A BIT OF HUMOR

"CRUISIN' WITH  A SQUIRREL"

I never dreamed slowly cruising on my motorcycle through a residential neighborhood could be so  incredibly dangerous!  Little did I suspect that 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, "Bonzail" 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  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!

�..as  seen in From Myrtle Beach (http://groups.yahoo.com/group/frommyrtlebeach/) by way of CUP O'CHEER (cupocheer@sc.rr.com) and "Christian Voices"  (www.ChristianVoicesWorldwide.net