daftandbarmy
Army.ca Dinosaur
- Reaction score
- 26,556
- Points
- 1,160
Blackadder1916 said:
Ironically, New Zealand!
More and more funnies.. vol: something...
- Thread starter TN2IC
- Start date
Ironically, New Zealand!
- Reaction score
- 25
- Points
- 430
Anyone still doing PDRs and PERs?
QUOTES FROM BRITISH MILITARY ANNUAL PERSONNEL REPORTS
1. His men would follow him anywhere, but only out of curiosity.
2. I would not breed from this Officer.
3. This man is depriving a village somewhere of its idiot.
4. This officer can be likened to a small puppy - he runs around excitedly, leaving little messes for other people to clean up.
5. This Officer is really not so much of a has-been, more of a definitely won't-be.
6. When she opens her mouth, it seems only to change whichever foot was previously in there.
7. Couldn't organise 50% leave in a 2 man submarine
8. He has carried out each and every one of his duties to his entire satisfaction.
9. He would be out of his depth in a car park puddle.
10. Technically sound, but socially impossible.
11. The occasional flashes of adequacy are marred by an attitude of apathy and indifference.
12. When he joined my ship, this Officer was something of a granny; since then he has aged considerably.
13. This Medical Officer has used my ship to carry his genitals from port to port, and my officers to carry him from bar to bar.
14. This Officer reminds me very much of a gyroscope, always spinning around at a frantic pace, but not really going anywhere.
15. Since my last report he has reached rock bottom, and has started to dig.
16. She sets low personal standards and then consistently fails to achieve them.
17. He has the wisdom of youth, and the energy of old age.
18. This Officer should go far, and the sooner he starts, the better.
19. In my opinion this pilot should not be authorised to fly below 250 feet.
20. The only ship I would recommend for this man is citizenship.
21. Couldn't organise a woodpecker's picnic in Sherwood Forest.
22. Works well when under constant supervision and cornered like a rat in a trap.
23. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer.
24. Gates are down, the lights are flashing, but the train isn't coming.
25. Has two brains; one is lost and the other is out looking for it.
26. If he were any more stupid, he'd have to be watered twice a week.
27. Got into the gene pool while the lifeguard wasn't watching.
28. If you stand close enough to him, you can hear the ocean.
29. It's hard to believe that he beat 1,000,000 other sperm.
30. A room temperature IQ.
31. Got a full 6-pack, but lacks the plastic thingy to hold it all together.
32. A gross ignoramus, 143 times worse than an ordinary ignoramus.
33. He has a photographic memory but has the lens cover glued on.
34. He has been working with glue too long.
35. When his IQ reaches 50, he should sell.
36. This man hasn't got enough grey matter to sole the flip-flop of a one legged budgie.
37. If two people are talking, and one looks bored, he's the other one.
38. One-celled organisms would out score him in an IQ test.
39. He donated his body to science before he was done using it.
40. Fell out of the stupid tree and hit every branch on the way down.
41. He's so dense, light bends around him.
42. If brains were taxed, he'd get a rebate.
43. Some drink from the fountain of knowledge; he only gargled.
44. Takes him 1.1/2 hours to watch 60 minutes.
45. Wheel is turning, but the hamster is long gone.
QUOTES FROM BRITISH MILITARY ANNUAL PERSONNEL REPORTS
1. His men would follow him anywhere, but only out of curiosity.
2. I would not breed from this Officer.
3. This man is depriving a village somewhere of its idiot.
4. This officer can be likened to a small puppy - he runs around excitedly, leaving little messes for other people to clean up.
5. This Officer is really not so much of a has-been, more of a definitely won't-be.
6. When she opens her mouth, it seems only to change whichever foot was previously in there.
7. Couldn't organise 50% leave in a 2 man submarine
8. He has carried out each and every one of his duties to his entire satisfaction.
9. He would be out of his depth in a car park puddle.
10. Technically sound, but socially impossible.
11. The occasional flashes of adequacy are marred by an attitude of apathy and indifference.
12. When he joined my ship, this Officer was something of a granny; since then he has aged considerably.
13. This Medical Officer has used my ship to carry his genitals from port to port, and my officers to carry him from bar to bar.
14. This Officer reminds me very much of a gyroscope, always spinning around at a frantic pace, but not really going anywhere.
