mrweb
Iron City
The Aniversary Gift..........
My wife Liz is fond of saying that my last words on this earth will be something akin to, "hey, hold my beer and watch this!" Well, it seems that I have outdone myself once again. No doubt you will see this true story chronicled in a LifeTime movie on the WB network sometime in the near future.
Last weekend, while shopping, I spied something on sale at Fetla's Pistol, Pawn and Trading Company here in Valparaiso that tickled my fancy. (Note: Keep in mind that my "fancy" is easily tickled). I had seen the likes several years before at Lights Jewelry in Aurora Illinois. The occasion was our 31st anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my lovely Lady. 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 you! r 250 lb. tattooed, biker bar 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! Well, Liz and I are getting up in years so this seemed like the perfect equalizer and of course a unique anniversary gift (who but a really thoughtful husband would come up with an item like this.)
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 (usually I 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 blistering lightning 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 electricit! y 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 "tickled fancy" and "amusement" are often interchangeable for me) but I have yet to explain to Liz what that burn spot is on the face of the stovetop microwave.
Okay, so I was home alone on Wednesday with this new toy, (Liz was making her usual Wednesday morning search at Kohl's for upcoming birthday presents for the grandkids) thinking to myself that it couldn't be all that bad with only two triple-a batteries, hardly enough to light a cheap flashlight. There I sat in a folding deck chair, my dog Ariana looking on intently (trusting little soul), reading the directions (that would be me, not Ariana) and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and blood target. I must admit I thought about zapping Ariana for a fraction! of a second and then thought better of it. She is such a sweet pup, after all. But, if I was going to give this thing to Liz to protect herself against a potential mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised. Am I wrong? Was I wrong to think that? (Well, it seemed reasonable to me at the time...)
So, there I sat on the back deck, enjoying the early warm Spring air, in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt with my 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 4" 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' is the key word here--trust me.
Ah, I digress, I'm getting a bit 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, Ariana looking on with her head cocked to one side as if to say, "don't do it daddy Al," 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 by a 72 year old 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 cha just hate that?)
I touched the prongs to my naked right thigh, pushed the button, and HOLY SHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii! iiiiiT! DAaaaauuuuuuMN!!! I'm pretty sure that "The Rock," fresh from his "Walking Tall" DVD movie release, ran in through the back yard gate, picked me up out of that folding deck chair, then body slammed me on the wooden boards of the deck 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 bleeding from a small incision on my hip. Ariana was standing over me making deep throated growling sounds at me that 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 damn thing until it is dislodged from your sweaty hand by your violent thrashing about on the flo! or (or in this case the deck.) 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 glasses were hanging on the outdoor grill. How in hell did they get there? My left shoe was about twenty fee away, off the deck, in the middle of the back yard and my t-shirt was ripped out like the clothes of the "Incredible Hulk"after morphing to giant size.... (Huh?) My triceps, right thigh and both titties were still twitching. Blood was spattered across the deck. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed in at 88 lbs. (give or take an ounce or two.) I'm pretty sure my left eyelid was attached to my chin. My hair was standing straight out from my head like a giant fuzz ball. I sat (for who ! know how long) slowly regaining the use of my bodily functions) until Liz arrived back from their trip to Kohl's - to find me moaning and slowly swaying back and forth in a man made puddle. Well that's the end of it, the story that is. I'm almost back to normal after three days in bed. The Doctor says that I may regain the use of my left eyelid if I don't go out in the sun for five or six weeks.
Oh, by the way, have you seen my testicles? I think they ran away. I'm offering a reward. They're round, rather large, a bit hairy, and handsome (if I must say so myself.) Miss 'em . . sure would like to get 'em back ('n so would Liz.) Right now, I don't have the balls to try new things anymore...................
Al
My wife Liz is fond of saying that my last words on this earth will be something akin to, "hey, hold my beer and watch this!" Well, it seems that I have outdone myself once again. No doubt you will see this true story chronicled in a LifeTime movie on the WB network sometime in the near future.
Last weekend, while shopping, I spied something on sale at Fetla's Pistol, Pawn and Trading Company here in Valparaiso that tickled my fancy. (Note: Keep in mind that my "fancy" is easily tickled). I had seen the likes several years before at Lights Jewelry in Aurora Illinois. The occasion was our 31st anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my lovely Lady. 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 you! r 250 lb. tattooed, biker bar 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! Well, Liz and I are getting up in years so this seemed like the perfect equalizer and of course a unique anniversary gift (who but a really thoughtful husband would come up with an item like this.)
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 (usually I 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 blistering lightning 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 electricit! y 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 "tickled fancy" and "amusement" are often interchangeable for me) but I have yet to explain to Liz what that burn spot is on the face of the stovetop microwave.
Okay, so I was home alone on Wednesday with this new toy, (Liz was making her usual Wednesday morning search at Kohl's for upcoming birthday presents for the grandkids) thinking to myself that it couldn't be all that bad with only two triple-a batteries, hardly enough to light a cheap flashlight. There I sat in a folding deck chair, my dog Ariana looking on intently (trusting little soul), reading the directions (that would be me, not Ariana) and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and blood target. I must admit I thought about zapping Ariana for a fraction! of a second and then thought better of it. She is such a sweet pup, after all. But, if I was going to give this thing to Liz to protect herself against a potential mugger, I did want some assurance that it would work as advertised. Am I wrong? Was I wrong to think that? (Well, it seemed reasonable to me at the time...)
So, there I sat on the back deck, enjoying the early warm Spring air, in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt with my 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 4" 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' is the key word here--trust me.
Ah, I digress, I'm getting a bit 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, Ariana looking on with her head cocked to one side as if to say, "don't do it daddy Al," 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 by a 72 year old 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 cha just hate that?)
I touched the prongs to my naked right thigh, pushed the button, and HOLY SHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii! iiiiiT! DAaaaauuuuuuMN!!! I'm pretty sure that "The Rock," fresh from his "Walking Tall" DVD movie release, ran in through the back yard gate, picked me up out of that folding deck chair, then body slammed me on the wooden boards of the deck 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 bleeding from a small incision on my hip. Ariana was standing over me making deep throated growling sounds at me that 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 damn thing until it is dislodged from your sweaty hand by your violent thrashing about on the flo! or (or in this case the deck.) 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 glasses were hanging on the outdoor grill. How in hell did they get there? My left shoe was about twenty fee away, off the deck, in the middle of the back yard and my t-shirt was ripped out like the clothes of the "Incredible Hulk"after morphing to giant size.... (Huh?) My triceps, right thigh and both titties were still twitching. Blood was spattered across the deck. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed in at 88 lbs. (give or take an ounce or two.) I'm pretty sure my left eyelid was attached to my chin. My hair was standing straight out from my head like a giant fuzz ball. I sat (for who ! know how long) slowly regaining the use of my bodily functions) until Liz arrived back from their trip to Kohl's - to find me moaning and slowly swaying back and forth in a man made puddle. Well that's the end of it, the story that is. I'm almost back to normal after three days in bed. The Doctor says that I may regain the use of my left eyelid if I don't go out in the sun for five or six weeks.
Oh, by the way, have you seen my testicles? I think they ran away. I'm offering a reward. They're round, rather large, a bit hairy, and handsome (if I must say so myself.) Miss 'em . . sure would like to get 'em back ('n so would Liz.) Right now, I don't have the balls to try new things anymore...................
Al
