A Pocket Tazer Makes a Great Gift ...

Pocket Tazer Stun Gun

The Ad Said:  “A Pocket Tazer Stun Gun is a great gift for your wife.  It will give her peace of mind.”

A guy who purchased his lovely wife a pocket Tazer 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 effect on your assailant, allowing her adequate time to retreat to safety. 

I thought to myself, WAY TOO COOL!  I have to get this for Julie.

To make a long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. As per the instructions, 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 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 then 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 the other.

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; and 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 and less than 3/4 inch in circumference (loaded with two itsy, bitsy AAA batteries).  It was pretty cute really, and I’m thinking to myself, 'no possible way.'

What happened next is almost beyond description, but I'll do my best. I was sitting there alone, Gracie looking on with her head cocked to one side, as if to say, 'Don't do it stupid,' and me 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 heck of it. So, I touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button, and... HOLY MOTHER OF GOD! WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION! WHAT THE... !

I'm pretty sure Hulk Hogan 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 a 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 and 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 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 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 had crapped in my shorts, 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!

PS: My wife can't stop laughing about my experience.  She loved the gift and now regularly threatens me with it.  If you think education is difficult, try being stupid …

“A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write.” ~CJ Heck

A Special Thank You!

A special Thank You goes out to Tracey Finck, literacy tutor with Reading Corps, for choosing my poem for her newspaper article which will be in the Union-Times on April 6 for Princeton Primary School's Poem in Your Pocket Day, April 27.

                                                      Put a Poem in Your Pocket

by Tracey Finck, Reading Corps literacy tutor

Pockets are for portable treasures.

What do you carry in yours? Perhaps important things like keys, or credit cards or pictures of your kids.

We hear stories of soldiers going off to war with a letter from someone they love tucked into their pockets. Bilbo Baggins put the magic ring he found into his pocket to hide it from Gollum.

Most pockets are small, so you have to be choosy.

C. J. Heck wrote a delightful poem about pockets in her first book of children’s poetry, “Barking Spiders (and Other Such Stuff).” She gave me permission to print it here for you:

             

            Pockets

             

            I think of all the things I have, 

            I like my pockets best.

            Pockets hold just everything

            (and they give your hands a rest).

             

            I never know just what I'll find, 

            what special things I'll see,

            to put inside my pockets.

            These are treasures, just for me.

             

            When Mommy's doing laundry though, 

            she says sometimes it's scary

            finding rocks and frogs and beetles

      and my spiders that are hairy. 

I’ve printed out a copy of this poem and intend to carry it in my pocket on Friday, April 7. That’s the day Princeton Primary School has decided to celebrate Poem in Your Pocket Day. All the students and staff will come with a poem in their pocket ready to share it with other people throughout the day. Some people will write original poems. Others will find a poem they like from a website or book or family member.

Poem in Your Pocket Day originated in 2002 when the Office of the Mayor and the Cultural Affairs and Education Departments of New York City had the idea to celebrate April as National Poetry Month with one day designated for carrying and sharing poems. In 2008, the Academy of American Poets took the idea to all 50 states. In 2016, Canada joined the fun. The official Poem in Your Pocket Day this year is April 27 (poets.org/national-poetry-month/poem-your-pocket-day) so I plan to carry my poem both then and on April 7 for Princeton Primary’s school-wide event.

Find more of CJ Heck’s poems at Barking Spiders Poetry.com. I’d love to hear which poem you decide to carry in your pocket.

  You can reach me at tracey.finck@isd477.org. And remember to read 20 minutes today!

“A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write.” ~CJ Heck

Children's Poem: "Caterpillar"

Caterpillar

If you're like me, your inner child still remembers watching a fuzzy caterpillar as it undulated across something.

They seemed to always be in such a hurry to get somewhere.

I watched in awe, fascinated by their perfect coordination, in spite of having so many tiny legs and feet.

They never seemed to get theirs tangled up like I did ...

Caterpillar

by CJ Heck

Fuzzy caterpillar
with your million-jillion feet,
how do you know which foot should go,
as you're walking on that leaf?

You make it look so easy,
right-left-right, the way you do,
sometimes MY feet get tangled up
and I have only TWO ...

("Caterpillar" from the book, "Me Too Preschool Poetry", by CJ Heck)

More Poems from the Book

“A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write.” ~CJ Heck

Poem: When I Finally Close My Eyes

CJ

To love is to risk not being loved in return. To hope is to risk feeling pain. To try is to risk failure, but risk must be taken.  The greatest misuse of a life is to die never having risked at all.

When I Finally Close My Eyes

by CJ Heck

When I close my eyes
for the last time,
I want to have lived,
really lived.

I want to know I've tasted
the smorgasbord of life,
having relished the good
and spat the bad back out,
knowing at least I tried it.

When I'm done here,
I don't want to wonder
whether someone caught
the kiss I threw,
I will know.

I don't want to leave this life
with my heart as empty
as my pockets have always been.

I want to know, without a doubt,
I've left something of me behind,
something that's good, not regret
for never making a difference.

When I close my eyes
for the very last time,
I would like someone
to remember
... I was here.



[from the book, "Anatomy of a Poet"]

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"In the end, these things matter most:  How well did you love?  How fully did you live?  How deeply did you let go?" ~ Siddartha Gautama

“A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write.” ~CJ Heck

Flash Fiction: "Waiting for a Greyhound"

“Men who flatter women do not know them; men who abuse women know them even less.” 