15. Since my last report he has reached rock bottom, and has started to dig.
16. She sets low personal standards and then consistently fails to achieve them.
17. He has the wisdom of youth, and the energy of old age.
18. This Officer should go far, and the sooner he starts, the better.
19. In my opinion this pilot should not be authorised to fly below 250 feet.
20. The only ship I would recommend for this man is citizenship.
21. Couldn't organise a woodpecker's picnic in Sherwood Forest.
22. Works well when under constant supervision and cornered like a rat in a trap.
23. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer.
24. Gates are down, the lights are flashing, but the train isn't coming.
25. Has two brains; one is lost and the other is out looking for it.
26. If he were any more stupid, he'd have to be watered twice a week.
27. Got into the gene pool while the lifeguard wasn't watching.
28. If you stand close enough to him, you can hear the ocean.
29. It's hard to believe that he beat 1,000,000 other sperm.
30. A room temperature IQ.
31. Got a full 6-pack, but lacks the plastic thingy to hold it all together.
32. A gross ignoramus, 143 times worse than an ordinary ignoramus.
33. He has a photographic memory but has the lens cover glued on.
34. He has been working with glue too long.
35. When his IQ reaches 50, he should sell.
36. This man hasn't got enough grey matter to sole the flip-flop of a one legged budgie.
37. If two people are talking, and one looks bored, he's the other one.
38. One-celled organisms would out score him in an IQ test.
39. He donated his body to science before he was done using it.
40. Fell out of the stupid tree and hit every branch on the way down.
41. He's so dense, light bends around him.
42. If brains were taxed, he'd get a rebate.
43. Some drink from the fountain of knowledge; he only gargled.
44. Takes him 1.1/2 hours to watch 60 minutes.
45. Wheel is turning, but the hamster is long gone.
- Reaction score
- 22,046
- Points
- 1,090
David Simon, responding to a CBC request for an interview via Twitter:
https://twitter.com/cbcasithappens/status/1013879224057376770
@AoDespair Hi Mr. Simon, I'm a producer with @cbcasithappens and we'd love to chat with you about the art of the insult if you've got time for a quick interview this afternoon. You can reach me at ... Thanks!
No way, you stumblemook hype-artist. I'd rather hammer my jaw shut with drywall anchor screws than ruin a rightful insult by parsing it for an audience like some analytical talking-head fuckbonnet.
I kid. I'm kidding, Alison. Thanks for the invite, but no. I have writing due.
https://twitter.com/cbcasithappens/status/1013879224057376770
@AoDespair Hi Mr. Simon, I'm a producer with @cbcasithappens and we'd love to chat with you about the art of the insult if you've got time for a quick interview this afternoon. You can reach me at ... Thanks!
No way, you stumblemook hype-artist. I'd rather hammer my jaw shut with drywall anchor screws than ruin a rightful insult by parsing it for an audience like some analytical talking-head fuckbonnet.
I kid. I'm kidding, Alison. Thanks for the invite, but no. I have writing due.
- Reaction score
- 1,003
- Points
- 1,160
If you can read this whole story without laughing, then there's no hope for you. This is an actual account as relayed to paramedics at a chili cook-off in New Mexico.
Note: Please take time to read this slowly. If you pay attention to the first two judges, the reaction of the third judge is even better.
For those of you who have lived in New Mexico, you know how true this is. They actually have a Chili Cook-off about the time Halloween comes around. It takes up a major portion of a parking lot at the Santa Fe Plaza.
Judge #3 was an inexperienced Chilitaster named Frank, who was visiting from Gering, Nebraska.
Frank: "Recently, I was honored to be selected as a judge at a chili cook-off. The original person called in sick at the last moment and I happened to be standing there at the judge's table, asking for directions to the Coors Light truck, when the call came in. I was assured by the other two judges (Native New Mexicans) that the chili wouldn't be all that spicy; and besides, they told me I could have free beer during the tasting, so I accepted and became Judge #3."
Here are the scorecard notes from the event:
CHILI # 1 - MIKE'S MANIAC MONSTER CHILI
Judge # 1 -- A little too heavy on the tomato. Amusing kick.
Judge # 2 -- Nice, smooth tomato flavor. Very mild.
Judge # 3 (Frank) -- Holy crap, what the hell is this stuff? You could remove dried paint from your driveway. Took me two beers to put the flames out. I hope that's the worst one. These New Mexicans are crazy.
