Mutant squirrel

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tamsync
Posts: 2
Joined: Mon Apr 02, 2007 1:06 pm

Mutant squirrel

Post by tamsync »

This one never fails to make me laugh out loud-enjoy.

Subject: Mutant squirrel.



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.
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