by Bonnie Calhoun


This did not happen to me!


I bought something really cool for my wife. The occasion is my retirement, and I was looking for a little something extra for my lovely bride. 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; it's way too cool! I've seen several demonstrations for cops, but I found this handheld one for civilians.

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 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 arc between the prongs. How disappointing! I do love fire for effect.

I learned that if I pushed the button, and pressed it against a metal surface that I'd get the blue arc of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs that I was so looking forward to. I did it. Awesome!!! Sparks, a blue arc of electricity, and a loud pop!! Yipeeeeee... I'm easily amused, just for your information, but I have yet to explain to her 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 in my recliner, her cat looking on intently (trusting little soul), reading the directions (that would be me, not the cat) and thinking that I
really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and blood target.

I must admit I thought about zapping the cat for a fraction of a second and thought better of it. She is such a sweet kitty after all. 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? Was I wrong to think that? It seemed reasonable to me at the time.

So, there I sat in a pair of shorts with my reading glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in one hand, Tazer in the other. 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 AAA batteries) thinking to myself, "no 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, the cat looking on with her head cocked to one side as 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
*&%$$#$@##@!!!!!

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, nipples on fire, testicles nowhere to be found, soaking wet, with my left arm tucked under my body in the oddest position.

The cat was standing over me making 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 lodge one of the prongs 1/4" deep in your thigh like yours truly. 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 reading glasses were on the mantel of the fireplace. How did they get there? My triceps, right thigh and both nipples 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 testicles? I think they ran away. I'm offering a reward. They're round. Miss 'em...! Sure would like to get'em back.

I wonder what retirement day two will bring?

Note from Bonnie....and now we know why women keep jobs when their husbands retire!