Oooh, I hope this gives me a diploma on stupidity!
Not too long ago, I saw something at the gun and pawn shop that sparked my interest. The occasion was our 10th anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my wife.
What I came across was a 100, 000-volt, pocket/purse-sized taser. The effects of the taser were supposed to be short lived, with no long term
adverse affect on your assailant, allowing her adequate time to retreat to safety.
Needless to say, this was way too cool. Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded two AAA batteries in the 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 a blue arc of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs. Awesome! Unfortunately, I have yet to explain to my 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 AAA batteries, right? Yah.
There I sat in my recliner, my cat looking on intently, the trusting little soul, while I was reading the directions and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh & blood moving target. I must admit I thought about zapping Kitty for a fraction of a second, but thought better of it. She is such a sweet cat and, as most of you already know, hell hath no fury like a cat pissed off. 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 advertised. Am I wrong?
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, taser 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 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 batteries.
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 AAA batteries thinking to myself "no flippin' way!" What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best.
I'm sitting there alone, the cat looking on with her head tilted to one side as if to say, "don't do it, master," reasoning that a one-second burst from such a tiny little ole thing ouldn'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, CRAP ON A STICK!
I'm pretty sure Jessie Ventura ran in through the side door, picked me up, body slammed me on the carpet over and over and over again and then slammed the recliner over my head as a chaser. 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!"
Please take this from the voice of experience - 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 about on the floor! Three second burst would be considered conservative. A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time was a relative thing at that point), I collected my wits (what little I had left), sat up and surveyed the landscape.
My bent and forlorn reading glasses were hanging miserably on the mantel of the fireplace. How did they up get there? My triceps, right thigh and both nipples were still twitching. My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and judging by how my jaw hung listlessly, my bottom lip must have weighed 88 lbs.
By the way, at this point my testicles, feeling like they withdrew into my body somewhere around my ribcage, are still waiting for the all clear signal to emerge from the bomb shelter. Now I know how Tom Hanks' character felt when he had to go search for Private Ryan. I felt like I should offer a significant reward for their safe return.
Even now, I experience shrinkage when I plug anything into the socket.
If you ever feel compelled to "mug" yourself with a taser to test it, take my advice!
Art by Clay Jones
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