of no fixed subtitle
October 10, 2005
And not the 'send 'em in first / stormtrooper' type of crack.
16 years ago
Sounds like the
cat's are going a little cold turkey
Oh alright! Feel good about yourself now, do ya? Sheesh.
It reminds me of
spiders on drugs
, and a friend at school's science project: the effect of caffeine and alcohol on
's swimming. I wonder what the crack-addled squirrels' nut stashes look like. Perhaps they are just piling up crack rocks instead of acorns.
Ah. Look a da liddle crack ho sqiggle beeyotch!
Squirrel is evil. -- Boris and Natasha
Shit ... I live in Brixton and it's bad enough already without drugged up squirrels starting gang wars ...
"It was ill-looking and its eyes looked bloodshot but it kept on desperately digging." Maybe it's just me, but it seems unlikely you could tell if a squirrel's eyes were bloodshot or not.
You will, my friend, you will...when it's tearing off your nose in a bid to get you to reveal your stash!
how right Dr. Johnson was, London really
offer all that life can afford. Myself, I'd be more worried about coked out dive-bomb pigeons though.
I crossed the river into North London the other day, and visited the capital's historic region of "Camden". As a resident of Brixton, I was somewhat shocked at the better class of drug dealer you get up north: some young entreprenuers approached me and politely inquired as to whether they could be of service in obtaining, on my behalf, any psychotropic preparations that I might desire. I replied that I was in fact only searching for some sliced potato strips, fried in vegetable oil until they were golden brown; they answered that they would be pleased to obtain these delicacies for me should I wish to entrust them with my credit and/or debit card.
I was one of the kids who vandalised the Blue Peter garden, while I lived in Brixton.
Crack squirrels? Normally they go squelch.
If everybody who claimed to have wrecked that garden was actually involved, it would still be a smoking hole in the ground today. Besides, it was me.
no it wasn't it was Dennis Wise and Sir Les of Ferdinand. Besides the Blue Peter Garden is in Shepherd's Bush which is a long way from Brixton!
Don't let the facts get in the way of a good lie, mr!
Well, naturally we weren't going to vandalise a garden in Brixton. No one would notice.
were the kids that vandalised the garden. We used to take a red-eye out from Austin Texas, just to fuck-up the garden and to buy crack from squirrels. Now shut up you bunch of liars.
Well, in my day, squirrels used to hide nuts in cracks. hmmmph!
heh. BlueHorse wins!
It's not just Brixton!
These crackhead squirrels are getting nasty (from an email forwarded to me last week)... 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. 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 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. ...
Part 2... 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.
Even if it's not true, that was very funny!
Thanks for posting that, MsVader. The mental image is just hysterical. I wish something that funny would have happened in my neighborhood, though maybe that wouldn't have been such a good thing.
Vader, that CAN'T be a true story. But my chair is wet now. Really.
I have seen that story before. Repetition means it must be true. Achtung! Squirrel Grenade!
I don't write 'em, I just report 'em.
I will inform Ms Va- . . oh. Ah. Very good, then.
Look! Up in the trees!
You're looking for the "Crack Squirrel