Sonic Varminter with Unabubba Collimator

This idea inspired by the exchange between UnaBubba and Dag on the Sonic grenade idea (see link) and the observation that severe injuries can be caused by audio levels not much above conversational level. Who hasn't had their bowels well and truly liquified by the statement "I'm leaving you"? So we could develop the sonic weapon along the lines that the message or nature of the sound does the work rather than the intensity.

The Sonic Varminter consists of a rifle stock with a built in mp3 player, the magazine receives a standard memory card with the ammunition recorded onto it and a selector switch selects the particular track to deploy. The barrel contains an amplifier and high efficiency speakers to project the sound. The collimator is the last and crucial element that focuses the audio energy into a band so tight that only the target can hear it.

As an illustration of its uses I will give you a scenario.

Sealy opened his eyes and extracted his head from beneath the pillow, for the third night in a row the mind numbing thumping of the oversize beatbox outside pumped hysterically into his room. He had to sleep and he had to sleep now, it was them or him and he knew who was gonna get the fishbone. Opening his window, not bothering with quietly-he was way past that, he settled crosslegged on his bed and drew the sonic varminter from its slip case. Originally purchased to scare cats away from his garden the weapon gleamed in the manufacturers oil coating, the walnut stock contrasting oddly with the futuristic looking condensers on the collimator. Drawing a bead between the ears of a fat youth poking through the scattered cd's around the ghetto blaster outside, he slid the selector to Alan Bennet and squeezed the trigger.

Fatso stopped dead in his tracks and peered around uncertainly. "Whats that, man?" "Whats what?" his companion demanded. "That dreary english voice, can't you fucking hear it"? "Yor nuts you dickhead"

In fatboys head the monotone was relentless "My names Alan Bennet and now I own your head and I'm going to stay here unless you run far far faraway"

Wailing, the lardy bulk of the stricken adolescent lumbered for the exit doors, dark urine stains appearing down his oversize drop crotched jeans. "Whaassupp with you man?" one of the remaining crew called after him, looking nervously around for support.

One down, thought Sealy, this shouldn't take too long. His thumb slid over the selector switch, hesitating at Descartes "Discourse" then all the way to Gouldens "Essential Pre-University Chemistry Primer". Mere possession of the latter was strictly against Federal law, but what the hell, these varmints deserved no mercy. No mercy at all.