Justifiable is the key concept here. What it means is that you can honestly justify breaking the law when questioned by the cops, persecuted by the Municipal lawyers, and eventually sued by the ambulance-chasing scum-suckers that will rise from the bowels of our corrupt society to avenge the criminals who threatened, attacked or attempted to kill, you. This article will not employ legal terminology as I am not qualified to define it.

You will be attacked by a bigger, or younger, or stronger, or more numerous, and possibly armed, aggressor. Your best bet in terms of immediate survival is weapon use. This will, however, always mean you are breaking the law. If someone tries to kill you and you injure them, then you have both broken the law. And if you are some big karate guy don’t think that the responding cop is going to feel any better about the fact that you could have kicked his ass too.

What you and your lawyer have to do in court—and this begins being spun at the scene when you talk to the meathead cop while he misspells everything you say—is prove that you were compelled to break the law in order to survive, and should therefore be excused. In the eyes of the government it is never okay to injure or kill. Even cops have to go through this process of justifying their actions when they use force. Below I offer some tips on making your actions as defensible as possible.

1. If you produce a body you will do time with some even more dangerous bodies.

2. If you use a purpose-built weapon [gun, knife, RPG, etc.] to defend yourself, even if just by brandishing it, you will lose that weapon and probably do time.

3. If you use an improvised weapon which you have crafted or altered [like a whipstick], or some kind of outlawed weapon like a double-edged dagger or martial arts flail, you will lose the weapon and most likely do time. You cannot even carry this stuff without the danger of being locked up.

4. If you hurt anyone, in any way, in any manner, you can reasonably expect do time or be sued.

5. If you do not kiss the responding officer’s ass things will not go well.

6. You do not have any right to defend your property with force. You cannot injure or kill a mugger or purse-snatcher to prevent the theft of, or to recover, your goods.

7. You must be able to prove that you were in fear for your life or limb, that you had no other option like running or driving away, and that you used the minimal amount of force necessary to insure your survival.

8. Your attackers just have to make certain they lie consistently, unlike your sorry self, who must present facts and back them up. The crooks are basically just composing a self-serving rap and you are writing a term paper with your guts.

I used to carry swords, knives and even guns, to protect myself. Do you realize what a high-stress pain-in-the-ass that is? If you get caught, you go to jail. If you get attacked and defend yourself you go to jail. It is a lose/lose situation.

This time last winter, in February 2012, I fell asleep on the bus and missed my stop, waking up at the major transfer point. Instead of walking home through backstreets past grannies letting out their dogs and old dudes waiving good morning, I was hoofing it up the main drag; all but deserted, ghetto barbers just flipping their closed signs around to open. As I walked through my majority black neighborhood’s business district three of my own kind, lowdown white-trashians, in their mid thirties, emerged from a dive just ahead of me.

The bearded leader and the big dude nodded at each other and spread out so they would have my flanks when I shouldered my way past their drunken friend. I was groggy, and had to cross the street anyhow, so crossed before we met. They took this as a sign of weakness, and huddled up, looking at me all the while. They then changed direction, crossed the street behind me, and began trailing me. I was an obvious working guy getting off a bus on Saturday morning, and I suppose they smelled the payout in my pocket.

I am accustomed to being threatened by young blacks, suburban rednecks cruising in pickup trucks, and cops. I have well-worn survival responses to these aggressors. But this, fellow urban palefaces blatantly hunting me, this threw me off my game. I became angry and glared over my shoulder at them as I picked up my pace. Beard and Big-boy touched hands to shoulders, nodded, and herded their portable casualty with them. I nodded to them to follow, knowing now that it was clearly on, and decided to take out the witless little drunk first, so that he could not serve as a witness.

I was armed with an ink pen and a case-cutter. This was a problem. The ink pen is a one-shot weapon and has to be driven into the eye or throat, which, could be twisted around by Beard’s lawyer as an indication of lethal intent. We were all wearing coats, so I would have to use the razor to slice balls, hands, throats and faces. Hand slashes could be argued as defensive wounds incurred by the three poor drunks I had tried to individual-up on. The throat is possibly lethal and the balls and face could bring maiming charges. The thighs would just make a lot of blood, and these guys may have been heroin users, considering the locale. I would only use the razor if they followed me all the way to my apartment steps before attacking.

