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Re: [St] Speaking of squirrels

classic...............haven't laughed so much in ages!



On Tue, Jun 10, 2008 at 6:07 PM, Jack Hays <rude@xxxxxxxxxxxx> wrote:

> 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 ST 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 windscreen, 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 an ST
> not geared up for once, 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 ST can only have one result.
> Torque. This is what the ST 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 ST screamed in ecstasy. I screamed in ... well ...I
> just plain screamed.
> Now picture a large man on a ST, 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 triple. 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 ST 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 ST, 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 ST, 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 ST 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.
> Jack "Rude Dog" Hays
> 972-952-5065
> "I'll see you on the dark side of the Moon"
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