Actually, in my Experience, the Renisha McBrides of this World--Blind Drunk Women of Color who bang threateningly on your Door at 4:30 in the Morning--

are not uncommon; and, what is more, they are damned nuisances, and there's no point in pretending they're not.  Stressed they they may well be, but their blood alcohol level is too high for them to qualify as "Damsels in Distress."   When they have shown up on my porch, as one did, notably, in the late winter of 1973/74, swinging a heavy ax and accusing me of having stolen from her her white boyfriend (whom at the time I barely knew, but did eventually become friends with), it has been the work of but a few seconds for me to wrest the ax from her grasp, poke her in the stomach with the haft of it, and, when she turned away, to kick her fat ass (with my bare foot--Ewwww!) clean over the side of the porch into the yard; where she lay sobbing for a minute or two, before crawling and limping to the sidewalk at the edge of the yard, and finally, under a hail, from her, of curses, imprecations, and tearful pleas for me to restore the love which I had purloined away, retreating into the darkness whence she came.  I kept the ax, in case she decided to come back.

I hope that Theodore Wafer is reading this blog and taking note:  Shooting a Renisha McBride in the face with a shotgun, while momentarily satisfying, given our natural feelings of revulsion for her personally, and our indignation and annoyance at her clamorous intrusion at so ungodly an hour, is simply overkill.  We need, as white men, to master ourselves, and to use no more force than the occasion requires; no more than to slap her, or poke her in the stomach with an ax-handle, to get her attention, and then--kick her off the porch:  She'll go far, far away, all on her own.  And we won't be serving time for Manslaughter and 2nd Degree Murder.