ONLY IN MISSISSIPPI.................

EVIL MUTANT ATTACK SQUIRREL OF DEATH

An original true story, written by a Battalion Fire Chief in a Mississippi town.

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.

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 Harley 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, "Banzai!" or maybe, "Die you 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 an into the throttle.

A healthy twist on the throttle of a Harley can only have one result: TORQUE!

This is what the Harley 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 Harley 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 (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... :