Any loser can disarm a villain with a fist, machete or well-crafted joke. But it takes a real MacGyver to disarm an opponent with nothing but his wits, fast reflexes and a rabid puppy. Not that there is a rabid puppy in any of these stories, but wouldn't it be cool if there was?
It started off like any other house robbery in one of Spain's ritziest gated communities. Two thieves armed themselves with knives and made their way into a house filled to the brim with rich guy stuff, only to find a young, attractive woman home alone. So they quickly tied her up and began to threaten and taunt her, as bad guys are apt to do.
A standard Bad Guy.
Here's about the part where you're probably thinking someone kicked down the door to save the day. Alas, what actually occurred is so much goddamned better.
What Happened Next:
The girl is tied up, completely at their mercy, in a house full of diamonds, fancy mustard and bear skin rugs (this is what rich people fill their homes with, yes?) when the burglars suddenly ran right the hell out of there. Empty handed. Something had freaked them out, but what? A SWAT team? A pack of trained dogs? Nope. It was a picture of the woman's husband:
Yeah, these guys tried robbing Dolph "Ivan motherfucking Drago"' Lundgren's home and threatened his wife.
This man could break your neck with his tongue, tear your heart out with his eyelashes and kick you in the dick with enough force to leave a mushroom-shaped hole in the brick wall behind you. Standing at six and a half feet tall, with degree in chemical engineering, an IQ of 160 and a black belt in karate, we're not sure why he didn't sense his home was in danger and simply explode into the room.
He has the power.
The criminals have yet to be caught, but it's probably punishment enough that each lives with the certainty that one day, he'll bend over the bathroom sink to splash water on his face, lift up his head and in the mirror see that Ivan Drago is standing directly behind him.
Joe Weston-Webb had a problem: Arsonists kept sneaking onto his farm to burn things, costing him thousands of dollars in repairs. Joe's response to this problem may get a movie made about him someday.
What Happened Next:
Hint: It involves a catapult. And shit.
Specifically, Weston-Webb, being a former stuntman, had access to this catapult, which he loaded up with chicken crap. Then he put up a sign stating explicitly what the bad guys could expect if they messed with him again. Check it:
That second line could've been literally anything and it wouldn't have mattered. All criminals immediately back away at "Protected by Smart Poo."
The railway sleepers (or ties as they're known in the U.S.) were loaded into a circus cannon that was once used to literally fire Weston-Webb's wife over a river. If this all sounds a little crazy, bear in mind that this guy actually did try the conventional methods for security (fencing, motion sensor lights) first. It's just when they failed that he immediately and reasonably progressed to using a real catapult and cannon loaded with chicken shit.
Surprisingly, police advised Weston-Webb not to go through with any of this, warning him they'd have to charge him if he did, and suggesting he rely on conventional methods of home defense. Sound advice, probably.
We're assuming Mr. Weston-Webb hasn't yet gotten the chance to launch his chicken poop at the would-be arsonists (if he had, we would have written a whole article about nothing but that) but we're pretty sure it's just a matter of time. A man like that doesn't build a chicken shit catapult to just let it sit.
Above: A man of goddamn action.
Two friends, Craig Nordstrand and Peter Roche, were having a pleasant and uneventful vacation in Fiji, acting as chaperons for a youth athletic event, when they were approached in the street by a gang of muggers wanting money. They're response was to utter the single greatest action movie one-liner to never make it into a crappy action movie, and then make the thugs pay for not recognizing it as such ...
What Happened Next:
It's at this point we should tell you who these men were chaperoning: a youth karate team at the Oceania Championship. And that Nordstrand himself was a fourth-degree black belt in karate, or, in other words, a freaking expert at it. Four men attacked Nordstrand, the other two attacked Roche. And all six men were almost immediately knocked back, probably in a wildly comic fashion.
So, the muggers regrouped and paused to consider what the hell had just gone down. Like any movie henchmen who just had their ass handed to them by a superior protagonist, they had no intention of giving up. With six men bearing down on him, Nordstrand calmly asked, "Do you want karate?"
No. You do not.
Just something to ponder here. When someone asks you this, you can be sure of one of three things: They're crazy, they're really, really good at karate, or you've wandered onto the set of Death Sport 3 and Van Damme has gone off prompter again. It would take a special kind of idiot to answer "yes" to the above question, since Nordstrand, who was now fully prepared to kick some ass, had just beaten off four separate attacks. In any case, that idiot, the only one out of the original six muggers, was instantly kicked in throat.
The other muggers, presumably not wanting any karate, promptly fled.