CHILI # 2 - EL RANCHO'S AFTERBURNER CHILI
Judge # 1 -- Smoky, with a hint of pork. Slight jalapeno tang.
Judge # 2 -- Exciting BBQ flavor, needs more peppers to be taken seriously.
Judge # 3 -- Keep this out of the reach of children. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to taste besides pain. I had to wave off two people who wanted to give me the Heimlich maneuver. They had to rush in more beer when they saw the look on my face.
CHILI # 3 - ALFREDO'S FAMOUS BURN DOWN THE BARN CHILI
Judge # 1 -- Excellent firehouse chili. Great kick.
Judge # 2 -- A bit salty, good use of peppers.
Judge # 3 -- Call the EPA. I've located a uranium spill. My nose feels like I have been snorting Drano. Everyone knows the routine by now. Get me more beer before I ignite. Barmaid pounded me on the back, now my backbone is in the front part of my chest. I'm getting sh*t-faced from all of the beer.
CHILI # 4 - BUBBA'S BLACK MAGIC
Judge # 1 -- Black bean chili with almost no spice. Disappointing.
Judge # 2 -- Hint of lime in the black beans. Good side dish for fish or other mild foods, not much of a chili.
Judge # 3 -- I felt something scraping across my tongue, but was unable to taste it. Is it possible to burn out taste buds? Sally, the
beer maid, was standing behind me with fresh refills. This 300 lb. Woman is starting to look HOT... Just like this nuclear waste I'm
eating! Is chili an aphrodisiac?
CHILI # 5 - LISA'S LEGAL LIP REMOVER
Judge # 1 -- Meaty, strong chili. Jalapeno peppers freshly ground, adding considerable kick. Very impressive.
Judge # 2 -- Chili using shredded beef, could use more tomato. Must admit the jalapeno peppers make a strong statement.
Judge # 3 -- My ears are ringing, sweat is pouring off my forehead and I can no longer focus my eyes. I farted, and four people behind me needed paramedics. The contestant seemed offended when I told her that her chili had given me brain damage. Sally saved my tongue from bleeding by pouring beer directly on it from the pitcher. I wonder if I'm burning my lips off. It really ticks me off that the other judges asked me to stop screaming. Screw them.
CHILI # 6 - VARGA'S VERY VEGETARIAN VARIETY
Judge # 1 -- Thin yet bold vegetarian variety chili. Good balance of spices and peppers.
Judge # 2 -- The best yet. Aggressive use of peppers, onions, garlic. Superb.
Judge # 3 -- My intestines are now a straight pipe filled with gaseous, sulfuric flames. I crapped on myself when I farted, and I'm
worried it will eat through the chair. No one seems inclined to stand behind me except that Sally. Can't feel my lips anymore. I need to wipe my butt with a snow cone.
CHILI # 7 - SUSAN'S SCREAMING SENSATION CHILI
Judge # 1 -- A mediocre chili with too much reliance on canned peppers.
Judge # 2 -- Ho hum, tastes as if the chef literally threw in a can of chili peppers at the last moment. I should take note that I am worried about Judge #3. He appears to be in a bit of distress as he is cursing uncontrollably.
Judge # 3 -- You could put a grenade in my mouth, pull the pin, and I wouldn't feel a thing. I've lost sight in one eye, and the world
sounds like it is made of rushing water. My shirt is covered with chili, which slid unnoticed out of my mouth. My pants are full of lava to match my shirt. At least during the autopsy, they'll know what killed me. I've decided to stop breathing. It's too painful. Screw it; I'm not getting any oxygen anyway. If I need air, I'll just suck it in through the 4-inch hole in my stomach.
CHILI # 8 - BIG TOM'S TOENAIL CURLING CHILI
Judge # 1 -- The perfect ending, this is a nice blend chili. Not too bold but spicy enough to declare its existence.
Judge # 2 -- This final entry is a good, balanced chili. Neither mild nor hot. Sorry to see that most of it was lost when Judge #3 farted, passed out, fell over and pulled the chili pot down on top of himself. Not sure if he's going to make it. Poor fella, wonder how he'd have reacted to really hot chili?
Judge # 3 -- No report.
Note: Please take time to read this slowly. If you pay attention to the first two judges, the reaction of the third judge is even better.
