I would like to share a personal experience with my closest friends about drinking and driving.
As you well know, some of us have been known to have had brushes with the authorities on our way home from an occasional social session over the years.
A couple of nights ago, I was out for an evening with friends and had a couple of cocktails and some rather nice red wine.
Knowing full well I may have been slightly over the limit, I did something I've never done before ~ I took a cab home. Sure enough, I passed a police road block but, since it was a cab, they waved it past.
I arrived home safely without incident, which was a real surprise; as I have never driven a cab before and am not sure where I got it or what to do with it now that it's in my garage.
"In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity." - A. Einstein
My 3 favorites from the Internet. Sorry if you have heard them they are getting old but I still laugh when I read them.
#1. Pocket Taser Stun Gun, a great gift for the wife. A guy who purchased his lovely wife a pocket Taser for their anniversary submitted this:
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 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. AWESOME!!! 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 dumbass,’ 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 . . . WHAT THE HELL!!!
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 making meowing sounds I had never heard before, clinging to a picture frame hanging above the fireplace, obviously in an attempt to avoid getting slammed by my body flopping all over the living room.
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 HURT LIKE HELL!!!
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. The recliner was upside down and about 8 feet or so from where it originally was. 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 had no control over the drooling. Apparently I pooped on myself, but was too numb to know for sure and my sense of smell was gone. I saw a faint smoke cloud above my head which I believe came from my hair. I’m still looking for my testicles and I’m offering a significant reward for their safe return!
P.s… My wife, who can’t stop laughing about my experience, loved the gift, and now regularly threatens me with it!
I am writing in response to your request for additional information in Block #3 of the accident reporting form. I put "Poor Planning" as the cause of my accident. You asked for a fuller explanation and I trust the following details will be sufficient.
I am a bricklayer by trade. On the day of the accident, I was working alone on the roof of a new six-story building. When I completed my work, I found I had some bricks left over which when weighed later were found to weigh 240 lbs. Rather than carry the bricks down by hand, I decided to lower them in a barrel by using a pulley which was attached to the side of the building at the sixth floor.
Securing the rope at ground level, I went up to the roof, swung the barrel out and loaded the bricks into it. Then I went down and untied the rope, holding it tightly to insure a slow descent of the 240 lbs of bricks. You will note on the accident reporting form that my weight is 135 lbs.
Due to my surprise at being jerked off the ground so suddenly, I lost my presence of mind and forgot to let go of the rope. Needless to say, I proceeded at a rapid rate up the side of the building.
In the vicinity of the third floor, I met the barrel which was now proceeding downward at an equally impressive speed. This explains the fractured skull, minor abrasions and the broken collarbone, as listed in Section 3, accident reporting form.
Slowed only slightly, I continued my rapid ascent, not stopping until the fingers of my right hand were two knuckles deep into the pulley which I mentioned in Paragraph 2 of this correspondence. Fortunately by this time I had regained my presence of mind and was able to hold the rope, in spite of the excruciating pain I was now beginning to experience.
At approximately the same time, however, the barrel of bricks hit the ground-and the bottom fell out of the barrel. Now devoid of the weight of the bricks, the barrel weighed approximately 50 lbs.
I refer you again to my weight. As you might imagine, I began a rapid descent down the side of the building.
In the vicinity of the third floor, I met the barrel coming up. This accounts for the two fractured ankles, broken tooth and severe lacerations of my legs and lower body.
Here my luck began to change slightly. The encounter with the barrel seemed to slow me enough to lessen my injuries when I fell into the pile of bricks and fortunately only three vertebrae were cracked.
I am sorry to report, however, as I lay there on the pile of bricks, in pain, unable to move and watching the empty barrel six stories above me, I again lost my composure and presence of mind and let go of the rope.
