Last weekend I saw something down at the pistol & Pawn Shop that sparked my interest. The occasion was our anniversary and I was looking for a little something different for my wife and long time first mate.
What I came across was a 100,000-volt pocket/purse size taser stun gun. The effects of the taser were supposed to be short lived, with no adverse affect on the assailant, allowing her adequate time to retreat to safety should she ever be accosted. 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 disappointed. I learned, however, that if I pushed the button and pressed it against a metal surface at the same time; I’d get the blue arc of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs. AWSESOME! Unfortunately I have yet to explain to the first mate what that burn spot is on the face of her microwave.
Ok, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that it could not be all that bad with only 2 double-A batteries, right?
There I sat in my recliner, with the cat looking on intently (trusting little soul) while I was reading the directions and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and blood moving target. I must admit I thought about zapping the cat (for a fraction of a second) but then thought better of it. She is such a sweet cat. But, if I was going to give this thing to my wife to protect herself against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertized. Am I wrong?
So there I sat in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt with my reading glasses perched delicately on my nose, directions in one hand, taser in another. 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 major loss of bodily control; a three second burst would purportedly make your assailant flop on the ground like a fish out of water. Any burst longer than three seconds would be wasting the battery.
All the while I am looking at this little device measuring about five inches long, less than ¾ inch in diameter; pretty cute really, and loaded with two itsy-bitsy triple A batteries thinking to myself, “no possible way!”
What happened next is almost beyond description, but I will do my best…
I’m sitting there alone, the cat looking on with her head cocked to one side as if to say, “Don’t do it, Master!” my reasoning, the kind that when you think back on it says, it seemed like a good idea at the time, was that a one-second burst from such a tiny little ol ’ thing couldn’t hurt all that bad. I decided to give myself a one-second burst just for the heck of it. I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and HOLY MOTHER, WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION!!!!
I am pretty sure Jessie Ventura ran in through the side door, picked me up in the recliner, and then body slammed us both on the carpet, over and over and over again. I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal position, with tears in my eyes, body soaking wet, both nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position, and tingling in my legs.
The cat 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 taser, one note of caution — there is no such thing as a one-second burst when you zap yourself. You will not let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing around on the floor. A three- second burst would be considered conservative.
Son-of-A—…..!! That hurt like hell! A minute or so later (I cannot be sure, as time is a relative thing at that point), I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and surveyed the landscape. My bent reading glasses were on the mantle of the fireplace. How did they get up there? My triceps, right thigh and both nipples were twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed 88 pounds. I am still looking for my testicles. I am offering a significant reward for their safe return.
This article is from several years ago; by Ira Black, I just about died while laughing and crying hysterically. While cleaning out our files this week, I found the article and really wanted to share it with you all.
Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!
From the Nor ‘easter mid-atlantic edition; September 2006