A Squirrel story......

[GeoffC]

REST OF THE WORLD VERSION:

The squirrel works hard in the withering heat all summer long, building and improving his house and laying up supplies for the winter.

The grasshopper thinks he's a fool, and laughs and dances and plays the summer away.

Come winter, the squirrel is warm and well fed.

The shivering grasshopper has no food or shelter, so he dies out in the cold.

THE END...




but read on...



























THE U.K. VERSION:

The squirrel works hard in the withering heat all summer long, building his house and laying up supplies for the winter.

The grasshopper thinks he's a fool, and laughs and dances and plays the summer away.

Come winter, the squirrel is warm and well fed.

A social worker finds the shivering grasshopper, calls a press conference and demands to know why the squirrel should be allowed to be warm and well
fed while others less fortunate, like the grasshopper, are cold and starving.

The BBC shows up to provide live coverage of the shivering grasshopper; with cuts to a video of the squirrel in his comfortable warm home with a table laden with food.

The British press inform people that they should be ashamed that in a country of such wealth, this poor grasshopper is allowed to suffer so, while others have plenty. The Labour Party, Greenpeace, Animal Rights and The Grasshopper Council of GB demonstrate in front of the squirrel's house.

Ken Livingstone rants in an interview with Trevor McDonald that the squirrel got rich off the backs of grasshoppers, and calls for an immediate tax hike on the squirrel to make him pay his 'fair share' and increases the charge for squirrels to enter inner London.

In response to pressure from the media, the Government drafts the Economic Equity and Grasshopper Anti Discrimination Act, retroactive to the beginning of the summer. The squirrel's taxes are reassessed.

He is taken to court and fined for failing to hire grasshoppers as builders for the work he was doing on his home and an additional fine for contempt
when he told the court the grasshopper did not want to work.

The grasshopper is provided with a council house, financial aid to furnish it and an account with a local taxi firm to ensure he can be socially mobile. The squirrel's food is seized and re distributed to the more needy members of society, in this case the grasshopper.

Without enough money to buy more food, to pay the fine and his newly imposed retroactive taxes, the squirrel has to downsize and start building a new home.

The local authority takes over his old home and utilises it as a temporary home for asylum seeking cats who had hijacked a plane to get to Britain as they had to share their country of origin with mice. On arrival they tried to blow up the airport because of Britain's apparent love of dogs.

The cats had been arrested for the international offence of hijacking and attempted bombing but were immediately released because the police fed them pilchards instead of salmon whilst in custody.

Initial moves to then return them to their own country were abandoned Because it was feared they would face death by the mice. The cats devise and start a scam to obtain money from people's credit cards.

A Panorama special shows the grasshopper finishing up the last of the squirrel's food, though spring is still months away, while the council house he is in, crumbles around him because he hasn't bothered to maintain the house.

He is shown to be taking drugs. Inadequate government funding is blamed for the grasshopper's drug 'illness'.

The cats seek recompense in the British courts for their treatment since arrival in UK.

The grasshopper gets arrested for stabbing an old dog during a burglary to get money for his drugs habit. He is imprisoned but released immediately because he has been in custody for a few weeks.

He is placed in the care of the probation service to monitor and supervise him. Within a few weeks he has killed a guinea pig in a botched robbery.

A commission of enquiry, that will eventually cost £10,000,000 and state the obvious, is set up.

Additional money is put into funding a drug rehabilitation scheme for Grasshoppers and legal aid for lawyers representing asylum seekers is increased.

The asylum-seeking cats are praised by the government for enriching Britain's multicultural diversity and dogs are criticised by the government for failing to befriend the cats.

The grasshopper dies of a drug overdose. The usual sections of the press blame it on the obvious failure of government to address the root causes of despair arising from social inequity and his traumatic experience of prison.

They call for the resignation of a minister.

The cats are paid a million pounds each because their rights were infringed when the government failed to inform them there were mice in the United Kingdom.

The squirrel, the dogs and the victims of the hijacking, the bombing, the burglaries and robberies have to pay an additional percentage on their credit cards to cover losses, their taxes are increased to pay for law and order and they are told that they will have to work beyond 65 because of a shortfall in government funds.

THE END.....

[NatCh]

Note: This is not autobiographical.

