Mutant Attack Squirrel Of Death
I snarched this from Nick's theusual journal a few years ago and saved it to my email, because it made me laugh, and it looks like my friends list could use a good laugh.
>(as posted by Nick on June 21, 2004, in his Live Journal)
>
>This is one of the funniest things I've ever been sent. Aileen from the
>Shipper's List sent it along a few weeks ago and I now feel the urge to
>post it here.
>
>
>Neighborhood Hazard or Why the Cops Won't Patrol Brice Street Any More
>
>Author: Daniel Meyer
>
>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 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 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.
And if I can find my own personal amusing squirrel story, I'll be sure to link that, too. Don't suppose anyone remembers when I posted about chasing a squirrel around the kitchen with a broom a few years back, no?
>(as posted by Nick on June 21, 2004, in his Live Journal)
>
>This is one of the funniest things I've ever been sent. Aileen from the
>Shipper's List sent it along a few weeks ago and I now feel the urge to
>post it here.
>
>
>Neighborhood Hazard or Why the Cops Won't Patrol Brice Street Any More
>
>Author: Daniel Meyer
>
>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 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 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.
And if I can find my own personal amusing squirrel story, I'll be sure to link that, too. Don't suppose anyone remembers when I posted about chasing a squirrel around the kitchen with a broom a few years back, no?