There was an outpost of utility in this sea of barbarity, between my anxious self and my humble abode. Deals, the local dollar store was a regular shopping spot of mine, and was just ahead. I made for the dollar store and left them clustering on the lot, planning my ambush. When I entered the 70-year-old lady at the register told me I had to lay my bag down on the register before shopping. I responded, “I have three guys following me. I’m not trusting you with my bag.”

I had the manuscript for by This Axe!, $5 in change, a borrowed DVD, my work gloves, and my toothbrush and such. These guys were not even welcome to my toothbrush. I went back into the canned good aisle to arm up. My preferred flail head was not present, so I bought a can of pumpkin pie filling, asked for an extra bag, and headed out to meet my foes.

When I emerged onto the walk—having the high ground I might add—I twirled my just-made food flail and grinned. And yes Adam, I did experience that inappropriate response [This is PG14. If you want to know the inappropriate response to this type of thing that sometimes plagues me, you will have to read When You’re Food: Mara Chrismass Yo.] Beard shook his head sideways at Big-boy’s inquiring gesture, and they headed back down to the bar they had crawled out of.

Now, in a pinch, using a work tool as a weapon, provided you are on your way to or from work, is defensible. However, something as nasty as a razor will turn prosecuting heads. You don’t want that. On the other hand, defending yourself with a grocery you have just purchased, the receipt for which is in your hand to match the time of your attack on these innocent pedestrians, is even more defensible. Additionally, it is not an edged weapon, and edged weapon use is really taboo in our sniveling society.

If you are being followed duck into a liquor store and buy a bottle—try to find a long neck, and use it as a club on the first dude and a knife on the second. Hardware stores were once ideal, but now largely gone. Food stores are ubiquitous, and dollar stores in particular carry an array of cheap canned goods which is what you want.

Make sure the clerk double bags your single can order. If the bags are cheap get a third bag.

Do not use cans with beveled bottoms, but with rims on top and bottom.

Do not use zip-top cans.

Use cans with some product density. The contents should not slosh when you shake them. I recommend: sweetened condensed milk; pumpkin; tomato paste; cranberry sauce; corned beef or frozen rolled meat. If it is just a farm store, find a glass-bottled beverage.

Beware that cans over a pound in weight will rip through the bag, and are just one-shot flail heads. Ideally you want a 14 ounce can of sweetened condensed milk.

Don’t be a jerk like I was that morning making a lariat out of the bag like it was a battleaxe and getting warmed up for battle like Mel Gibson just told me I was a hero. Be sneaky. Hold your flail low to the side and point the finger of your other hand in their face—or use the palm. Just get their attention with your left hand before you whip that can of calories into the side of their head. Target the side of the head as this attacks the equilibrium and is thinner and easier to cave in than the top and front. Facial attacks only work against wimps. Truly tough guys can handle any facial trauma short of eye removal and keep coming.

Once the enemy is down, you may not justifiably continue to beat them unless they are armed and able. I recommend stomping the ankles if they are unarmed and dangerous. Never stomp the head unless they are armed and deadly.

If the attacker was part of a group make sure you injure them all, so that none can claim witness status.

Do not run. Call the cops and start spinning the story your way to the 911 dispatcher.

When the cop gets there, you must not be a chest-thumping righteous defender of your liberty, but a reluctant traumatized defender, who, above all, is an ass-kissing machine! Be a car salesman on Presidents Day when your fearless defender rolls up in his cruiser. Make sure you are holding what is left of your grocery order as if it is the precious delicacy you would have prepared for your wife and kids, and your gay-activist uncle who sings Bob Dylan songs at Green Peace rallies—“If only this would not have happened officer. Oh God, my life will never be the same!”

Bury the beast until you get home. Then you can carve another notch on the pantry doorframe and watch Brave Heart one last time.