Fw: [jokenite] FW: squirrel of death

chris marquis marquis1968 at yahoo.com
Tue Feb 3 04:47:38 PST 2009

--- On Sun, 2/1/09, Tom F <tc01302 at yahoo.com> wrote:

From: Tom F <tc01302 at yahoo.com>
Subject: [jokenite] FW: squirrel of death
To: sharingalaugh at yahoogroups.com
Date: Sunday, February 1, 2009, 4:52 AM

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 
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 
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 
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. 
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