I found this funny story on the net and since it's up to my incredibly high standards of humor it gets honored with it's own spot on my blog. wooooooo.
Pocket Taser Stun Gun, a great gift for the wife.
This was the advertisement in Larry's Pistol & Pawn Shop window next to the condo we rented last month in Florida. So I went in to check it out. I saw something that sparked my interest. The occasion was our 30th anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my wife Gisele. What I came across was a 100,000 volt, pocket/purse-sized taser.
The effects of the taser were suppose 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 triple A 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 arch of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs.
Awesome!!! Unfortunately, I have yet to explain to Gisele 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,. right?!!! There I sat in my recliner, my cat Tabby 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 Tabby (for a fraction of a second) and 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, 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 triple-a batteries, thinking to myself, "no possible way!" What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best..
I'm sitting there alone, Tabby 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@!@$@$%!@ *!!!
I'm pretty sure Jessie Ventura 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 standing over me making meowing 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 taser, 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. SON-OF-A-.. that hurt like he**!!! A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time was a relative thing at that point), 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. 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 my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs. I'm still looking for my testicles? I'm offering a significant reward for their safe return.
Still in shock
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Learning to Drive
Ahh the car. The object that gives a young man, freedom, independence, the cool factor, the opportunity to say "I've got a car" without lying. A place to make out because if her father finds out, you're a walking corpse.
So with all the posturing a gloating over, 'I can drive' etc etc, all of your social popularity hinges on one thing....
Can I borrow the car mum?
(The bold cool beast of a man is transformed into a sniveling groveling teen) pleeeeease.
Being the master diplomat/negotiator/jedi mind master that I am *cough* my mother without reservation handed me (without a care in the world) the gleaming jewels, the car keys. Cue an angelic "Ahhhhh"
And off I tear! Making the 1.5L non-supercharged, non-turboed, non-bored out, stock standard, couldn't pull lingerie off a porn star engine whinny like a wild unleashed stallion. Well...at least until I was out of line of sight from the kitchen window.
Growing up in the country, country roads were...awesome. Long, windy, and no traffic. This allowed one to test how quickly you could get to the end of it. My record was "Hells Bells" by AC/DC, by the time the song was finished I was at my mates place at the end of the road. Now when I visit home and drive leisurely along the road I'm dumbfounded at how totally insane I was to go that fast. In order to reach such speeds I would cut the corner. This meant dumping the left wheels into the grass. Over a period of time sizable ruts began to form, which could then really rip you around a corner with flying off into the bank on the other side of the road. (Unfortunately this very thing happened to a friend....sucker!)
Another thing about driving on country roads at night is the scary nocturnal wildlife of NZ. Rabbits and possums...and wild cats. Since we have already established that I was not exactly going the speed limit, if a rabbit et.al. was on the road it was officially breakfast for a hawk tomorrow morning.
As I was a pioneer driver my first 5 expeditions resulted in a fatality EVERY SINGLE TIME. While the first time I was, YEAH, second, WHOO-HOO, third, GOTCHA, forth, Again? fifth, oh man *sigh*. I believed I really was cursed. But then no more deaths and life proceeded as usual. Until one fateful day.
While blasting home listening to 'Highway to Hell' (again AC/DC) blaring on the stock standard, no 12" sub, no 3x9 speakers and no tweeters I rounded corner after corner and bend after bend with such smooth grace and style, perfect lines even Colin McRae would have nodded in approval. I rounded the last bend, tyres screeching and there, caught in my headlights, staring back at me with deer eyes was a cute bunny rabbit.
With the instinct of a natural predator I attacked! Hands gripping the steering wheel tighter, foot firmly planted to the base of the car, the car roaring into greater speeds became my weapon of choice to dispatch the evil foul beast that is the 'bunny rabbit'.
Of course what kind of suicidal rabbit is actually going to sit in the middle of the road and watch an over-sexed (and frustrated) teenage boy mow it down. Well, not this rabbit and off it bolted to the side of the road.
Of course the predator does not allow it's prey to so easily escape, the bullet car follows after the rabbit for about 0.25 seconds. Which was about 0.25 seconds too long. "Ohhhh shiiiitttttttt" now my foot is firmly on the brake and turning the wheels the other way. Now I slide to the side of the road and keep drifting sideways, off the road, into the grass and finally....into the goddamn fence. *cruunch* and stop.
Meanwhile school children huddled around a campfire are listening to a scary story from their camp leader. At a pause in his story they hear a faint yell pierce the otherwise still and quite night.
"FFFFFUUUUUUuuuuuuuucccccccckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk"
Yeah, I was all, @#$@# @#$@# @##@$@# @#$#$@$. Oh man, how am I going to hide this! The passenger door was dented and the side mirror was hanging on by...no it was off, retrieved and currently and looking at me from the passengers seat.
Well, I can't hide this, I'm just going to have to tell my mum the truth. And that's just what I did.
Really? You believe that? C'mon! I went home and promptly marched up to my mothers room. "Hey mum"
"Yes dear"
"I had a bit of an accident in the car" cue mothers rolling eyes and the wind coming out of her lungs in a great sigh.
"What happened"
We have cats. Summer in NZ is nice, but when the sun goes down, so does the temperature. And the road absorbs the heat from the day, so it's not unusual to see your cats sleeping on the side of the road after the sun has gone down.
