By the way, has anyone seen my testicles? I think they ran away. I’m offering a reward. Still in shock.
Usually when people forward anonymous humor columns, I can quickly pin down the author and set the record straight. After all, a good humor column represents days of work, and it kind of rankles that the author is cited as “unknown” or even worse, shunted aside by an imposter who claims it as his or her own.
Typically the REAL author turns out to be 1) Erma Bombeck, 2) Dave Barry, or 3) W. Bruce Cameron. But I’m stumped on this one.
At any rate, it reminded me that I always intended to start a webpage dedicated to identifying the true authors of these wandering columns, rather than let them float onward, stripped of ancestry and vulnerable to every dishonest clown claiming it as his or her own.
I’ll continue to search for the author of the following column and give credit where credit is due, as well as a link to his/her site. If he/she would rather, I’ll excerpt it (rather than publish it here in full) and link to his site. Either way, I’ll tell the world to whom it really belongs.
One little webpage may not make a hill of difference in this beany little world of internet plagiarism, but it satisfies my inner hall monitor, and that’s all that matters, isn’t it?
So if anyone wants to help me out, see the following column. If it rings a bell, use my contact form or the comment section to let me know.
Last weekend I spied something at Larry’s Pistol and Pawn that tickled my fancy. I bought something really cool for my wife, 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. 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 – – way too cool!
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. I learned that if I pushed the button, however, 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. Awesome!! 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 AAA batteries, etc, etc. 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 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?
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 the other. The directions said that; a one-second burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second burst was suppose 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 ¾ inch in circumference, pretty cute really, and loaded with two itsy, bitsy AAA batteries) thinking to myself, “No friggin’ way!” What happened next is almost beyond description, but I’ll do m y best. 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. 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 GUACAMOLE! DANG! I’m pretty sure that Jesse Ventura ran in through the front door, picked me up out of the 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 zap 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.)
SON-OF-A- MOTHER, ..that hurt!! A minute or so later (I can’t be sure, as time was irrelevant 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 up there? My triceps, right thigh and both titties were still twitching. I’m pretty sure that my face had been shot up with Novocaine, and my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs.
By the way, has anyone seen my testicles? I think they ran away. I’m offering a reward. Still in shock.