when he was a foot from the guys he blew his whistle near their heads and they jumped around, both growling:  "GR-r-r-r-r. . ."

"Why'd you do that?" the one nearest to the officer asked.
"To stop you guys from 'going at it'," the officer said.
"We weren't 'going at it'," the other guy said.  "In our culture that's the way we discuss things."
"But don't you people have laws?" the officer asked.
"We don't use laws -- dead words -- to try to hide what is in our hearts and minds," the nearest one said.  "Deep down in us, anger and hatred drives us to grind our teeth in joy at the thought of seeing our enemies' bodies -- men, women, and children -- flying through the air from exploding buildings and planes and trains and houses and palaces and castles and villages and towns and nations and the world -- even if it means self-destructing with them --!"
"That's nuts," the officer said.
"We can discuss it," the man nearest to him boasted and threw a straight right-hand at the officer's jaw, but the officer ducked and kicked the man's legs from under him and popped the man's head with his club as he was falling to the ground.
"Me no discuss," the other man said, backing up.

The other, lying in the dirt, looked up, giggled, and said, "Peace, brother . . ."