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Topic: OT Neighborhood Hazard (or: Why the Cops Won't Patrol Birchwood Ave. anymore) (5 msgs / 300 lines)
1) From: Mike McGinness
Debi forwarded this from work. I try to keep OT to a minimum but this is
just too good not to share. Me thinks there are many on the List who will it
enjoy this long squirrelly tail...
	Neighborhood Hazard (or: Why the Cops Won't Patrol Birchwood Ave.
anymore) 
	I never dreamed slowly cruising on my motorcycle through a
residential neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous! Little did I
suspect...I was on Birchwood Ave - 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
pissed-off 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 shot gun 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 Birchwood, and
sedately left the neighborhood. I decided it was best to just buy myself a
new pair of gloves, and some Band-Aids
Kona Konnaisseur miKe mcKoffee
URL to Rosto mods, FrankenFormer, some recipes etc:http://mdmint.home.comcast.net/coffee/Rosto_mod.htmUltimately the quest for Koffee Nirvana is a solitary path. To know I must
first not know. And in knowing know I know not. Each Personal enlightenment
found exploring the many divergent foot steps of Those who have gone before.

2) From: miKe mcKoffee
Debi forwarded this from work. I try to keep OT to a minimum but this is
just too good not to share. Me thinks there are many on the List who will it
enjoy this long squirrelly tail...
	Neighborhood Hazard (or: Why the Cops Won't Patrol Birchwood Ave.
anymore) 
	I never dreamed slowly cruising on my motorcycle through a
residential neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous! Little did I
suspect...I was on Birchwood Ave - 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
pissed-off 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 shot gun 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 Birchwood, and
sedately left the neighborhood. I decided it was best to just buy myself a
new pair of gloves, and some Band-Aids
Kona Konnaisseur miKe mcKoffee
URL to Rosto mods, FrankenFormer, some recipes etc:http://mdmint.home.comcast.net/coffee/Rosto_mod.htmUltimately the quest for Koffee Nirvana is a solitary path. To know I must
first not know. And in knowing know I know not. Each Personal enlightenment
found exploring the many divergent foot steps of Those who have gone before.

3) From: McConnel
Your coffee stuff is great miKe...

4) From: Jared Andersson
May I please have the last five minutes of my life back? :)
On 6/28/06, Mike McGinness  wrote:
<Snip>

5) From: Michael Wade
Oh, my.  (gasp) Good one!  (now that I can breathe again...)


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