Neighborhood Hazard
(or: Why the Cops Won’t Patrol Brice Street)

I never dreamed slowly cruising through a residential neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous!

Studies have shown that motorcycling requires more decisions per second, and more sheer data processing than nearly any other common activity or sport. The reactions and accurate decision making abilities needed have been likened to the reactions of fighter pilots! The consequences of bad decisions or poor situational awareness are pretty much the same for both groups too.

Occasionally, as a rider I have caught myself starting to make bad or late decisions while riding. In flight training, my instructors called this being “behind the power curve”. It is a mark of experience that when this begins to happen, the rider recognizes the situation, and more importantly, does something about it. A short break, a meal, or even a gas stop can set things right again as it gives the brain a chance to catch up.

Good, accurate, and timely decisions are essential when riding a motorcycle…at least if you want to remain among the living. In short, the brain needs to keep up with the machine.

I had been banging around the roads of east Texas and as I headed back into Dallas, found myself in very heavy, high-speed traffic on the freeways. Normally, this is not a problem, I commute in these conditions daily, but suddenly I was nearly run down by a cage that decided it needed my lane more than I did. This is not normally a big deal either, as it happens around here often, but usually I can accurately predict which drivers are not paying attention and avoid them before we are even close. This one I missed seeing until it was nearly too late, and as I took evasive action I nearly broadsided another car that I was not even aware was there!

Two bad decisions and insufficient situational awareness…all within seconds. I was behind the power curve. Time to get off the freeway.

I hit the next exit, and as I was in an area I knew pretty well, headed through a few big residential neighborhoods as a new route home. As I turned onto the nearly empty streets I opened the visor on my full-face helmet to help get some air. I figured some slow riding through the quiet surface streets would give me time to relax, think, and regain that “edge” so frequently required when riding.

Little did I suspect…

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 can take care of themselves!

Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet. He was standing on his hind legs and facing the 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, “Banzai!” or maybe, “Die you gravy-sucking, heathen scum!” as the leap was spectacular and he flew over the 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 twenty 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 maybe 25mph 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 and managed to snag his tail. With all my strength I flung the evil rodent off 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 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 square 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 as 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, and only one leather glove roaring at maybe 70mph 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 affect 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 a Scottish attack squirrel of death), and he came around my neck and got IN my full-face helmet with me. As the faceplate closed partway and he began hissing in my face I am quite sure my screaming changed tone and intensity. It seemed to have little affect on the squirrel however.

The rpm’s on The Dragon maxed out (I was not concerned about shifting at the moment) and her front end started to drop.

Now picture the large man on the huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a very ragged torn t-shirt, and wearing one leather glove, roaring at probably 80mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy squirrel’s tail sticking out his 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 the 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 one leather glove, moving at probably 80mph 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 directional 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 at a busy cross street.

I would have returned to fess up (and to get my glove back). I really would have. Really. But for two things. First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about me at the moment. One of them was on his back in the front yard of the house they had been parked in front of and was rapidly crabbing backwards away from the patrol car. The other was standing in the street and was training a riot shotgun on the police cruiser.

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 swear I could see the squirrel, standing in the back window of the patrol car among shredded and flying pieces of foam and upholstery, and shaking his little fist at me. I think he was shooting me the finger…

That is one dangerous squirrel. And now he has a patrol car…

I took a deep breath, turned on my turn-signal, made an easy right turn, and sedately left the neighborhood.

As for my easy and slow drive home? Screw it. Faced with a choice of 80mph cars and inattentive drivers, or the evil, demonic, attack squirrel of death...I’ll take my chances with the freeway. Every time.

And I’ll buy myself a new pair of gloves.

[zelda_pinwheel]

oh natch !! i was going to post exactly the same story !!! but the time it took me to find it again, you were faster than me...

[NatCh]

That's me: Fastest Googler in this thread!

[zelda_pinwheel]

thank god we're not posting with 6-shooters

[slayda]

Originally Posted by zelda_pinwheel

oh natch !! i was going to post exactly the same story !!! but the time it took me to find it again, you were faster than me...

Zelda, you have to remember that NatCh is from Texas. They always have a better story no matter what you have or how great it is. That's because Texas is sooo big - bigger than life.

[zelda_pinwheel]

Originally Posted by slayda

Zelda, you have to remember that NatCh is from Texas. They always have a better story no matter what you have or how great it is. That's because Texas is sooo big - bigger than life.

yes, it would seem so.

