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 motherf**king 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.

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 s**t.

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 s**t 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.

KARATE!

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.

Here's a quick quiz: What do you do when you are a 73-year-old woman who lives alone and you hear a window breaking at 1am on a Saturday night?

Answer: Don't open the front door because your robber will stuff a rag in your mouth and proceed with thieving you.

Which, unfortunately, was exactly what happened to an elderly woman a few years ago when she let her robber, Juan Garcia Vasquez, right in the door so he could conduct his robbery of her.

What Happened Next:

The old woman somehow convinced the man to, instead of going straight for the jewels and cash, sit down with her on the sofa instead.

Home-baked cookies may or may not have been promised.

So, they're sitting there on the couch, maybe chit-chatting, or maybe just staring at each other awkwardly, when suddenly Vasquez's stomach growled. So naturally, the lady went into robo-grandmothering mode. She walked to the kitchen and asked her robber if he'd like her to cook up some eggs. Naturally, he declined but requested a glass of milk and a banana instead. Sitting on the couch, Vasquez consumed his snack and got right back to... sitting around while pictures of grandkids and stories were shared.

Jewels and money somehow forgotten, Vasquez excused himself like a guest at an afternoon tea party and went to the bathroom, revealing politely that he'd used up the last of the toilet paper when he was done. Then, finally succ*mbing to the energy sapping power of the elderly, he sat back down and fell dead asleep. Seeing this as her chance, the old woman locked herself in the bathroom and called her daughter (she'd promised Vasquez she wouldn't call the police.)

The daughter phoned the cops and Vasquez was picked up at around 2:45am. The whole ordeal had lasted about two hours, "ordeal" being a pretty harsh description of what was essentially a late night Meals-On-Wheels visit in reverse.

He wasn't just being paranoid. Land confiscation is one of the leading causes of pissed off people in China right now. Losing your home to new roads, government buildings and even luxury villas kind of has that effect. Knowing some hired goons would show up sooner or later to force him off his land, Yang got to work...

What Happened Next:

With a wheelbarrow, some pipes and fireworks, Yang constructed his very own homemade goddamned cannon capable of firing rockets more than 100 yards. Then he waited. In Feburary 2010, the government goons and demolition crew showed up, both with the specific purpose of kicking Farmer Yang to the curb.

The instant he fired, a hundred heavy metal ballads burst spontaneously into existence.

Yang managed to keep the demolition crew at bay by blasting above their heads, at least until he ran out of ammo. After getting roughed up, local police stepped in on the farmer's behalf. When the goons tried it again in May, Yang adjusted tactics, holding off 100 men from a makeshift watchtower with his cannon and a s**tload of more ammo. But this time, the police intervened on the thugs' side, warning Yang that firing explosives at people was kind of illegal.

"Duly noted."

By mid-summer, state-run Chinese newspapers were reporting Youde would get a record settlement for his property, something like 750,000 yaun, or $110,000, plus an apartment for his troubles. But an investigative blogger from Al Jazeera reported differently, that Youde actually got $25,000 and some beatings for making trouble. Still... those rockets were pretty cool, right?

Hooray! Bright lights distract us from the terrors of reality!

Peter Rogers was pounding back a few brews with friends at a pub when he heard someone yell, "There's the c**t!" Seconds later, he realized he was the "c**t" when he was hit from behind with a hammer.

The hammer-bearer was quickly subdued by staff, but this only left another attacker with a clear path to Rogers. And instead of carrying a hammer, this guy was carrying a samurai sword. That was when Charles Russell, a confessed cocaine addict, smoothly hacked off Roger's left hand with one clean blow. Witnesses say the hand fell to the floor.

Police sources will neither confirm nor deny the presence of a third, nunchuck-wielding man.

What Happened Next:

Apparently, Rogers didn't notice that his hand was missing, because his attention was focused on the still attacking cocaine samurai.

First dibs on "Cocaine Samurai" as a band name.

Struggling for control, Rogers punched Russell right in the face with his newly hewn stump, raising the bar for testicular fortitude to a level no ordinary man could ever hope to reach. The staff came to Rogers' aid soon after, and the severed hand was later reattached, possibly by Rogers himself with a blowtorch. So what had initiated the attack in the first place? Somebody told the samurai sword drug addict that Rogers had insulted Russell's mother.

Fair enough.

Find out where these people learned to defend themselves, check out 5 Insane Fighting Manuals (You Probably Shouldn't Listen To). Or learn about more defense weapons you shouldn't own (but could), in The 13 Most Irresponsible Self Defense Gadgets Money Can Buy.

And stop by Linkstorm to see Brockway's defense when people try to pick him up.

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