Silver Penguin
Silver Penguin
A litle long but worth it...........
Subject: Motorcycle ride through the neighborhood
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
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 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
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 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, 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.
Subject: Motorcycle ride through the neighborhood
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
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 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
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 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, 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.
