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Thread: Ninja Squirrel

  1. #1
    oldtrooper is offline Rookie
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    Ninja Squirrel

    CRUISIN' WITH A SQUIRREL”

    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.
    Squi rrels, 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 attac k
    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 con cerned
    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 th e neighborhood. I decided it was
    best to just buy myself a new pair of gloves. And a whole lot of
    Band-Aids.

  2. #2
    Roses's Avatar
    Roses is offline Member
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    ROFL!!!


    Thanks! That was hilarious!
    http://img455.imageshack.us/img455/1369/rosekdrosetransp9fk2eb.gif

    A Smile

    A smile cost nothing, but gives so much.

    It enriches those who receive it,
    without making poorer those who give.
    It takes but a moment, but the memory
    of it sometimes lasts forever.

    None is so rich or mighty that he
    can get along without it,
    and none is so poor but that
    he can be made rich by it.

    A smile creates happiness in the home,
    fosters goodwill in business,
    and is the countersign of friendship.

    It brings rest to the weary,
    cheer to the discouraged, sunshine to the sad,
    and it is nature's best antidote for trouble.

    Yet it cannot be bought, begged, borrowed,
    or stolen, for it is something that is of no
    value to anyone until it is given away.

    Some people are too tired to give you a smile.
    Give them one of yours, as none needs a smile
    so much as he who has no more to give.

    - author unknown

  3. #3
    Ender's Avatar
    Ender is offline Three Sheets...
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    --

    Ender

    "And if the band you're in starts playing different tunes, I'll see you on the dark side of the moon..."

  4. #4
    pc830cop's Avatar
    pc830cop is offline Just another squirrel looking for a NUT
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    OORah for the squirrel! We have to stick together!


    Searching for Evil and the Perfect donut (Love that book)

    "It's not who you are underneath, but what you do that defines you"
    -Batman Begins

    There are gains for all our losses
    There are balms for all our pain
    But, when youth, the dream, departs
    It takes something from our hearts
    And it never comes again

    "Captain, it is I Ensign Pulver. I just threw your damn palm tree overboard. Now, what's all this crap about no movie tonight?" -Ens Pulver in Mister Roberts

    The man who will go where his colors go, without asking who will fight a phantom foe in the jungle and mountain range, without counting, and who will suffer and die in the midst of incredible hardship, without complaint, is still what he has always been, from Imperial Rome to sceptered Britain to democratic America. He is the stuff of which legions are made. ...His pride is in his colors and his regiment, his training hard and thorough and coldly realistic, to fit him for what he must face...and his obedience is to his orders. He has been called United State Marine.
    T.R. Fehrenbach, This Kind of War

 

 

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