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  1. #1
    Victor N TN Guest

    Evil Mutant Attact Squirrel Of Death!!!!!

    EVIL MUTANT ATTACT SQUIRREL OF DEATH!!!!!


    An original true story, written by a Battalion Fire Chief in a
    Mississippi town.
    EVIL MUTANT ATTACK SQUIRREL OF DEATH

    I never dreamed that 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, "Banzai!" 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

  2. #2
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