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squirrel story

Discussion in 'The Lighter Side' started by MrsKitty, May 11, 2004.

  1. MrsKitty

    MrsKitty

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    > A Squirrel Story
    >
    > I never dreamed slowly cruising on my motorcycle through a residential
    > neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous! Little did I suspect ...
    >
    > I was on Brice Street - a very nice neighborhood with perfect lawns and slow
    > traffic. As I passed an oncoming car, a brown furry missile shot out from
    > under it and tumbled to a stop immediately in front of me. It was a
    > squirrel, and must have been trying to run across the road when it
    > encountered the car. I really was not going very fast, but there was no time
    > to brake or avoid it - it was that close. I hate to run over animals, and I
    > really hate it on a motorcycle, but a squirrel should pose no danger to me.
    > I barely had time to brace for the impact.
    >
    > Animal lovers, never fear. Squirrels, I discovered, can take care of
    > themselves!
    >
    > Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet. He was standing on
    > his hind legs and facing my oncoming Valkyrie with steadfast resolve in his
    > little beady eyes. His mouth opened, and at the last possible second, he
    > screamed and leapt!
    >
    > I am pretty sure the scream was squirrel for, "Bonzai!" or maybe, "Die you
    > gravy-sucking, heathen scum!" The leap was nothing short of spectacular
    > ...as he shot straight up, flew over my windshield, and mpacted me squarely
    > in the chest.
    >
    > Instantly, he set upon me. If I did not know better, I would have sworn he
    > brought 20 of his little buddies along for the attack. Snarling, hissing,
    > and tearing at my clothes, he was a frenzy of activity. As I was dressed
    > only in a light t-shirt, summer riding gloves, and jeans this was a bit of a
    > cause for concern. This furry little tornado was doing some damage!
    >
    > Picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a
    > t-shirt, and leather gloves, puttering at maybe 25 mph down a quiet
    > residential street, and in the fight of his life with a squirrel. And
    > losing...
    >
    > I grabbed for him with my left hand. After a few misses, I finally managed
    > to snag his tail. With all my strength, I flung the evil rodent off to the
    > left of the bike, almost running into the right curb as I recoiled from the
    > throw. That should have done it. The matter should have ended right there.
    > It really should have. The squirrel could have sailed into one of the
    > pristinely kept yards and gone on about his business, and I could have
    > headed home. No one would have been the wiser.
    >
    > But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an ordinary pissed-off
    > squirrel. This was an EVIL MUTANT ATTACK SQUIRREL OF DEATH ! Somehow he
    > caught my gloved finger with one of his little hands and, with the force of
    > the throw, swung around and with a resounding thump and an amazing impact,
    > he landed squarely on my back and resumed his rather anti-social and
    > extremely distracting activities.
    >
    > He also managed to take my left glove with him! The situation was not
    > improved. Not improved at all. His attacks were continuing, and now I could
    > not reach him.
    >
    > I was startled to say the least. The combination of the force of the throw,
    > only having one hand (the throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking
    > back unfortunately put a healthy twist through my right hand and into the
    > throttle. A healthy twist on the throttle of a Valkyrie can only have one
    > result.
    > Torque. This is what the Valkyrie is made for, and she is very, very good at
    > it. The engine roared and the front wheel left the pavement. The squirrel
    > screamed in anger. The Valkyrie screamed in ecstasy. I screamed in ... well
    > ... I just plain screamed.
    >
    > Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in
    > jeans, a slightly squirrel-torn-t-shirt, wearing only one leather glove, and
    > roaring at maybe 50 mph and rapidly accelerating down a quiet residential
    > street on one wheel and with a demonic squirrel on his back. The man and the
    > squirrel are both screaming bloody murder. With the sudden acceleration I
    > was forced to put my other hand back on the handlebars and try to get
    > control of the bike.
    >
    > This was leaving the mutant squirrel to his own devices, but I really did
    > not want to crash into somebody's tree, house, or parked car. Also, I had
    > not yet figured out how to release the throttle .... my brain was just
    > simply overloaded.
    >
    > I did manage to mash the back brake, but it had little effect against the
    > massive power of the big cruiser. About this time the squirrel decided that
    > I was not paying sufficient attention to this very serious battle (maybe he
    > is an evil mutant NAZI attack squirrel of death), and he came around my neck
    > and got INSIDE my full-face helmet with me. As the faceplate closed partway,
    > he began hissing in my face. I am quite sure my screaming changed intensity.
    > It had little effect on the squirrel, however.
    >
    > The RPMs on The Dragon maxed out (since I was not bothering with shifting at
    > the moment) so her front
    > end started to drop. Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome
    > cruiser, dressed in jeans, a very raggedly-torn t-shirt, wearing only one
    > leather glove, roaring at probably 80 mph, still on one wheel, with a large
    > puffy squirrel's tail sticking out of the mostly closed full-face helmet.
    >
    > By now the screams are probably getting a little hoarse.
    >
    > Finally I got the upper hand ... I managed to grab his tail again, pulled
    > him out of my helmet, and slung him to the left as hard as I could. This
    > time it worked ... sort-of.
    > Spectacularly sort-of ... so to speak.
    >
    > Picture a new scene. You are a cop. You and your partner have pulled off on
    > a quiet residential street and parked with your windows down to do some
    > paperwork. Suddenly a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed
    > in jeans, a torn t-shirt flapping in the breeze, and wearing only one
    > leather glove, moving at probably 80 mph on one wheel, and screaming bloody
    > murder roars by and with all his strength throws a live squirrel grenade
    > directly into your police car.
    >
    > I heard screams. They weren't mine... I managed to get the big motorcycle
    > under control and dropped the front wheel to the ground. I then used maximum
    > braking and skidded to a stop in a cloud of tire smoke at the stop sign of a
    > busy cross street. I would have returned to fess up (and to get my glove
    > back). I really would have. Really. Except for two things.
    >
    > First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about
    > me at the moment. When I looked back, the doors on both sides of the patrol
    > car were flung wide open. The cop from the passenger side was on his back,
    > doing a crab walk into somebody's front yard, quickly moving away from the
    > car. The cop who had been in the driver's seat was standing in the street
    > and was aiming a riot shotgun at his own police car.
    >
    > So the cops were not interested in me. They often insist to "let the
    > professionals handle it" anyway. That was one thing. The other? Well, I
    > could clearly see shredded and flying pieces of foam and upholstery from the
    > back seat. But I could also swear I saw the squirrel in the back window,
    > shaking his little fist at me, shooting me the finger ... That is one
    > dangerous squirrel. And now he has a patrol car. A somewhat shredded patrol
    > car ... but it was all his.
    >
    > I took a deep breath, turned on my turn-signal, made a gentle right turn off
    > of Brice Street, and sedately left the neighborhood. I decided it was best
    > to just buy myself a new pair of gloves.
    > And some Band-Aids.
     
  2. MrsKitty

    MrsKitty

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    Sorry about all the ">"s but I was too lazy to delete them;Q
     

  3. Steve Koski

    Steve Koski Got Insurance? Millennium Member

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    A squirrel grenade. I wish the Iraqis threw them at our troops instead!