Maveric169
The Voices Talk to Me
- Joined
- 5 Dec 2002
- Messages
- 1,148
Dear Friends,
My wife 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 Sherry. The occasion was our 16th 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 Spaz looking on intently (trusting little
soul), reading the directions (that would be me, not Spaz) and thinking
that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and blood target.
I must
admit I thought about zapping Spaz for a fraction of a second and thought
better of it. He is such a sweet kitty, after all. But, if I was going to
give this thing to Sherry 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, Spaz looking on with his 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
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.
Spaz was standing over me making meowing sounds I had never heard
before, licking my face, undoubtedly thinking to himself, "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.) 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.
Just a word to the wise.
Note: This is not me, got the article from my car forum.
My wife 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 Sherry. The occasion was our 16th 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 Spaz looking on intently (trusting little
soul), reading the directions (that would be me, not Spaz) and thinking
that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and blood target.
I must
admit I thought about zapping Spaz for a fraction of a second and thought
better of it. He is such a sweet kitty, after all. But, if I was going to
give this thing to Sherry 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, Spaz looking on with his 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
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.
Spaz was standing over me making meowing sounds I had never heard
before, licking my face, undoubtedly thinking to himself, "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.) 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.
Just a word to the wise.
Note: This is not me, got the article from my car forum.
