Men are stupid. Having no remorse, I will say it again. Men are stupid. My first inclination was about the ripe old age of maybe ten years old, when I convinced a couple of my buddies that I could fly like Superman. I had seen it over and over on television, and being young and impressionable, I was sure it would work for me. I put a fresh towel around my neck, climbed up on top of my fathers’ house, stood on the roof and launched myself. I liked to broke both my ankles. (I did however, in my defense, fly. Rather briefly, but still, I did fly.) D-U-M-B.
The next one was an overnight sleep over in the backyard. Someone got the brilliant idea; we needed some savage rock n roll to listen to, so I go into the garage, get Dad’s Old Packard Bell Tube Type radio and an extension chord. Walk across the backyard, barefooted in the heavy dew laden grass, plugged it in ….. D-U-M-B.
Me and another guy, Jim Crossett, stumbled on a railroad tunnel in Niles Canyon, about ¾ of a mile long, maybe more. Decided to walk thru it. D-U-M-B. The California Zephyr also came thru that tunnel twice a day.
The next time was later on, teenager I guess. I had this motorcycle I was working on, and it would not start. No matter how hard I tried, it would not fire up. So I got this brilliant idea, stick your finger in the empty plug socket, hit the starter, see if you have fire to the plug. D-U-M-B I had fire. Man I had lot’s of fire.
Now you would naturally figure that with age, things would improve, wouldn’t ya? Nope. One day, trying to figure out if a nine volt battery for the smoke detector was good or bad, I could not make up my mind. So evidently just suffering a massive brain fart or some other strange phenomenon of nature, I took the battery and stuck it to my own tongue! D-U-M-B. (I mean REALLY dumb)
Now this week, I receive in my email, The Mother of Dumb, the proverbial Shock & Awe of Stupidity. Mankind in all his splintered fractured glory!
A friend of mine sent me this. This is one of those stories where you begin to chuckle… then find yourself laughing out loud. (Not to mention the tears that eventually come freely flowing with the side splitting laughter) It concerns a Pocket Taser Stun Gun, a great gift for the wife, and some knuckle-head that bought it for her. Some of you are already seeing where this is headed, for those who are not, read on.
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 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…. ‘WAY TOO COOL!
Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I then 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.
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 triple-A 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 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 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, Gracie 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 heck of it. I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button … and .. HOLY MOTHER OF GOD, WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION!
I’m pretty sure Jessie Ventura ran in through the side door, picked me and the cat 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 a strange tingling sensation in my legs and lower extremities.
The cat was standing over me making strange meowing sounds that I had never heard before, licking my face, undoubtedly thinking to herself, “Do it again, stupid, do it again!”
SON-OF-A- … That hurt like *##@#!*%!!! 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. How did they get up 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! (P. S. My wife loved the gift, and now regularly threatens me with it!)
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.
It is often not easy being a man … “If you think Education is difficult … try being stupid … or just flat out D-U-M-B”