ViVa la ReVoLuTiOn wNutBoy's blog: "Now _that's_ funny!"

There were Five country churches in a small TEXAS town:

The Presbyterian Church, the Baptist Church , the Methodist Church , the Catholic Church and the Jewish Synagogue.

Each church and Synagogue was overrun with pesky squirrels.

One day, the Presbyterian Church called a meeting to decide what to do about the squirrels.

After much prayer and consideration they Determined that the squirrels were predestined to be there and they shouldn't interfere with God's divine will.

In The BAPTIST CHURCH the squirrels had taken up habitation in the baptistry. The deacons met and decided to put a cover on the baptistry and drown the squirrels in it. The squirrels escaped somehow and there were twice as many there the next week.

The Methodist Church got together and decided that they were not in a position to harm any of God's creation. So, they humanely trapped the Squirrels and set them free a few miles outside of town. Three days later, the squirrels were back.

But -- The Catholic CHURCH came up with the best and most effective solution. They baptized the squirrels and registered them as members of the church. Now they only see them on Christmas and Easter

Not much was heard about the Jewish Synagogue, but they took one squirrel and had a short service with him called circumcision and they haven't seen a squirrel on the property since.

<<<***Note - I do not know who the original author of this is...but it is left as I found it in a blog without proper credit being given....***>>> The Squirrel Grenade

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.

After having their 11th child, an Arkansas couple decided that was enough, as they could not afford a larger bed. So the husband went to his veterinarian and told him that he and his cousin didn't want to have any more children. The doctor told him that there was a procedure called a vasectomy that could fix the problem but that it was expensive. A less costly alternative, said the doctor, was to go home, get a cherry bomb (fireworks are legal in Arkansas), light it, put it in a beer can, then hold the can up to his ear and count to 10. The Arkansan said to the doctor, "I may not be the smartest man in the world, but I don't see how putting a cherry bomb in a beer can next to my ear is going to help me." Trust me," said the doctor. So the man went home, lit a cherry bomb and put it in a beer can. He held the can up to his ear and began to count: "1" "2" "3" "4" "5" At which point he paused, placed the beer can between his legs, and resumed counting on his other hand. This procedure also works in Oklahoma, Kentucky and Mississippi.

VIRUS ALERT!!!

There is a dangerous virus being passed around electronically, orally, and by hand.

This virus is called Worm-Overload-Recreational-Killer (WORK).

If you receive WORK from any of your colleagues, your boss, or anyone else via any means DO NOT TOUCH IT.

This virus will wipe out your private life Completely. If you should come into contact with WORK put your jacket on and take two good friends to the nearest grocery store.

Purchase the antidote known as Work-Isolating-Neutralizer-Extract (WINE) or bothersome-Employer-Elimination-Rebooter (BEER).

Take the antidote repeatedly until WORK has been completely eliminated from your system.

This is what we have been waiting for...the true answers to 5 really important Questions: Q1: WHAT ARE THE SMALL BUMPS AROUND A WOMAN'S NIPPLES FOR? A: It's Braille for "suck here". Q2. WHAT IS AN AUSTRALIAN KISS? A: It's the same as a French kiss, only "down under." Q3. WHAT DO YOU DO WITH 365 USED CONDOMS? A: Melt them down, make a tire, and call it a Goodyear. Q4. WHY ARE HURRICANES NORMALLY NAMED AFTER WOMEN? A: Because when they come, they're wild and wet. And when they go, they take your house and car with them. Q5. WHY DO GIRLS RUB THEIR EYES WHEN THEY GET UP IN THE MORNING? A: Because they don't have any balls to scratch. Now, you know everything you need to know!