I went to the Home Depot recently while not being altogether sure that
course of action was a wise one. You see, the previous evening I had
prepared and consumed a massive quantity of my patented 'you're
definitely going to s**t yourself' roadkill chili. Tasty stuff, albeit
hot to the point of being painful, which comes with a written guarantee
from me that if you eat it, the next day both of your butt cheeks WILL
Here's the thing. I had awakened that morning, and even after two cups
of coffee (and all of you know what I mean) nothing happened. No
'Watson's Movement 2'. Despite habanera peppers swimming their way
through my intestinal tract, I was unable to create the usual morning
symphony referred to by my dear wife as 'thunder and lightning'.
Knowing that a time of reckoning HAD to come, yet not sure of just when,
I bravely set off for the Depot, my quest being paint and supplies to
refinish the den..
Upon entering the store at first all seemed normal. I selected a cart
and began pushing it about dropping items in for purchase. It wasn't
until I was at the opposite end of the store from the restrooms that the
pain hit me.
Oh, don't look at me like you don't know what I'm talking about. I'm
referring to that 'Uh, Oh, S**t, gotta go' pain that always seems to
hit us at the wrong time. The thing is, this pain was different.
The habaneros in the chili from the night before were staging a revolt.
In a mad rush for freedom they bullied their way through the small
intestines, forcing their way into the large intestines, and before I
could take one step in the direction of the restrooms which would bring
sweet relief, it happened. The peppers fired a warning shot.
There I stood, alone in the paint and stain section, suddenly enveloped
in a noxious cloud the likes of which has never before been recorded. I
was afraid to move for fear that more of this vile odor might escape me.
Slowly, oh so slowly, the pressure seemed to leave the lower part of my
body, and I began to move up the aisle and out of it, just as an red
aproned clerk turned the corner and asked if I needed any help.
I don't know what made me do it, but I stopped to see what his reaction
would be to the malodorous effluvium that refused to dissipate. Have you
ever been torn in two different directions emotionally? Here's what I
mean, and I'm sure some of you at least will be able to relate.
I could've warned that poor clerk, but didn't. I simply watched as he
walked into an invisible, and apparently indestructible, wall of odor so
terrible that all he could do before gathering his senses and running,
was to stand there blinking and waving his arms about his head as though
trying to ward off angry bees. This, of course, made me feel terrible,
but then made me laugh.. ........BIG mistake!!!!!
Here's the thing. When you laugh, it's hard to keep things 'clamped
down', if you know what I mean. With each new guffaw an explosive issue
burst forth from my nether region. Some were so loud and echoing that I
was later told a few folks in other aisles had ducked, fearing that
someone was robbing the store and firing off a shotgun.
Suddenly things were no longer funny. 'It' was coming, and I raced off
through the store towards the restrooms, laying down a cloud the whole
way, praying that I'd make it before the grand mal assplosion took
Luck was on my side. Just in the nick of time I got to the john, began
the inevitable 'Oh my God', floating above the toilet seat because my
ass is burning SO BAD, purging. One poor fellow walked in while I was in
the middle of what is the true meaning of 'Shock and Awe' . He made a
gagging sound, and disgustedly said, 'Sonofabitch!, did it smell that
bad when you ate it?', then quickly left.
Once finished and I left the restroom, reacquired my partially filled
cart intending to carry on with my shopping when a store employee
approached me and said, 'Sir, you might want to step outside for a few
minutes. It appears some prankster set off a stink bomb in the store.
The manager is going to run the vent fans on high for a minute or two
which ought to take care of the problem.'
My smirking of course set me off again, causing residual gases to escape
me. The employee took one sniff, jumped back pulling his shirt up to
cover his nose and, pointing at me in an accusing manner shouted, 'IT'S
YOU!', then ran off returning moments later with the manager. I was
unceremoniously escorted from the premises and asked none too kindly not
Home again without my supplies, I realized that there was nothing to eat
but leftover chili, so I consumed two more bowls. The next day I went to
shop at Lowe's. I can't say anymore about that because we are in court
over the whole matter.
Jerks claim they're going to have to repaint the store..
Thanks, leadarrows......your three jokes "cracked me up" all over again....can't help snickering under your breath as you read them....that is if you can contain it to that level..... Thanks again for sharing....h
"In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity." - A. Einstein