I would like to open hand slap Ant in the side of his head. I would land with mostly palm and his old lady equilibrium would fail him. As he is falling I would quickly push a chair underneath him so his head clanked off of it on the way down, hopefully snapping his neck.
Joe would come in trying to act tough and I would land a stiff side kick right above his knee and blow out his quadriceps. He would lurch forward as his leg gave out and collapse on top of his good leg, which would ideally suffer a catastrophic injury due to the weight of his sizeable midriff.
As they both lay on the ground, Warren would come rushing in crying and he would throw a tantrum at me. He would windmill forward with his skinny limbs and the shriek of an autistic banshee. I would follow up with a stiff right cross right on his nose, exploding it like a ketchup packet.
I would then beat my chest like a great ape and defecate on Ant’s cell phone to mark my territory.
If Ant lived, all he would be able to do is twitch his alcoholism thumb from his wheelchair. I would place his shit-phone in front of his twitch thumb and he would have no choice but to twitch it due to his severe social media addiction.