Too funny Sharon. I needed that today.
Vicki
----- Original Message -----
From: Sharon Hooley <[log in to unmask]>
To: [log in to unmask]
Date: Saturday, February 18, 2017 11:22 am
Subject: Fwd: [BlindLife] A Mad Squirrel (Fantastic - Humor)
>
>
> >
> > A Mad Squirrel
> > Neighborhood Hazard (or: Why the Cops Won't Patrol Brice Street Anymore)
> > If you need a laugh, here it is.
> > Author: Daniel Meyer
> > 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.
> >
> >
> > Whoa!
> > With Best Regards,
> > God Bless,
> > Alan
> > Plantation, Florida
> >
> > This is our prayer
> > Holy God, thank you for Jesus, our Savior.
> > No words are adequate to express our love and devotion to you for such an
> > incredible gift!
> > Through him we give and live our thanks to you.
> > Amen.
> >
> >
> > --
> > Important notice.
> > You can use our conference line to participate, and ask questions.
> > 508.957.3530.
> > At the first prompt to connect to our conference line: press 1.
> > At the second pronpt press access code: 165643874#
> > Normal long-distance charges apply where applicable.
> >
> > _._,_._,_
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> >
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> > _._,_._,_
>
>
>
> A Mad Squirrel
> Neighborhood Hazard (or: Why the Cops Won't Patrol Brice Street Anymore)
> If you need a laugh, here it is.
> Author: Daniel Meyer
> 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.
>
>
> Whoa!
> With Best Regards,
> God Bless,
> Alan
> Plantation, Florida
>
> This is our prayer
> Holy God, thank you for Jesus, our Savior.
> No words are adequate to express our love and devotion to you for such an
> incredible gift!
> Through him we give and live our thanks to you.
> Amen.
>
>
>
>
> --
> Important notice.
> You can use our conference line to participate, and ask questions.
> 508.957.3530.
> At the first prompt to connect to our conference line: press 1.
> At the second pronpt press access code: 165643874#
> Normal long-distance charges apply where applicable.
>
>
> _._,_._,_
>
>
> Groups.io Links:
> You receive all messages sent to this group.
> View/Reply Online (#2354) | Reply To Group | Reply To Sender | Mute This Topic | New Topic
>
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