Originally posted by Quarto
Now, other stuff as briefly as possible.
1. Your faith in the police force's (in)competence is truly inspiring. It's a pity you have no reason (except perhaps paranoia) to believe so.
2. If 1/10th of 1% is enough for you to worry, then clearly 100% is far too much then it should be. Remember, 10% of 500 is less than 0.01% of 10,000,000.
3. If, in a situation like that, you would be as helpless as you seem to imply, then you could indeed do something with a gun... like accidentally shoot yourself in the foot 
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Here comes the ABC 100% real life education for you.
In the first grade, I was the smallest, weakest guy in the class. At first, it wasnt so bad, but one day, the bigger, stronger boys found out that they could have fun by beating me up, taking my lunch money,(which didnt help me get bigger and stronger by the way) and calling me names like "Freckle Face". By the fourth grade, I had to wear glasses, was still the smallest, weakest guy in class, and was now "Four-Eyes" also. But something new happened. I finally learned to ride a bike, and I had a way to escape! But it didnt last long, it became fun to chase me down, wreck me, and beat me up. Then it stopped for a while, I really dont know why. By the way, back then there was no such thing as Karate classes for kids in my town, and if you "told", things got worse. Kids were expected to work things out for themselves.
Then in the seventh grade, one of the major turning points of my, and another kids lives. I committed the unpardonable crime of scoring 100% on a history test or something. A bully in the class (two years older and at least 40 pounds larger) announced he was going to kick my ass after school. I figured I had but one choice: ride home as fast as I could and get in my house where I would be safe. So thats exactly what I did. WHEW! Safe at last in my own home. Back then, no one locked their doors, because it wasnt necessary. So I didnt even think about it. I was home. I was safe. I heard the front door open. I went into the living room. The bully was standing in my living room. In my house. In the place I was supposed to be safe. By the way, there was no such thing as 911 back then. You dialed the operator and asked for the police. Obviously, I had no time for that. We had one phone in the whole house, and he was between me and it. I went to my room, got my .22 bolt action rifle, put a loaded clip in it, went back to my living room, and told the bully to leave or I would shoot him. At that moment, I became the most powerful force in my living room. In a moment that for him was probably an unusual one of clarity, he left my house. He never threatened me again, he never talked to me again, he never looked at me again. And I was forthright, gracious and magnanimous in victory. I didnt brag, rub it in, or even say anything about it to anyone. As a matter of fact, I was scared to death the whole time and didnt want anyone to know. And this was before I had ever heard about the NRA. What changed for the bully, is I probably scared him out of a life of crime, thinking he could just go into peoples houses and kick their asses. I dont know what became of him. What changed for me, was I learned that I wasnt really safe in my own home, unless I was armed. But I suppose you think that the better resolution was for me to have my ass kicked in my own living room. Sorry. I like the actual outcome a lot better. As long as I could get home, I could be safe.
Im still a little guy, I always was. When I graduated high school, I was 5' 9", and 125 pounds soaking wet. I went to boot camp, gained 20 pounds, trained in hand to hand, learned to fire military weapons proficiently, and for once wasnt afraid to get in a fight with someone bigger than me. I could at least hold my own, and if necessary, kill with my hands.
Then another turning point. I was in the San Diego county jail on a misdemeanor charge of receiving stolen property. (a car, loaned to me by a "friend" was stolen). Another detainee, 300 pounds, probably couldnt write his name, decided that he wanted me to perform a certain act that I wasnt oriented to do. So we all went to the hospital, he got in a vicious shot that broke my jaw in 2 places. Im not sure what I did to him, but I didnt perform the act he wanted.
While my jaw was wired shut, and I was drinking all my meals, I came to the conclusion that there will always be someone bigger than me, that there is rarely if ever any help available, and someone can always get in a lucky punch. So I decided that I would only dance with someone as a last resort. I started carrying a 4 inch lockblade knife everywhere I went. I never had to use it, maybe just having it made me project a "Dont mess with me" aura. I guess we'll never know. I havent carried a knife for years.
Then came 1991. Fresh back from the Gulf War, stupidly newly married, stationed at El Toro California, I was driving up to Washington state to bring my new bride home. (a little background, since about 1981, I always had a loaded .45 pistol in its case on the seat beside me in my pickup whenever I was driving long distances. Or in a holster in 86 till 91, then back in the case to even now). The coincidence here is really amazing. I was stuck in traffic, 50 or more cars in front of me, a lane on either side packed with cars, who knows how many cars behind me. I was still on El Toro road, I was going to go to the Texaco at El Toro and Interstate 5 and top off my tanks, then hop on the highway and blast up to Washington. There was this guy walking down the sidewalk, yelling at me, "HEY, FUCK YOU!"" FUCK YOU!"" HEY, FUCK YOU!" as he walked on past. He went out of my sight on the sidewalk behind my pickup and trailer. I remember thinking, "That was really weird". The next thing I know, he's standing at the passenger door of my truck saying, "IM GONNA KICK YOUR ASS, MOTHERFUCKER! IM GONNA KICK YOUR ASS!" I took my .45 out, pointed it at him, and said "No, youre not". He then again walked rearward out of my line of sight. A couple minutes later, he's at my drivers side door, 2 feet away, saying "Go ahead! Shoot me!" I once again pointed my pistol in his face, took the thumb safety off, (I already had a round in the chamber and the hammer cocked) and said "I am NOT fucking with you." He looked at me for a few seconds, and then went back to the sidewalk and started walking down the street towards the service station. The funny thing is, normally my pistol would have been in the base armory. I only had it because I was going on a trip. No, I didnt go to the gas station, I avoided any further confrontations by just getting the hell out of there as soon as I could. By the way, I you probably would have preferred that I get out of my truck and dance with this guy too, but I like my solution to the problem better. No one got hurt, and the perp probably thought twice about bothering other people in the future. And yes, I would have dropped his dumb ass if he had so much as drawn back a fist. No one is hitting me in the face ever again. They dont have that right.
So the police cant always be there, the bad guys dont always have guns, and I am extremely proficient and safe in the use of firearms. So your implication that I would shoot myself in the foot is an unnecessary insult that does nothing to further the discussion.
