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The Taser Test
 
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Published: 13 years ago
 

The Taser Test


I ran across this and thought it very funny. Could not find an author to give credit




Dear Friends, the mind is a wonderful thing; curiosity is not a
wonderful thing. To much of one and not enough of the other in the
wrong hands can be lethal in some cases.

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 (Name of the establishment changed to protect the innocent)that tickled
my fancy. (Note: Keep in mind that my "fancy" is easily tickled). I
bought something really cool for for my wife. The occasion was our 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 the wife 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 on my couch, my dog, Mini, looking on intently (trusting
little soul), reading the directions (that would be me, not Mini) and
thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and blood
target. I must admit I thought about zapping Mini for a fraction of a
second and thought better of it. She is such a sweet dog, after all.
But, if I was going to give this thing to the wife 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 t-shirt, and BBT hat on my head, 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, Mini looking on with her head
cocked to one side as if 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 heck
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 HO
**************! DAaaaauuuuuung!!! 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, chest on fire, you-know-whats
nowhere to be found, soaking wet, with my left arm tucked under my body
in the oddest position. Mini was standing over me making funny
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-***** 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 hat
was on the mantel of the fireplace. How did that get get there???
My triceps, right thigh and chest 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 you-know-whats? I think they ran away. I'm
offering a reward. Miss 'em . . . sure would like to get
'em back.
 

 
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