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Subject: Evil Squirrel
>>
> WARNING! Do NOT eat or drink anything while you read this-- you may
> choke laughing!
>
>
>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
>
>
> 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 beady little 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...
>
> He shot straight up, flew over my windshield, and impacted 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 angry 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 antisocial 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, with a demonic squirrel of death 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 was 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 part way, 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,
> 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. 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 a whole lot of
> Band-Aids.
>>
> WARNING! Do NOT eat or drink anything while you read this-- you may
> choke laughing!
>
>
>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
>
>
> 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 beady little 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...
>
> He shot straight up, flew over my windshield, and impacted 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 angry 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 antisocial 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, with a demonic squirrel of death 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 was 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 part way, 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,
> 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. 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 a whole lot of
> Band-Aids.
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