For those of you who have lived in New Mexico, you know how true this is. They actually have a Chili Cook-off about the time Halloween comes around. It takes up a major portion of a parking lot at the Santa Fe Plaza.
Judge #3 was an inexperienced Chilitaster named Frank, who was visiting from Gering, Nebraska.
Frank: "Recently, I was honored to be selected as a judge at a chili cook-off. The original person called in sick at the last moment and I happened to be standing there at the judge's table, asking for directions to the Coors Light truck, when the call came in. I was assured by the other two judges (Native New Mexicans) that the chili wouldn't be all that spicy; and besides, they told me I could have free beer during the tasting, so I accepted and became Judge #3."
Here are the scorecard notes from the event:
CHILI # 1 - MIKE'S MANIAC MONSTER CHILI
Judge # 1 -- A little too heavy on the tomato. Amusing kick.
Judge # 2 -- Nice, smooth tomato flavor. Very mild.
Judge # 3 (Frank) -- Holy crap, what the hell is this stuff? You could remove dried paint from your driveway. Took me two beers to put the flames out. I hope that's the worst one. These New Mexicans are crazy.
CHILI # 2 - EL RANCHO'S AFTERBURNER CHILI
Judge # 1 -- Smoky, with a hint of pork. Slight jalapeno tang.
Judge # 2 -- Exciting BBQ flavor, needs more peppers to be taken seriously.
Judge # 3 -- Keep this out of the reach of children. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to taste besides pain. I had to wave off two people who wanted to give me the Heimlich maneuver. They had to rush in more beer when they saw the look on my face.
CHILI # 3 - ALFREDO'S FAMOUS BURN DOWN THE BARN CHILI
Judge # 1 -- Excellent firehouse chili. Great kick.
Judge # 2 -- A bit salty, good use of peppers.
Judge # 3 -- Call the EPA. I've located a uranium spill. My nose feels like I have been snorting Drano. Everyone knows the routine by now. Get me more beer before I ignite. Barmaid pounded me on the back, now my backbone is in the front part of my chest. I'm getting sh*t-faced from all of the beer.
CHILI # 4 - BUBBA'S BLACK MAGIC
Judge # 1 -- Black bean chili with almost no spice. Disappointing.
Judge # 2 -- Hint of lime in the black beans. Good side dish for fish or other mild foods, not much of a chili.
Judge # 3 -- I felt something scraping across my tongue, but was unable to taste it. Is it possible to burn out taste buds? Sally, the
beer maid, was standing behind me with fresh refills. This 300 lb. Woman is starting to look HOT... Just like this nuclear waste I'm
eating! Is chili an aphrodisiac?
CHILI # 5 - LISA'S LEGAL LIP REMOVER
Judge # 1 -- Meaty, strong chili. Jalapeno peppers freshly ground, adding considerable kick. Very impressive.
Judge # 2 -- Chili using shredded beef, could use more tomato. Must admit the jalapeno peppers make a strong statement.
Judge # 3 -- My ears are ringing, sweat is pouring off my forehead and I can no longer focus my eyes. I farted, and four people behind me needed paramedics. The contestant seemed offended when I told her that her chili had given me brain damage. Sally saved my tongue from bleeding by pouring beer directly on it from the pitcher. I wonder if I'm burning my lips off. It really ticks me off that the other judges asked me to stop screaming. Screw them.
CHILI # 6 - VARGA'S VERY VEGETARIAN VARIETY
Judge # 1 -- Thin yet bold vegetarian variety chili. Good balance of spices and peppers.
Judge # 2 -- The best yet. Aggressive use of peppers, onions, garlic. Superb.
Judge # 3 -- My intestines are now a straight pipe filled with gaseous, sulfuric flames. I crapped on myself when I farted, and I'm
worried it will eat through the chair. No one seems inclined to stand behind me except that Sally. Can't feel my lips anymore. I need to wipe my butt with a snow cone.
CHILI # 7 - SUSAN'S SCREAMING SENSATION CHILI
Judge # 1 -- A mediocre chili with too much reliance on canned peppers.
Judge # 2 -- Ho hum, tastes as if the chef literally threw in a can of chili peppers at the last moment. I should take note that I am worried about Judge #3. He appears to be in a bit of distress as he is cursing uncontrollably.
