Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Stunning Gift for Spouse

Last weekend I saw something at Larry's Pistol & Pawn Shop that sparked my interest. The occasion was our 15th wedding 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 an adequate time to retreat to safety.

Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home.

I loaded two AAA batteries into the darn thing and pushed the button.


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 AAA 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 and 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.

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 theTtaser in the 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 13cm long, less than 2cm in circumference; pretty cute really and loaded with two itsy, bitsy AAA 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 dummy," reasoning that a one second burst from such a tiny little 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


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 foetal 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.


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 three metres 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 40 kilos. I had no control over the drooling. Apparently I shat 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 family jewels and I'm offering a significant reward for their safe return!

P.S. My wife loved the gift, and now regularly threatens me with it.

Tuesday, December 09, 2008

Divine Intervention

An explorer in the deepest Amazon suddenly finds himself surrounded by a bloodthirsty group of natives. Upon surveying the situation, he prays quietly to himself, "Oh God, I'm screwed."

The sky darkens and a voice booms out, "No, you are NOT screwed! Pick up that stone at your feet and bash in the head of the Chief standing in front of you."

So with the stone he bashes the life out of the chief. He stands above the lifeless body, breathing heavily and looking at 100 angry natives...

The voice booms out again, "Okay....NOW you're screwed."

Age and Womanhood

1. Between the ages of 13 and 18...
She is like Africa, virgin and unexplored.

2. Between the ages of 19 and 35...
She is like Asia, hot and exotic.

3. Between the ages of 36 and 45...
She is like America, fully explored, breathtakingly beautiful, and free with her resources.

4. Between the ages of 46 and 56...
She is like Europe, exhausted but still has points of interest.

5. After 56 she is like Australia...
Everybody knows it's down there but who gives a damn?

Disneyland Divorce

Mickey Mouse is going through a nasty divorce with Minnie Mouse. Mickey spoke to the judge about the separation.

"I'm sorry Mickey, but I can't legally separate you two on the grounds that Minnie is mentally insane..."

Mickey replied, "I didn't say she was mentally insane, I said that she's fucking Goofy!"

Panty Remover

A guy walks into a bar and sits down next to an extremely gorgeous woman. The first thing he notices about her though, are her pants. They were skin-tight, high-waisted and had no obvious mechanism (zipper, buttons or velcro) for opening them.

After several minutes of puzzling over how she got the pants up over her hips, he finally worked up the nerve to ask her. "Excuse me miss, but how do you get into your pants?"

"Well," she replied, "you can start by buying me a drink."

Involuntary Muscle Contraction

A professor was giving a lecture on "Involuntary Muscular Contractions" to his first year medical students. Realising that this was not the most riveting subject, the professor decided to lighten the mood slightly.

He pointed to a young woman in the front row and asked, "Do you know what your arsehole is doing while you're having an orgasm?"

She replied, "Probably fishing with his mates."

Monday, December 08, 2008

Life in the Australian Army

Letter home from a soldier from Eromanga (a small town west of Quilpie in the far south-west of Queensland).

Dear Mum & Dad,

I am well. Hope youse are too. Tell me big brothers Doug and Phil that the Army is better than workin' on the farm - tell them to get in bloody quick smart before the jobs are all gone! I wuz a bit slow in settling down at first, because ya don't hafta get outta bed until 6am. But I like sleeping in now, cuz all ya gotta do before brekky is make ya bed and shine ya boots and clean ya uniform. No bloody cows to milk, no calves to feed, no feed to stack - nothin'!! Ya haz gotta shower though, but its not so bad, coz there's lotsa hot water and even a light to see what ya doing!

At brekky ya get cereal, fruit and eggs but there's no kangaroo steaks or possum stew like wot Mum makes. You don't get fed again until noon and by that time all the city boys are buggered because we've been on a "route march" - geez its only just like walking to the windmill in the back paddock!

This one will kill me brothers Doug and Phil with laughter. I keep getting medals for shootin' - dunno why. The bullseye is as big as a bloody possum's bum and it don't move and it's not firing back at ya like the Johnsons did when our big scrubber bull got into their prize cows before the Ekka last year! All ya gotta do is make yourself comfortable and hit the target - it's a piece of piss!! You don't even load your own cartridges, they comes in little boxes, and ya don't have to steady yourself against the rollbar of the ute truck when you reload!

Sometimes ya gotta wrestle with the city boys and I gotta be real careful coz they break easy - it's not like fighting with Doug and Phil and Jack and Boori and Steve and Muzza all at once like we do at home after the muster. Turns out I'm not a bad boxer either and it looks like I'm the best the platoon's got, and I've only been beaten by this one bloke from the Engineers - he's 6 foot 5 and 15 stone and three pick handles across the shoulders and as ya know I'm only 5 foot 7 and eight stone wringin' wet, but I fought him till the other blokes carried me off to the boozer.

I can't complain about the Army - tell the boys to get in quick before word gets around how bloody good it is.

Your loving daughter,


Saturday, December 06, 2008

Gloves of Love

A young man called Peter from London wanted to buy a Christmas present for his new girlfriend Maggie. They hadn't been seeing each other for very long and she lived in Scotland.

Peter consulted his sister and decided, after careful consideration, that a pair of good quality gloves would strike the right note - not too romantic and not too personal.

Off he went with his sister to Harrods and they selected a dainty pair of fur-lined quality leather gloves. His sister bought herself a pair of sexy knickers at the same time.

Harrods had a free gift wrap offer but the assistant mixed up the two items, the sister got the gloves and Peter unknowingly got the knickers. Good old Pete sent these off in a parcel with the following letter.

Dear Maggie,

I chose these because I've noticed that you are not wearing any when we go out in the evenings. If it had not been for my sister I would have chosen the long ones with buttons but she wears shorter ones (which are easier to remove).

These are a very delicate shade but the lady I bought them from showed me the pair she'd been wearing for the past three weeks and I hardly noticed any marks.

I had her try yours on for me and she looked really smart in them even though they were a little bit tight on her. She also said that they rub against her ring, which helps keep it clean. In fact she hasn't needed to wash it since she began wearing them.

I wish I was there to put them on for you the first time, as no doubt many other hands will touch them before I have a chance to see you again.

When you take them off remember to blow into them a little because they will naturally be a little damp after wearing.

Just imagine how many times my lips will kiss them during the coming year.

I hope you will wear them for me on our next date.

All my love,

P.S. My mum tells me that the latest style is to wear them folded down with a little bit of fur showing.

Monday, December 01, 2008

Lost in Translation

A brief report of the following incident has already appeared in this newspaper, but reader Mitchell Smyth passes along a useful elaboration from Britain's Sky News and The Daily Telegraph. It concerns a communications snafu in Swansea, the southwest Welsh birthplace of Dylan Thomas and Catherine Zeta-Jones. A large road sign was erected near a supermarket at the intersection of Clase Road and Pant-y-Blawd Road. It read:

"No entry for heavy goods vehicles. Residential site only."

Below was the official Welsh translation:

"Nid wyf yn y swyddfa ar hny o bryd. Anfonwch unrhyw waith i'w gyfieithu."

At least, the Swansea Council assumed that was the translation. What the Welsh part actually said was:

"I am out of the office at the moment. Please send any work to be translated."

The council had sent the English message to its in-house translation service, but the translator was away from the office. The computer sent back an automated e-mail response in Welsh, which the council wrongly took to be the translation it had requested. The sign was posted before a Welsh-speaker noticed the mistake and contacted the Welsh-language magazine Golwg, which quickly published a photograph of the sign as an example of good intentions gone bad. The council said sorry, which in Welsh must look something like sry.