My wife Kimla 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 the
Texas Trophy Hunters Show
that tickled my fancy. (Note:
Keep in mind that my "fancy" is easily tickled). I bought
something really cool for Kimla. 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
Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I
triple-AAA 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.
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 Kimla 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-AAA 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 Kimla 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-AAA
batteries) thinking to myself,
"no way!" "No DAMN 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
sound I had never heard before, licking my face, undoubtedly
thinking to herself, "do it
again, do it again!"
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 nipples 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.
By the way, has anyone seen my testicles? I think they ran
away. I'm offering a reward. Miss
'em . . . sure would like to get 'em back.