Purportedly from 60 Minutes Correspondent Andy Rooney (CBS), but I've not verified... As I grow in age, I value women over 40 most of all. Here are just a few reasons why:

• A woman over 40 will never wake you in the middle of the night and ask, What are you thinking?" She doesn't care what you think.
• If a woman over 40 doesn't want to watch the game, she doesn't sit around whining about it. She does something she wants to do, and it's usually more interesting.
• Women over 40 are dignified. They seldom have a screaming match with you at the opera or in the middle of an expensive restaurant. Of course if you deserve it, they won't hesitate to shoot you if they think they can get away with it.
• Older women are generous with praise, often undeserved. They know what it's like to be unappreciated.
• Women get psychic as they age. You never have to confess your sins to a woman over 40.
• Once you get past a wrinkle or two, a woman over 40 is far sexier than her younger counterpart.
• Older women are forthright and honest. They'll tell you right off if you are a jerk if you are acting like one. You don't ever have to wonder where you stand with her.
  

Yes, we praise women over 40 for a multitude of reasons.

Unfortunately, it's not reciprocal. For every stunning, smart, well-coiffed, hot woman over 40, there is a bald, paunchy relic in yellow pants making a fool of himself with some 22-year old waitress.

Ladies, I apologize. For allthose men who say, "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?", here's an update for you.

Nowadays 80% of women are against marriage. Why?

Because women realize it's not worth buying an entire pig just to get a little sausage!

Five Levels of Hangovers One Star Hangover (*) No pain. No real feeling of illness. You're able to function relatively well. However, you are still parched. You can drink 5 cokes and still feel this way. For some reason, you are craving a steak & fries. Two Star Hangover (**) No pain, but something is definitely amiss. You may look okay, but you have the mental capacity of a staple gun. The coffee you are chugging is only increasing your rumbling gut, which is still tossing around the fruity pancake from the 3:00 AM Waffle House excursion. There is some definite havoc being wreaked upon your bowels. Three Star Hangover (***) Slight headache. Stomach feels crappy. You are definitely not productive. Anytime a girl walks by you gag because her perfume reminds you of the flavored schnapps shots your alcoholic friends dared you to drink. Life would be better right now if you were home in your bed watching Lucy reruns. You've had 4 cups of coffee, a gallon of water, 3 iced teas and a diet Coke--yet you haven't peed once. Four Star Hangover (****) Life sucks. Your head is throbbing. You can't speak too quickly or else you might puke. Your boss has already lambasted you for being late and has given you a lecture for reeking of booze. You wore nice clothes, but that can't hide the fact that you only shaved one side of your face. For the ladies, it looks like you put your make-up on while riding the bumper cars. Your eyes look like one big red vein, and even your ha ir hurts. Your ass is in perpetual spasm, and the first of about five visits to the porcelain throne you take during the day brings water to the eyes of everyone who enters the bathroom. Five Star Hangover (*****) You have a second heartbeat in your head, which is actually annoying the employee who sits in the next cube. Vodka vapor is seeping out of every pore and making you dizzy. You still have toothpaste crust in the corners of your mouth from brushing your teeth in an attempt to get the remnants of the booze fairy out. Your body has lost the ability to generate spit so your tongue is suffocating you. You don't have the foggiest idea who the hell the stranger was passed out in your bed this morning. Any attempt to use the bathroom results in a fire hose like discharge of alcohol-scented fluid. Death sounds pretty good about right now........ WORDS THAT ARE DIFFICULT TO SAY WHEN YOU'RE DRUNK: Indubitably; Innovative; Preliminary; Proliferation; Cinnamon WORDS THAT ARE VERY DIFFICULT TO SAY WHEN YOU'RE DRUNK: Specificity; British Constitution; Passive-aggressive disorder; Loquacious; Transubstantiate THINGS THAT ARE DOWNRIGHT IMPOSSIBLE TO SAY WHEN YOU'RE DRUNK : 1.) Thanks, but I don't want to have sex. 2.) Nope, no more booze for me. 3.) Sorry, but you're not really my type. 4.) Good evening officer isn't it lovely out tonight. 5.) Oh, I just couldn't. No one wants to hear me sing. 6.) Sorry I'm being such a jackass.