Judge # 3 -- You could put a grenade in my mouth, pull the pin, and I wouldn't feel a thing. I've lost sight in one eye, and the world
sounds like it is made of rushing water. My shirt is covered with chili, which slid unnoticed out of my mouth. My pants are full of lava to match my shirt. At least during the autopsy, they'll know what killed me. I've decided to stop breathing. It's too painful. Screw it; I'm not getting any oxygen anyway. If I need air, I'll just suck it in through the 4-inch hole in my stomach.
CHILI # 8 - BIG TOM'S TOENAIL CURLING CHILI
Judge # 1 -- The perfect ending, this is a nice blend chili. Not too bold but spicy enough to declare its existence.
Judge # 2 -- This final entry is a good, balanced chili. Neither mild nor hot. Sorry to see that most of it was lost when Judge #3 farted, passed out, fell over and pulled the chili pot down on top of himself. Not sure if he's going to make it. Poor fella, wonder how he'd have reacted to really hot chili?
Judge # 3 -- No report.
- Reaction score
- 1,003
- Points
- 1,160
While riding my Harley, I swerved to avoid hitting a deer, lost control and landed in a ditch, severely banging my head.
Dazed and confused I crawled out of the ditch to the edge of the road when a shiny new convertible pulled up with a very beautiful women who asked, "Are you okay?"
As I looked up, I noticed she was wearing a low cut blouse with cleavage to die for...
"I'm okay I think," I replied as I pulled myself up to the side of the car to get a closer look.
She said, “Get in and I’ll take you home so I can clean and bandage that nasty scrape on your head.”
"That's nice of you," I answered, but I don't think my wife will like me doing that!
"Oh, come now, I’m a nurse," she insisted. "I need to see if you have any more scrapes and then treat them properly."
Well, she was really pretty and very persuasive. Being sort of shaken and weak, I agreed, but repeated, "I'm sure my wife won't like this."
We arrived at her place which was just few miles away and, after a couple of cold beers and the bandaging, I thanked her and said, "I feel a lot better but I know my wife is going to be really upset so I'd better go now."
"Don't be silly!" she said with a smile, while unbuttoning her blouse exposing the most beautiful set of boobs I’ve ever seen. "Stay for a while. She won't know anything. By the way, where is she?"
"Still in the ditch with my Harley, I guess."
Dazed and confused I crawled out of the ditch to the edge of the road when a shiny new convertible pulled up with a very beautiful women who asked, "Are you okay?"
As I looked up, I noticed she was wearing a low cut blouse with cleavage to die for...
"I'm okay I think," I replied as I pulled myself up to the side of the car to get a closer look.
She said, “Get in and I’ll take you home so I can clean and bandage that nasty scrape on your head.”
"That's nice of you," I answered, but I don't think my wife will like me doing that!
"Oh, come now, I’m a nurse," she insisted. "I need to see if you have any more scrapes and then treat them properly."
Well, she was really pretty and very persuasive. Being sort of shaken and weak, I agreed, but repeated, "I'm sure my wife won't like this."
We arrived at her place which was just few miles away and, after a couple of cold beers and the bandaging, I thanked her and said, "I feel a lot better but I know my wife is going to be really upset so I'd better go now."
"Don't be silly!" she said with a smile, while unbuttoning her blouse exposing the most beautiful set of boobs I’ve ever seen. "Stay for a while. She won't know anything. By the way, where is she?"
"Still in the ditch with my Harley, I guess."
- Reaction score
- 3
- Points
- 230
A story from a friend of mine, dated about 14 years ago.
~~
http://lifeisaroad.com/stories/2004/10/29/neighborhoodHazardorWhyTheCopsWontPatrolBriceStreet.html
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 rpms 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.
~~
http://lifeisaroad.com/stories/2004/10/29/neighborhoodHazardorWhyTheCopsWontPatrolBriceStreet.html
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 rpms 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.
- Reaction score
- 0
- Points
- 210
The Official Canadian Temperature Conversion Chart
50° Fahrenheit (10° C)
· Californians shiver uncontrollably.
· Canadians plant gardens.
35° Fahrenheit (1.6° C)
· Italian Cars won't start
· Canadians drive with the windows down
32° Fahrenheit (0° C)
· American water freezes
· Canadian water gets thicker.
0° Fahrenheit (-17.9° C)
· New York City landlords finally turn on the heat.
· Canadians have the last cookout of the season.
-60° Fahrenheit (-51° C)
· Santa Claus abandons the North Pole.
