Florida man threatens neighbors with nunchucks and bug spray, but only injures himself

A Florida man wielding nunchucks and bug spray tried to quiet a group of noisy neighbors, spraying them and threatening to open fire on the revelers — but the only person he ended up injuring in the crazed quest for quiet was himself, officials said.

Larry Adams, 61, was arrested after the bizarre confrontation, which residents said was sparked by loud music coming from a car outside a Daytona Beach apartment complex late Monday night, FOX35 Orlando reported. One neighbor told the station Adams initially tried to frighten the group, but the bid backfired – literally – when he struck the car frame with the nunchucks and the martial arts weapon unexpectedly bounced off the vehicle's body and smashed into his face.

Adams allegedly also threatened to shoot the group, and doused them with roach spray, according to the station. Officers responded to the scene after Adams and his neighbors called police on each other.

When cops arrived, they noted Adams had a cut on his forehead, and a subsequent check of his home revealed a nunchuck, an empty can of roach spray and a box containing a loaded semiautomatic handgun magazine, WKMG-TV reported, citing the arrest affidavit. It was not clear if Adams owned a gun or had one in his dwelling.

Adams was booked into the Volusia County Jail on charges of aggravated battery and assault, according to the station.

Men have a very odd brotherhood of “Being Hit In The Stones”.

Almost every guy has had it happen at least once in their life. Most of us have had it happen more times than we can recall.

But everyone has memorable ones.

For me, my first and most memorable time was when I was 12 years old living in the Philippines. I was “boxing” with a guy we all knew as “Dawg” Thompson. And it wasn’t really boxing...because we weren’t really hitting hard. You could even hit in the face, but the key was that the contact would be so light it wouldn’t hurt.

So, he and I were screwing around doing this, lightly hitting each other, when out of the blue, he wound up with an uppercut and I think he misjudged it. He kept his uppercut at full speed intending (I am sure) to back off when he got to around my chest, but...I was closer to him than he probably thought, and as his fisted arm swung forward, instead of continuing on and up towards my chin before he took all the steam off, he connected squarely at full force with my nuts.

I must say, being hit in the gonads like that for the first time was a confusing and frightening immersion in pain unlike anything I had ever experienced.

I liken it in “scariness” to having the wind knocked out of you, except that when you get the wind knocked out of you, the pain is mostly psychic, not physical. It is frightening in that very short interval where you cannot breathe, and panic begins to gnaw at your primal brain. But, eventually, you breathe, and the only pain that remains is the memory of it, and that pain fades quickly.

As you get older, and unfortunately, more experienced in that type of thing, that dark panic kind of goes away. You know you aren’t really injured, and as you lay there, you command yourself “Relax. Relax. Relax. The harder you try to breathe, the harder it is to breathe. Relax. Relax. Relax.”

By the time you have gone through that mantra...you begin to breathe and you are okay.

Not so with being struck in the stones.

When you get hit squarely in the stones, you go down, and there is almost no psychic pain, it is all real physical pain, all encompassing, and the pain saturates your brain in a way that nothing else matters. There could be an elephant bearing down on you getting ready to smash you into a red pulp, or a crowd of 50,000 people watching, yet they are insignificant.

You won’t get up and run from the elephant, and you won’t be able to resist firmly clasping your testicles in front of 50,000 people whom you have never met, not to mention the millions more who may be watching on television if you are a professional athlete.

And even though the pain may subside enough for you to get up and even continue playing, the real throbbing pain, and the memory of the initial pain lingers on for days.

And there is one more aspect of being hit in the balls that I personally find oddly humorous, as long as it isn’t me being the one nailed.

When a guy gets hit in the twins and falls insensible to the ground, the brotherhood of men gather around him. If it is a pickup softball game after work, or the Super Bowl, when a guy gets hit and goes down clasping his cojones, his friends on the field gather around him, as do millions of men who may be watching a professional on television. Or even listening on the radio.

But that isn’t really the funny thing.

What I find amusing is the reaction of the victim’s friends. All the guys gathering around in sympathy tend to shift nervously from foot to foot, and make various ribald jokes about being hit in the nuts as they view their prostrate comrade in pain. It seems to be a universal thing. Every single guy completely sympathizes, and the comments are almost always like “Well, I guess you won’t be plying your trade in the bedroom tonight, Mr. Stud-muffin!” or “I think everyone’s daughter will be safe for a few days!” These are always accompanied by a smattering of nervous tittering from all the guys, while the guy on the ground is doubled up, hands in the groin white faced, sweating, with eyes tightly shut into black slits.

There is something humorous about being hit in the nuts when it isn’t you being hit. I remember playing in a softball game alongside my best friend who went in the Navy with me. He was in center field, and a guy hit a blistering line drive directly at him. He was pretty good, and he was going to catch it on a single hop while running at full speed towards it and in a single motion, catch the ball on the short bounce and immediately hurl the ball to home plate to catch the baserunner going in to score.

Except that he misjudged the bounce. It bounced and came up, but instead of landing in his glove he was holding upside down in front of him, went about an inch under the glove and hit him squarely in the testicles.

He dropped like a bag of cement, but struggled to his feet, picked up the ball, flung it weakly towards home plate, then collapsed immediately into a heap.

It was the most heroic thing I had ever seen. (Only kidding, it wasn’t, but...in that moment it was impressive!)

Some thug blasting ghetto music from his vehicle with bass speakers t

I lived in a third floor apartment for many years and had the perfect remedy.

I had a 12 volt car battery with a car cigarette lighter attached to it. I also had a bazillion lumen hand spotlight that you can light up the moon with.

One night at about 11:30, a black punk parked his truck in the parking lot leaving his stereo blasting while he visited a buddy in the next building.

So I went out on the balcony and lit up his truck until he came running out of the building cursing at me, wanting to know what I was doing.

I yelled back at him that since he was providing the musical entertainment for all the neighbors the least I could do was provide him with a spotlight.........He flipped me the finger and took off...........LOL!

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