Motorcycle squirrel

Funny story my workmate sent me.

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 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 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 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 big cruiser.

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 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 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. 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.