Biker vs Squirrel

not sure if this is true or not but i lmfao (Swiped from another forum!)

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 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, 'Bonzai!' 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 t 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 s 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 t (sin
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, a whole lot of Band-Aids and clean underwear.