Sometimes I imagine myself as a master thief. At 3:00 in the morning, dressed elegantly in black, I'd creep through the skylight of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, or pad silently through the immaculate corridors of a fortress-like Swiss bank. Without a sound, I'd work quickly, efficiently, but without a hint of nervousness. I'd have planned it out to the last detail, and I'd take only that which I came for, a very valuable but not immediately recognizable Matisse, say, or a safe deposit box containing rare jewels that once belonged to European royalty. I'd depart as unobtrusively as I arrived, and other than the empty space where the stolen goods used to be, there would be no trace of my presence.
Either that, or with a hankering for cigarettes and cash, I'd try to hold up a Seven Eleven and end up like this guy. You can probably guess what happened:
Surveillance tape from the store shows an armed man with a cloth sack entering the store. After yanking the female clerk by the hair, he demands money.
He slipped his gun into his waistband and pow!
The bullet pierced his right testicle, then tore into his left calf. Telling the clerk he shot himself, police say (the suspect) took the money and ran.
Yes, he ran -- to his grandma's house.
(His) grandmother, who doesn't want to be identified, is disappointed.
"I have grandchildren, but I've made it possible for them to have all kinds of things, not by taking something that belongs to somebody else," said the grandmother.
She then added, "Plus, his bloody nuts made my living room an absolute mess. What is it with young people today, anyhow?"
In any case, he obviously did not read my book, How to Rob a Convenience Store Without Castrating Yourself. Rule number one: avoid pointing your gun at your groin.
See, I know what I'm talking about. Why won't people listen to me? I mean, come on!
