A friend posted this on Facebook. I couldn't stop laughing. It sounds like something I would do. I just had to share it here.
A guy who purchased his lovely wife a pocket Tazer for their anniversary submitted this:
Last weekend I saw something at Larry's Pistol & Pawn Shop that sparked my interest. The occasion was our 15th anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my wife Julie. What I came across was a 100,000-volt, pocket/purse-sized Tazer.
The effects of the Tazer were supposed to be short lived, with no long term adverse affect on your assailant, allowing her adequate time to retreat to safety…??
WAY TOO COOL! Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home… I loaded two AAA 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.
AWESOME!!! Unfortunately, I have yet to explain to Julie 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?
There I sat in my recliner, my cat Gracie 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 & blood moving target.
I must admit I thought about zapping Gracie (for a fraction of a second) and 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 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, and 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 major loss of bodily control; and
- 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 (loaded with two itsy, bitsy AAA batteries); pretty cute really, and thinking to myself, 'no possible way!'
What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best.
I'm sitting there alone, Gracie looking on with her head cocked to one side so as to say, 'Don't do it stupid,' reasoning that a one second burst from such a tiny lil ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad.. I decided to give myself a one second burst just for heck of it.
I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and…
HOLY MOTHER OF GOD. WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION. WHAT THE… !!!
I'm pretty sure Hulk Hogan ran in through the side door, picked me up in the recliner, 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 making meowing sounds I had never heard before, clinging to a picture frame hanging above the fireplace, obviously in an attempt to avoid getting slammed by my body flopping all over the living room.
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 will not let go of that thing until it is dislodged from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor! A 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 reading glasses were on the mantel of the fireplace.
- The recliner was upside down and about 8 feet or so from where it originally was.
- My triceps, right thigh and both nipples were still twitching..
- My face felt like it had been shot up with Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs.
- I had no control over the drooling.
- Apparently I had crapped in my shorts, but was too numb to know for sure, and my sense of smell was gone.
- I saw a faint smoke cloud above my head, which I believe came from my hair.
- I'm still looking for my testicles and I'm offering a significant reward for their safe return!
PS: My wife can't stop laughing about my experience, loved the gift and now regularly threatens me with it!
If you think education is difficult, try being stupid!!!!
The furthering adventures of 'Life with my Wife!"
My wife and I are downstairs early this morning preparing and hanging decorations around as we wait for our son (his birthday is today) to wake up and come downstairs.
"Here," she commands, as she tosses me a package, "blow these up!"
It's a bag of balloons. Not just any balloons, but black balloons. Perceiving that not a lot planning or money was spent on decorations, I said, "These balloons are black! Aren't these left over from your 50th birthday party a few years ago?"
Rather than admit she didn't go out and buy any special color balloons, she began to justify her color choice.
"Black is a 'manly' color. It's just the color it should be!" she instructed me.
After both of us blowing up several of them, I walked over and started to dig through a few bags that she had pulled from the gift paper and decoration cabinet.
"Hey!" I countered, "Here's a bunch of purple balloons," as I pulled them from the bag.
Her back was to me as she was buttering some toast. Not wanting to admit she didn't put the money or time to get any other color, she repeated, "Black is a 'MANLY' color!" "Purple is NOT a 'MANLY' color!"
As she turned to me with a stern demeanor, she finalized her argument by declaring with authority, "No MAN would choose "PURPLE!!!"
She stopped short, with mouth gaping open. I just so happen to be wearing a purple T-Shirt (Washington Huskies color).
Stuttering, she responded, "Purp….Purple…is…uh..a…purple is a MANLY color as well. It would be great to have you add some purple balloons to the black ones."
I love my wife! Strong in conviction, unbending in resolve!
Shortly, thereafter, my son walks in. His face rubs against a number of long straw-colored yarn pieces that my wife had hung in the doorway that leads into the kitchen (her idea of birthday decorations).
"Oh!" he exclaimed with a puzzled look on his face. He slowly said, "That's in-ter-est-ing…hanging yarn?!!"
Without missing a beat, my wife chimes in, "Yeah! Yarn is MANLY!"
I roll my eyes and remained silent.
Of course I'm in shape. My shape just happens to be "round."
Part of my overall plan this year is to get healthy and develop the 6-pack rippling muscles that lie just slightly hidden under my skin. So, to actualize this reality, I joined a local health club along with my son.
Last night we went down to the club for our first father/son workout. My fellow athletes at the club must have been impressed with us as we walked in. Heads turned as they smiled at us and exchanged hushed words with each other. No doubt, it had been a long time since they have seen such fine specimens of men.
I was on the treadmill for at least 10 minutes. By then I was getting winded and began to build a sweat. My son running on the machine next me suggested I might want to turn the machine "on." "Oh!" I said. No wonder I'm building up such a sweat.
I next tackled the stationary bike. I looked at the chart that displays the recommended heart rate based on age. "Hmmm…," I said as I looked for my age. "There it is!" as I looked to the extreme right of the chart. Under my age it stated, "Get out the paddles, you're going to need them soon!" I figured they must have misspelled 'peddles."
Next, I tried the weight pull which required me, while seated, to pull a heavy weight to my upper chest. "Piece of cake!" I thought as my head turned and surveyed the other athletes, no doubt watching me and impressed with my every move by now.
"Wow! That's heavy!" I said to my son. "Maybe I should take a little weight off to make it easier."
He looked at the machine weight and responded, "Dad, it doesn't go any lower than 10-lbs."
"Never mind, I can do it!" Just to impress him more, I said, "Add another 40 lbs."
After 3 reps of 10, I "felt the burn!" I mean I was sweating and feeling uncomfortably hot.
Exhausted and looking for a way to get out of this metal jungle and still maintain my pride, I turned to my son and said, "OK son, I think you've challenged yourself tonight. You don't want to overdo it. Whadda-you say we call it a night?"
Thankfully, he agreed. Obviously, our muscles surging and pumping left quite an impression as we strutted out of the club.
This morning, my left am is in so much "PAIN!!!!" I can't even stretch it out straight. This exercise program may be the death of me yet.