[q
My wife Toni is fond of saying that my last words on
this earth will be something akin to, "hey y'all, hold
my beer 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 Toni. 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
arch 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 arch of electricity
darting back and forth between the prongs that I was
so looking forward to. I did so. Awesome
Sparks, a
blue arch of electricity, and a loud pop
Yipeeeeee . . I'm easily amused, just for your
information, but I have yet to explain to Toni 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 Toni 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 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'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 chit!
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-groan 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.
Film at eleven....
By the way, has anyone seen my testicles? I think
they ran away. I'm offering a reward. They're round,
kinda hairy, and handsome if I must say so myself.
Miss 'em; sure would like to get 'em back...
"Never Touchin' the Taser Againuo
