This one was wierd. Here goes.

Me, my mom, my friend Rick, and some other as yet unidentified individual went out to lunch/dinner. At this particular restaurant (which bears no relation to a real one that I'm familiar with), a jogger flashed a gun at me in the parking lot. When we sat for the meal, I noticed the jogger at another table, not too far away, staring at us. Two tables away was a man dressed in all black and wearing black sunglasses. I looked at the two. I looked at my mom, "Shit, we gotta go!!" I said.

The look of horror in my face begged no question, and off we were. As soon as we reached home, I ran inside and loaded a Desert Eagle pistol (which I do not own in real life). Running over to the window, I watched as the decked out black Range Rover pulled into our driveway. I ducked so as to remain unseen.

A thin and ditzy black woman ran from the passenger seat of the Range Rover and up our walkway, screaming. I knew this was a diversion, but I still hung my handgun out the window and zeroed in on the annoying mockery of a distraction. The sights alined, I squeezed the trigger and a .50 caliber round broke loose from the barrel and into the shoulder of the black woman. She fell to the ground just as I once again sent lead into her petite torso.

The large man that ran by was obviously the reason for the diversion. By the time I had blown the diversion to bits, he had entered our bathroom window from the back of the house. I ran to the top of staircase, just as he turned the corner and started running up it. I fired once, twice, three times, cold steel clicking and blood raining on the white walls adorning the usually peaceful home. The man, easily 350 pounds, still persued me. I threw my pistol to the ground and ran at him. Strangling him with my forearm, he wrestled. For 15 minutes, his will and ability to live waned at my hands and I pulled tighter and tighter. Upon his final struggle, he fell to the ground. I played with the half-inch bullet holes I had inflicted on his large body and observed the squirting blood. I grinned.

But enough with the fun, I had shit to do, I thought as I grabbed my gun. Hurrying down the steps, the blood slipping under my basketball shoes. I laid on my bed near the window and held my pistol out of the window. I aimed for the driver of the Range Rover. Like deja vu and second nature, I sent the remaining rounds out the steel chamber and into the skull of the driver, shattering the windshield like the bone in his head.

Grinning, I picked up the phone. Assholes.