BRENDA, WANDA, Put your coffee cups down before you read this...Brenda, Go PEE.
This was sent to me by Kenny Merrell, Whom I am trying to talk into blogging. He is a very good poet, and has some really funny stories.
Hysterical Squirrel story
We always knew there was something sinister about squirrels...
Neighborhood Hazard (or: Why the Cops Won't Patrol Brice Street
Anymore)
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
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.
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