To stop a thief...

Or...sometimes I spend far too much time perusing the gun boards...

I was leaving for work one morning when a speeding truck squealed to a stop in front of my house. A burly man leapt from the passengers side, raced across my lawn, and proceeded to carry away my personal property.

This is what I took all of those self-defense classes, I said to myself as I drew the Glock from it's holster, took careful aim, and emptied the magazine into his fleeing back.

He staggered, stumbled a step or two, then jerked upright before spiraling down to the dewy grass. I approached him, inserting a fresh magazine as I made a smaller and smaller circles around his sprawled form.

A twitch. Then another. Suddenly he bolted to a sitting position and let out a groan that must have awoken half of the neighborhood. I quickly chambered another round and was glad I did as the miscreant actually seemed to shrug off his injuries and began to pull himself erect.

Not a chance, I thought. I fired again. And again, and this time he fell to the ground and stayed there.

And that, your honor, is how I came to kill the garbage man.