Man who uses a Taser stun gun on himself describes the experience. See Example(s)
Collected via Internet, 2004
My wife Toni is fond of saying that my last words on this earth will be something akin to, “hey y’all, hold my beer and watch this!” Well, I have outdone myself once again. No doubt you will see this true story chronicled in a LifeTime movie in the near future. Here goes.
Last weekend I spied something at Larry’s Pistol and Pawn that tickled my fancy. (Note: Keep in mind that my “fancy” is easily tickled). I bought something really cool for Toni. The occasion was our 22nd
anniversary and I was looking for a little something extra for my sweet girl. 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—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 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 arch between the prongs. How disappointing! I do love fire for effect. I learned that if I pushed the button, however, and pressed it against a metal surface that I’d get the blue arch of electricity darting back and forth between the prongs that I was so looking forward to. I did so. Awesome!!! Sparks, a blue arch of electricity, and a loud pop!!!
Yipeeeeee . . I’m easily amused, just for your information, but I have yet to explain to Toni 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, my cat Gracie looking on intently (trusting little soul), reading the directions (that would be me, not Gracie) and thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and blood target. I must admit I thought about zapping Gracie 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 Toni 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? Seemed reasonable to me at the time. . .
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, 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 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 triple-a batteries) thinking to myself, “no friggin’ way!”
Friggin’ 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, Gracie 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 hell 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 HOLY SHIT!
DAaaaauuuuuuMN!!! 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. Gracie 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 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 dislodge one of the prongs 1/4″ deep in your thigh like yours truly.) SON-OF-A-BITCH 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 titties 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.
Film at eleven….
This story about a protective husband trying out his wife’s taser upon himself to ascertain its ability to take out a mugger first appeared on the Internet in July 2004. For now its author is unknown to us, leaving the question of “But is it a true story?” up in the air.
This same narrative has landed in the snopes.com inbox numerous times, often altered by small textual differences, such as variations in the storyteller’s name (Art, Earl, Tommy, J.J., Clem, Mike), his wife’s name (Toni, Kelly, Gisele, Melanie, Gerry, Kathy), the anniversary (18th, 22nd, 30th, 36th, or just “our anniversary”), and even the name of the shop where the item was purchased (Larry’s Pistol and Pawn [with or without the “Shop”] or Ski’s Pistol and Pawn Shop). In some e-mails the yarn is augmented by one of two endings (see below) followed by the closing salutation of “Still in shock,” a simultaneous use of the literal and figurative:
By the way, has anyone seen my testicles? I think they ran away. I’m offering a reward.
By the way, has anyone seen my testicles? I think they ran away. I’m offering a reward. They’re round, kinda hairy, and handsome if I must say so myself. Miss ’em; sure would like to get ’em back…
“Never Touchin’ the Taser Again!”
With regard to these small textual changes, it is perhaps a case of the dog that doesn’t bark that suggests (at least to me) this story is more likely a work of fiction than a humorously-phrased account of an actual event. In specific, the non-barking dog is actually a non-meowing cat — amid the whirlwind of changing names and shifting details, the name of the moggie who witnesses the self-Tasering never alters: she is always Gracie.
While pop culture recognizes a number of Graces (e.g., Grace Kelly, Grace Slick, Grace Jones, Grace Metalious), it knows only one Gracie: Gracie Allen, the distaff member of one of the rare guy-and-girl comedy teams to make it to the top. Gracie’s partner was her husband, George Burns; and while George Burns successfully continued his lengthy career after her death in 1964, all of Gracie’s comedy work was done with him, making it impossible to think of Gracie Allen without George Burns also immediately coming to mind. In this sense, her name acts as a mental prompt for his. And therein (potentially) lies the clue: Burns. The name of Gracie’s comedian husband, and also the result of being zapped with a stun gun.