–Constance de Theis

by CJ Heck

In the early morning hours of a Baltimore Monday, I saw you -- just another nameless lady sitting quietly by herself on a dirty bench in the Greyhound Bus Station.

Like me, you were waiting for a bus; unlike me, you wore a long red coat on a warm spring day and your hat was pulled down to hide a swelling monument of love.

The matching handbag, you gripped two-fisted, leaving only the sleeves of your coat to wipe the sadness from your eyes.  I am so sorry.  I couldn't help but see ...

My God, how could so much misery share that old dingy bench?

What was it in your world that hurt you?  What, (or who), made you feel so beaten down?  What could have happened to make you cram your whole life into a suitcase?

I'm thinking it must be a man and not a very nice one.  No one could ever blame you for leaving.  Maybe wasting minutes feels better here, crying silently and waiting for a Greyhound with your suitcase between your legs, instead of him.

It's merely speculation on my part, but I suppose yesterday's hopes and tomorrow's dreams all die just as easily in a one-way ticket to somewhere else -- and anywhere's a better place than where you were.

Greyhounds may be late, but they don't punch or yell.

(from the book, "Bits and Pieces from a Writer's Soul", by CJ Heck)

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“A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write.” ~CJ Heck

Children's Poem: "To a Baby Firefly"

Firefly Nightlight

One of the many joys I remember from childhood was being outside on a hot summer night.

First we would wear ourselves out playing hide-and-seek in the dark.

Then, we would get a Ball jar with a lid from Mom so we could catch fireflies -- only back then, we called them lightning bugs.

They were such gentle little creatures and I was always awed, as I watched them light up my magical flashing nightlight.

I couldn't help but honor them with a poem.

To A Baby Firefly

by CJ Heck

Little baby firefly,
when your night is through,
does your mother tuck you in
and tell you she loves you?

Does she kiss your forehead
and say in morning's light ...
"Day-day little sleepyhead,
close your eyes, put out your light."



("To a Baby Firefly" from the book, "Barking Spiders 2 (sequel)", by CJ Heck)

More Poems from the Book

“A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write.” ~CJ Heck

A Lesson About Anger: "The Fence"

The Lesson from the Nails

There once was a little boy who had a very bad temper.

His father gave him a bag of nails and a hammer and walked him over to the fence in the side yard.

His father told him that every time he lost his temper from that day forward, he was to hammer a nail into the fence. 

The first day, the boy had driven thirty-seven nails into the fence. 

Over the next few weeks, as he learned to control his anger, the number of nails he hammered daily gradually dwindled down. The boy had discovered it was much easier to hold his temper, than to drive nails into the fence.

Finally, the day came when the boy didn’t lose his temper at all. He told his father about it and the father suggested that the boy now pull one nail out for every day he was able to hold his temper. 

The days passed and, finally, the young boy was able to tell his father that all the nails were gone.

The father took his son by the hand and once again led him over to the fence. He said to the boy, “You have done well, my son, but look at all of the holes in the fence. This fence will never be the same again. 

I wanted you to learn this lesson, because it is the same way throughout life.  

If we put a knife into someone, even if we immediately pull it back out, it won’t matter how many times we say I’m sorry.  The wound will always be there.

It is the same when we say things in anger.  The words can never be taken back.  Although invisible, they also leave a scar, just like the scar on this fence. Always make sure you control your temper when you are tempted to say something you might regret later."

[Author Unknown]


“A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write.” ~CJ Heck

Children's Poem: "I Love Bugs"

Children Love Bugs!

Why are children so fascinated with bugs?

Is it because they see them as something amazing, something funny, or just something cute that's even smaller than they are?

Or could it be because they see bugs as little "friends" who are fun and, like them, just glad to be alive.

One summer day at my daughter's home, I glanced out the kitchen window into the backyard, trying to see my four grandchildren.

There must have been a dozen kids out there! They were all huddled around the slide on the old swing set, waving their arms around and cheering.

They were obviously having a great time with something and yet, my four-year-old grandson, also a part of said crowd, was crying.  I went out to see what was wrong.

I walked over, gave Colin a hug, and asked him what was wrong.  He sniffled, wiped his nose on my T-shirt and said, "We're having slug races, Gram, and Sammy, my slug, stopped racing. Sammy won't go AT ALL, even when I poke him!  (sniffle-sniffle)"

I went over to the slide, a METAL slide, mind you, and I could see right away what the problem was.  Sammy was so slow, he'd gotten himself stuck to the hot slide.

Without going into the morbid "why", I suggested that Colin should probably give Sammy a rest and we would find another slug to race with. While he ran off to start the search, I removed little Sammy's fried body from the slide.

Today, I want to share a bug poem, written for Colin -- from a child's point of view.

I Love Bugs 

by CJ Heck

I love teeny tiny ants
and itchy bitsy fleas,
spiders, big and little,
and grouchy grumble bees,

butterflies that flutter by,
and beetles when they run
from marching caterpillars.
I think bugs are fun!

Skeeters like to bite me,
but lightning bugs, they don’t,
and flies that get inside the house
could bite, but they won’t.

Silly racing centipedes
and slow and slimy slugs
are my very special favorites.
I love bugs.


("I Love Bugs" from the book, "Me Too Preschool Poetry", by CJ Heck)

More Poems from the Book

“A writer soon learns that easy to read is hard to write.” ~CJ Heck