[NatCh]

Oh, it most definitely is so.

You should see the squirrels we get down in Houston! The ones on the campus at Rice University run a protection racket to get food off the students. No kidding! I remember one time at Texas A&M when one of the rascals climbed up a friend of mine -- the guy's 6'6" and was ~180lbs at the time, so the squirrel probably thought he was a tree. Anyway, we had to beat the squirrel off him with sticks. True story!

Six-shooters? My wife's gun is a six-shooter, I prefer a semi-auto -- I get ten shots in that rascal.

[Patricia]

Oh, Natch, thank you for that story. I have not been having a very good day, but I paused and laughed for 5 minutes without stopping.

And I don't like squirrels much either. They dig holes in my garden and dig up the pots of bulbs on my patio, taking exactly one bite out of each, ruining them forever. And they raid the bird table and scare off the birds. I've taken to sprinkling the birdseed with chilli or cayenne powder. The birds don't mind but the squirrels sneeze. Occasionally I open the back door, when the creatures are particularly annoying (say, by digging up some tender plants) and shout, "F*** off squirrell!" but they just look at me in a taunting way. I'm planning to buy a water pistol ...
(P.S. I don't usually swear, except at computers and squirrels.)
(P.P.S. These are the common grey squirrels. I would be more charitable to red squirrels because they are endangered in the UK. Does this make me a speciesist?)

[zelda_pinwheel]

Originally Posted by Patricia

Oh, Natch, thank you for that story. I have not been having a very good day, but I paused and laughed for 5 minutes without stopping.

And I don't like squirrels much either. They dig holes in my garden and dig up the pots of bulbs on my patio, taking exactly one bite out of each, ruining them forever. And they raid the bird table and scare off the birds. I've taken to sprinkling the birdseed with chilli or cayenne powder. The birds don't mind but the squirrels sneeze. Occasionally I open the back door, when the creatures are particularly annoying (say, by digging up some tender plants) and shout, "F*** off squirrell!" but they just look at me in a taunting way. I'm planning to buy a water pistol ...
(P.S. I don't usually swear, except at computers and squirrels.)
(P.P.S. These are the common grey squirrels. I would be more charitable to red squirrels because they are endangered in the UK. Does this make me a speciesist?)

heh, my dad has a vendetta against the squirrels in his garden. they eat his apples, you see. and not just the occasional one or two devoured completely : they take a bite out of EVERY apple on his young and not yet very productive tree. it absolutely infuriates him. he's convinced they've formed some kind of deliberate conspiracy against him and his apples. he swears at them quite a bit as well.

i admit that personally, not having a garden myself (i live in the city, squirrels are like novelty wildlife i see occasionally in parks), i find them highly amusing and pretty cute. but i sense that i am in the minority.

the first time i read that story, i litterally laughed so hard i couldn't see for the tears of laughter, and my stomach muscles were still sore hours later.

[pilotbob]

Originally Posted by GeoffC

The shivering grasshopper has no food or shelter, so he dies out in the cold.

THE END...

That is hilarious!

:r ofl:

BOb

[yvanleterrible]

Originally Posted by NatCh

That's me: Fastest Googler in this thread!

D'you get a rabies shot?

Funny I just don't piture you on a Kawa

[NatCh]

I said it's not biographical, yvanleterrible! My wife, mother and several others would disown me if I came home with a motorcycle of any stripe ... but I'd go for a Harley if I were going to: why not go for the best? (runs for cover before the motorcycle wars flare up)

That story is definitely an "OMS" (Oh! My spleen!) story -- I laugh myself into pain every time I read it. The tail protruding from the helmet is the best part for me.

I generally find squirrels quite amusing. Possibly because I tend to view them as jesters, rather than tricksters. I'd have one as a pet if I didn't believe it would end badly. The Prevost's Squirrel is the best candidate for that, and while they don't get nasty like the common grays, they still don't make very good pets, apparently. Plus they're heading for threatened status so ....

[Roy White]

Thanks. I needed that laugh...

[Greg Anos]

My favorite method for dealing with squirrels is a wrist rocket sling shot. You can use small dirt clods (non lethal and no property damage), and it's better eye-hand co-ordination practice than video games....