Not too long ago, I saw something at the gun and pawn shop that sparked
my interest. The special occasion was our 10th wedding 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, 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, (by reading the directions) 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
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 itty bitty AAA batteries, right?
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. And the batteries, which were reviewed, were expensive, and which I’d bought after careful consideration.
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 cocked to one
side as to say, “don’t do it, master,” reasoning that a one-second burst
from such a tiny little ole 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, 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.& ;; 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 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
If you ever feel compelled to “mug” yourself with a taser to test it,
take my advice – repeat after me…don’t, don’t do it …
Still in shock,
Sparky (The voice of experience)