Author is a coworker's cousin!!!!
My wife Barbara is fond of saying that my last words on this earth will be
something akin to, ” Hey y'all, hold my Pepsi and watch this!” Well, I have
outdone myself once again. No doubt you will see this true story chronicled
in a LifeTime movie in the near future. Here goes.
Last weekend I spied something at Larry's Pistol and Pawn that tickled my
fancy. (Note: Keep in mind that my “fancy” is easily tickled). I bought
something really cool for Barbara. The occasion was our 32nd anniversary
and I was looking for a little something extra for my sweet girl. What I
came across was a 100,000-volt, pocket/purse-sized Tazer gun with a clip.
For those of you who are not familiar with this product, it is a
less-than-lethal stun gun with two metal prongs designed to incapacitate an
assailant with a shock of high-voltage, low amperage electricity while you
flee to safety. The effects are supposed to be short lived, with no
long-term adverse affect on your assailant, but allowing you adequate time
to retreat to safety. You simply jab the prongs into your 250 lb. Tattooed
assailant, push the button, and it will render him a slobbering,
goggle-eyed, muscle-twitching, whimpering, pencil-neck geek. If you've
never seen one of these things in action, then you're truly missing
out–way too cool!
Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two
triple-a batteries in the darn thing and pushed the button. Nothing! I was
so disappointed. Upon reading the directions (we don't need no stinkin'
directions), I found much to my chagrin that this particular model would
not create an arc between the prongs. How disappointing! I do love fire for
effect. I learned that if I pushed the button, however, and pressed it
against a metal surface that I'd get the blue arc of electricity darting
back and forth between the prongs that I was so looking forward to. I did
so. Awesome!!! Sparks, a blue arc of electricity, and a loud pop!!!
Yipeeeeee . . I'm easily amused, just for your information, but I have yet
to explain to Barbara what that burn spot is on the face of her microwave.
Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it
couldn't be all that bad with only two triple-a batteries, etc., etc. There
I sat in my recliner, my cat Gracie looking on intently (trusting little
soul), reading the directions (that would be me, not Gracie) and thinking
that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and blood target. I
must admit I thought about zapping Gracie for a fraction of a second and
thought better of it. She is such a sweet kitty, after all. But, if I was
going to give this thing to Barbara to protect herself against a mugger, I
did want some assurance that it would work as advertised. Am I wrong? Was I
wrong to think that? Seemed reasonable to me at the time…
So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading glasses
perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, Tazer
in another. The directions said that a one-second burst would shock and
disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was supposed to cause muscle
spasms and a loss of bodily control; a three-second burst would purportedly
make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water. All the
while I'm looking at this little device (measuring about 5″ long, less than
3/4 inch in circumference, pretty cute really, and loaded with two itsy,
bitsy triple-a batteries) thinking to myself, “no way!” — way — trust me,
but I'm getting ahead of myself.
What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best. Those
of you who know me well have got a pretty good idea of what followed. I'm
sitting there alone, Gracie looking on with her head cocked to one side as
to say, “don't do it buddy,” reasoning that a one-second burst from such a
tiny lil' ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad (sound, rational thinking
under the circumstances, wouldn't you agree?). I decided to give myself a
one-second burst just for the hell of it.
(Note: You know, a bad decision is like hindsight–always twenty-twenty. It
is so obvious that it was a bad decision after the fact, even though it
seemed so right at the time. Don't ya hate that?)
I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and
HOLY**************! DAaaaauuuuuuMN!!! I'm pretty sure that Jessie Ventura
ran in through the front door, picked me up out of that recliner, then body
slammed me on the carpet over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on
my side in the fetal position, nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be
found, soaking wet, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest
position. Gracie was standing over me making meowing sounds I had never
heard before, licking my face, undoubtedly thinking to herself, “do it
again, do it again!”
(Note: If you ever feel compelled to mug yourself with a Tazer, one note of
caution. There is no such thing as a one-second burst when you zap
yourself. You're not going to let go of that thing until it is dislodged
from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor. Then, if you're
lucky, you won't dislodge one of the prongs 1/4″ deep in your thigh like
SON-OF-A-***** that hurt! A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time
was a relative thing at this point), I collected my wits (what little I had
left), sat up and surveyed the landscape. My reading glasses were on the
mantel of the fireplace. How did they get there??? My triceps, right thigh
and both titties were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot
up with Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs. give or take an ounce
or two, I'm pretty sure.
By the way, has anyone seen my testicles? I think they ran away. I'm
offering a reward. They're round, rather large, kinda hairy, and handsome
if I must say so myself. Miss 'em . . sure would like to get 'em back.