· Canadian Girl Guides sell cookies door-to-door.
-109.9° Fahrenheit (-78.5° C)
· Carbon dioxide freezes makes dry ice.
· Canadians pull down their earflaps.
-173° Fahrenheit (-114° C)
· Ethyl alcohol freezes.
· Canadians get frustrated when they can't thaw the keg
-459.67° Fahrenheit (-273.15° C)
· Absolute zero; all atomic motion stops.
· Canadians start saying "cold, eh?"
-500° Fahrenheit (-295° C)
· Hell freezes over.
· The Toronto Maple Leafs win the Stanley Cup
50° Fahrenheit (10° C)
· Californians shiver uncontrollably.
· Canadians plant gardens.
35° Fahrenheit (1.6° C)
· Italian Cars won't start
· Canadians drive with the windows down
32° Fahrenheit (0° C)
· American water freezes
· Canadian water gets thicker.
0° Fahrenheit (-17.9° C)
· New York City landlords finally turn on the heat.
· Canadians have the last cookout of the season.
-60° Fahrenheit (-51° C)
· Santa Claus abandons the North Pole.
· Canadian Girl Guides sell cookies door-to-door.
-109.9° Fahrenheit (-78.5° C)
· Carbon dioxide freezes makes dry ice.
· Canadians pull down their earflaps.
-173° Fahrenheit (-114° C)
· Ethyl alcohol freezes.
· Canadians get frustrated when they can't thaw the keg
-459.67° Fahrenheit (-273.15° C)
· Absolute zero; all atomic motion stops.
· Canadians start saying "cold, eh?"
-500° Fahrenheit (-295° C)
· Hell freezes over.
· The Toronto Maple Leafs win the Stanley Cup
- Reaction score
- 1,300
- Points
- 1,040
So there's this guy, and his friend meets him on the street. "Dan!" he says. "Your head! What happened?" "It's a giant pumpkin, I know, but you see, I found this magic lamp and I messed up my wishes."
"Oh? How did you do that?"
"Well, first I asked for a hundred million dollars. Bam! I'm rich!"
"Wow! Then what?"
"Then I asked for a beautiful wife. Man, she's so hot!"
"I can't wait to meet her! But, what happened next?"
"Oh, this is where I really messed up. I wished I had a giant pumpkin for a head!"
"Oh? How did you do that?"
"Well, first I asked for a hundred million dollars. Bam! I'm rich!"
"Wow! Then what?"
"Then I asked for a beautiful wife. Man, she's so hot!"
"I can't wait to meet her! But, what happened next?"
"Oh, this is where I really messed up. I wished I had a giant pumpkin for a head!"
- Reaction score
- 1,003
- Points
- 1,160
Test Drive New 2019 Ford F-150
I stopped by the Ford Dealership yesterday, for a look at the new 2019 F-150 aluminum pickup. Just for fun, I took it out for a test-drive.
I wanted to sense that new truck "feel" before they become old.
The salesperson (a nice-looking lady wearing an “I love Trudeau” lapel pin) sat in the passenger seat next to me, describing the truck and all its "wonderful" options.
The seats were of particular interest.
She explained that the seats directed warm air to your butt in the winter and directed cool air to your butt in the summer heat.
Feeling like messing with her, I mentioned that this must be a CONSERVATIVE truck.
Looking a bit angry, she asked why I thought it was a CONSERVATIVE truck.
"I explained that if it were a Liberal truck, the seats would just blow smoke up your ass year-round!"
I had to walk back to the dealership. But it was worth it.
I stopped by the Ford Dealership yesterday, for a look at the new 2019 F-150 aluminum pickup. Just for fun, I took it out for a test-drive.
I wanted to sense that new truck "feel" before they become old.
The salesperson (a nice-looking lady wearing an “I love Trudeau” lapel pin) sat in the passenger seat next to me, describing the truck and all its "wonderful" options.
The seats were of particular interest.
She explained that the seats directed warm air to your butt in the winter and directed cool air to your butt in the summer heat.
Feeling like messing with her, I mentioned that this must be a CONSERVATIVE truck.
Looking a bit angry, she asked why I thought it was a CONSERVATIVE truck.
"I explained that if it were a Liberal truck, the seats would just blow smoke up your ass year-round!"
I had to walk back to the dealership. But it was worth it.
