Volusianator
01-01-2011, 01:58 PM
Got me to thinking of another squirrel thread from a motorcycle forum of mine. Now mind you it's a long read, but trust me, well worth the time. Enjoy!
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 leaped! 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 on the chest. Instantly,
he set upon me. If I did not know better, I would have sworn he had 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 alight 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 and a t-shirt, puttering
at maybe 25 mph down a quiet residential street, and in the fight of his life with a squirrel. And
losing... I grabbed at 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 pristine kept yards and gone on about his business,
and I could have headed home. 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 considerable impact landed squarely on
my back. There he resumed his rather anti-social and extremely distracting activities. He also
managed to take my left glove with him! The situation had 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 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 form 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 just plain screamed.
Now picture a large man on an 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 to 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 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 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 in intensity. It had little effect on the squirrel, however. The RPM’s on the Valkyrie
maxed out since I was not bothering with shifting at the moment, so her front wheel began to
drop.
Now, picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a very ragged
worn t-shirt, one leather glove, roaring at probably 80 mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy
squirrel’s tail sticking out of a 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 a stop sign at 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 didn’t 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 driving 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, switched on my turn signal, and made a gentle right turn off of Brice Street,
and sedately left the neighborhood. I decided it was best just to buy myself a new pair of gloves.
And a box of band-aids.
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 leaped! 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 on the chest. Instantly,
he set upon me. If I did not know better, I would have sworn he had 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 alight 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 and a t-shirt, puttering
at maybe 25 mph down a quiet residential street, and in the fight of his life with a squirrel. And
losing... I grabbed at 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 pristine kept yards and gone on about his business,
and I could have headed home. 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 considerable impact landed squarely on
my back. There he resumed his rather anti-social and extremely distracting activities. He also
managed to take my left glove with him! The situation had 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 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 form 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 just plain screamed.
Now picture a large man on an 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 to 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 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 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 in intensity. It had little effect on the squirrel, however. The RPM’s on the Valkyrie
maxed out since I was not bothering with shifting at the moment, so her front wheel began to
drop.
Now, picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a very ragged
worn t-shirt, one leather glove, roaring at probably 80 mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy
squirrel’s tail sticking out of a 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 a stop sign at 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 didn’t 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 driving 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, switched on my turn signal, and made a gentle right turn off of Brice Street,
and sedately left the neighborhood. I decided it was best just to buy myself a new pair of gloves.
And a box of band-aids.