You start a rumble.
You start out by shoving your doubled up fist into the old rich man
sitting at the next table over, resulting in a crunching noise that a
nestle crunch bar would enjoy. Howling with delight and insanity, you
spin counter-clockwise and round kick the city's Man of the Year while
he's chewing on his newspaper-rated lasagna. Next you run out of the
restaurant as shouts of dismay trail you like a fading dream into the
night. Upon finding your time maching you travel to the
present.
