An account

11/27/2010 "You Picked the Wrong House, <PERSON>!" I was hanging out with <PERSON>. We were in a house that was supposed to be "mine", but it was not like the house I live in now. This one was two stories tall, and we were on the second floor. It was night out. We were the only ones in the house but, while we were chillin, I could have sworn I heard my alarm chirp, downstairs, as if someone had opened one of the doors. At first, I did not say anything about it, and thought I was just hearing things. It was not until we actually had to go downstairs for something, that I remembered the chirp and actually began to take it seriously. Before leaving my room, I grabbed one of my knives. On the way down the stairs, <PERSON> asked me why I had it, and I quietly told him that I thought I would heard something. We crept through the living room quietly, and I looked in all the corners and behind all the objects I could. Nothing. By this time, I had reverted back to thinking it had just been my imagination. There was only one other possible hiding spot; around a corner and down a short corridor, to the other bedroom. The corridor was dark, but I was just going to peek around the corner, pretty sure that we were the only ones here. I had let my guard down at the wrong time, though. As soon as I peeked around the corner, a shadowy figure was standing directly in front of me, pressed up against the wall, in hiding. I was completely caught by surprise. I swung the knife around, toward his chest, and he actually caught my arm by the wrist, using his other hand and immediately wrenching the knife out of my grip. Now he had the knife. Instinctively, I grabbed him in a hold, securing his knife hand with one of my own, to keep it away from me. Wrestling each other back into the living room, we struggled for control of the knife, at first. Then, I was able to take the guy to the ground and just began pummeling him in the face, with my free hand. (A lesson I have learned is that, when a weapon is involved, you always go for the attacker, and not the weapon.) Once the man was dazed, he dropped the knife, and I just started dropping bombs with both fists. Everything happened so fast that <PERSON> just kind of stood back. While I was annihilating this guy, with punch after punch, I think <PERSON> came by and picked up the knife, seeing that I had things under control. I do not remember much of that situation, other than leaving the guy on the ground with probably every bone in his face broken. He turned out to be just some random guy that broke into my house. Never got around to finding out whether he was just a crook or what. The next day, <PERSON> and I were at work, and we were talking about what had happened. I was dramatically retelling some co-workers about it, and just when I got to the part where I was raining down punches on the guy, <PERSON> butted in and said something like "yeah, and <PERSON> beat his ass", kind of dismissing any sort of dramatic tension I was building. I do not think he did it to be a dick, but it just came out that way. Afterward, I remember telling him something about sticking to letting me tell the stories, from now on.