Dear Friends,
My wife Renee is fond of saying that my last words on
this earth will be something akin to, "hey y'all, hold
my beer and remote, 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 Renee. The
occasion was our 22nd 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 Renee 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 Renee 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 the other. 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 wide, pretty cute really, andloaded with two itsy, bitsy triple-a batteries).
Thinking to myself, "no friggin' way!" Friggin'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'msitting there alone, Gracie looking on with her head
cocked to one side as if 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 better than 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 yours truly.)
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, as 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.