"Well I came around a corner and our cat was sleep right in the middle of it, so I had to swerve to miss her, and I ended up going off the road and hit the fence a little bit"
"Oh" was my mothers, surprised yet relieved reply. "How bad is the damage"
"Just a bit of a dent in the door and the side mirror got knocked off"
"Ok, not so bad then"
And that was it! And now that I've posted this, my mother will/might read it and some young school children around a camp fire will hear the silent peaceful night air pierced with "KAAAAANNNNNNNEEEEEE YOUUUUU LITTTTLEEEEE BAASSSTTTTTTeeeerrrrrdddddd"
So with all the posturing a gloating over, 'I can drive' etc etc, all of your social popularity hinges on one thing....
Can I borrow the car mum?
(The bold cool beast of a man is transformed into a sniveling groveling teen) pleeeeease.
Being the master diplomat/negotiator/jedi mind master that I am *cough* my mother without reservation handed me (without a care in the world) the gleaming jewels, the car keys. Cue an angelic "Ahhhhh"
And off I tear! Making the 1.5L non-supercharged, non-turboed, non-bored out, stock standard, couldn't pull lingerie off a porn star engine whinny like a wild unleashed stallion. Well...at least until I was out of line of sight from the kitchen window.
Growing up in the country, country roads were...awesome. Long, windy, and no traffic. This allowed one to test how quickly you could get to the end of it. My record was "Hells Bells" by AC/DC, by the time the song was finished I was at my mates place at the end of the road. Now when I visit home and drive leisurely along the road I'm dumbfounded at how totally insane I was to go that fast. In order to reach such speeds I would cut the corner. This meant dumping the left wheels into the grass. Over a period of time sizable ruts began to form, which could then really rip you around a corner with flying off into the bank on the other side of the road. (Unfortunately this very thing happened to a friend....sucker!)
Another thing about driving on country roads at night is the scary nocturnal wildlife of NZ. Rabbits and possums...and wild cats. Since we have already established that I was not exactly going the speed limit, if a rabbit et.al. was on the road it was officially breakfast for a hawk tomorrow morning.
As I was a pioneer driver my first 5 expeditions resulted in a fatality EVERY SINGLE TIME. While the first time I was, YEAH, second, WHOO-HOO, third, GOTCHA, forth, Again? fifth, oh man *sigh*. I believed I really was cursed. But then no more deaths and life proceeded as usual. Until one fateful day.
While blasting home listening to 'Highway to Hell' (again AC/DC) blaring on the stock standard, no 12" sub, no 3x9 speakers and no tweeters I rounded corner after corner and bend after bend with such smooth grace and style, perfect lines even Colin McRae would have nodded in approval. I rounded the last bend, tyres screeching and there, caught in my headlights, staring back at me with deer eyes was a cute bunny rabbit.
With the instinct of a natural predator I attacked! Hands gripping the steering wheel tighter, foot firmly planted to the base of the car, the car roaring into greater speeds became my weapon of choice to dispatch the evil foul beast that is the 'bunny rabbit'.
Of course what kind of suicidal rabbit is actually going to sit in the middle of the road and watch an over-sexed (and frustrated) teenage boy mow it down. Well, not this rabbit and off it bolted to the side of the road.
Of course the predator does not allow it's prey to so easily escape, the bullet car follows after the rabbit for about 0.25 seconds. Which was about 0.25 seconds too long. "Ohhhh shiiiitttttttt" now my foot is firmly on the brake and turning the wheels the other way. Now I slide to the side of the road and keep drifting sideways, off the road, into the grass and finally....into the goddamn fence. *cruunch* and stop.
Meanwhile school children huddled around a campfire are listening to a scary story from their camp leader. At a pause in his story they hear a faint yell pierce the otherwise still and quite night.
"FFFFFUUUUUUuuuuuuuucccccccckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk"
Yeah, I was all, @#$@# @#$@# @##@$@# @#$#$@$. Oh man, how am I going to hide this! The passenger door was dented and the side mirror was hanging on by...no it was off, retrieved and currently and looking at me from the passengers seat.
Well, I can't hide this, I'm just going to have to tell my mum the truth. And that's just what I did.
Really? You believe that? C'mon! I went home and promptly marched up to my mothers room. "Hey mum"
"Yes dear"
"I had a bit of an accident in the car" cue mothers rolling eyes and the wind coming out of her lungs in a great sigh.
"What happened"
We have cats. Summer in NZ is nice, but when the sun goes down, so does the temperature. And the road absorbs the heat from the day, so it's not unusual to see your cats sleeping on the side of the road after the sun has gone down.
"Well I came around a corner and our cat was sleep right in the middle of it, so I had to swerve to miss her, and I ended up going off the road and hit the fence a little bit"
"Oh" was my mothers, surprised yet relieved reply. "How bad is the damage"
"Just a bit of a dent in the door and the side mirror got knocked off"
"Ok, not so bad then"
And that was it! And now that I've posted this, my mother will/might read it and some young school children around a camp fire will hear the silent peaceful night air pierced with "KAAAAANNNNNNNEEEEEE YOUUUUU LITTTTLEEEEE BAASSSTTTTTTeeeerrrrrdddddd"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)