- Reaction score
- 2,389
- Points
- 940
[ If you're from Saskatchewan, without Daylight Savings Time, disregard
]
Retired AF Guy
Army.ca Veteran
- Reaction score
- 661
- Points
- 1,160
- Reaction score
- 1,003
- Points
- 1,160
Heaven or Hell?
While walking down the street one day a entitled Liberal was tragically hit by a car and died.
His soul arrives in heaven and is met by St. Peter at the entrance.
"Welcome to heaven," says St. Peter. "Before you settle in, it seems there is a problem. We seldom see a high official around these parts, you see, so we're not sure what to do with you."
"No problem, just let me in," says the Liberal.
"Well, I'd like to, but I have orders from the higher ups. What we'll do is have you spend one day in hell and one in heaven. Then you can choose where to spend eternity."
"Really?, I've made up my mind. I want to be in heaven," says the Liberal.
"I'm sorry, but we have our rules."
And with that, St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to hell.
The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a green golf course. In the distance is a clubhouse and standing in front of it are all his friends and other politicians who had worked with him.
Everyone is very happy and in evening dress. They run to greet him, shake his hand, and reminisce about the good times they had while getting rich at the expense of the people.
They played a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster, caviar and the finest champagne.
Also present is the devil, who really is a very friendly guy who is having a good time dancing and telling jokes.
They are all having such a good time that before the Liberal realizes it, it is time to go.
Everyone gives him a hearty farewell and waves while the elevator rises.
The elevator goes up, up, up and the door reopens in heaven where St. Peter is waiting for him, "Now it's time to visit heaven...”
So, 24 hours passed with the Liberal joining a group of contented souls moving from cloud to cloud, playing the harp and singing. They have a good time and, before he realizes it, the 24 hours have gone by and St. Peter returns.
"Well, then, you've spent a day in hell and another in heaven. Now choose your eternity."
The Liberal reflects for a minute, then he answers: "Well, I would never have said it before, I mean heaven has been delightful, but I think I would be better off in hell."
So St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to hell...
Now the doors of the elevator open and he's in the middle of a barren land covered with waste and garbage. He sees all his friends, dressed in rags, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags as more trash falls from above
The devil comes over to him and puts his arm around his shoulders.
"I don't understand," stammers the Liberal. "Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and clubhouse, and we ate lobster and caviar, drank champagne, and danced and had a great time. Now there's just a wasteland full of garbage and my friends look miserable. What happened?"
The devil smiles at him and says,
"Yesterday we were campaigning, Today, you voted.."
Vote wisely in 2019.
While walking down the street one day a entitled Liberal was tragically hit by a car and died.
His soul arrives in heaven and is met by St. Peter at the entrance.
"Welcome to heaven," says St. Peter. "Before you settle in, it seems there is a problem. We seldom see a high official around these parts, you see, so we're not sure what to do with you."
"No problem, just let me in," says the Liberal.
"Well, I'd like to, but I have orders from the higher ups. What we'll do is have you spend one day in hell and one in heaven. Then you can choose where to spend eternity."
"Really?, I've made up my mind. I want to be in heaven," says the Liberal.
"I'm sorry, but we have our rules."
And with that, St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to hell.
The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a green golf course. In the distance is a clubhouse and standing in front of it are all his friends and other politicians who had worked with him.
Everyone is very happy and in evening dress. They run to greet him, shake his hand, and reminisce about the good times they had while getting rich at the expense of the people.
They played a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster, caviar and the finest champagne.
Also present is the devil, who really is a very friendly guy who is having a good time dancing and telling jokes.
They are all having such a good time that before the Liberal realizes it, it is time to go.
Everyone gives him a hearty farewell and waves while the elevator rises.
The elevator goes up, up, up and the door reopens in heaven where St. Peter is waiting for him, "Now it's time to visit heaven...”
So, 24 hours passed with the Liberal joining a group of contented souls moving from cloud to cloud, playing the harp and singing. They have a good time and, before he realizes it, the 24 hours have gone by and St. Peter returns.
"Well, then, you've spent a day in hell and another in heaven. Now choose your eternity."
The Liberal reflects for a minute, then he answers: "Well, I would never have said it before, I mean heaven has been delightful, but I think I would be better off in hell."
So St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to hell...
Now the doors of the elevator open and he's in the middle of a barren land covered with waste and garbage. He sees all his friends, dressed in rags, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags as more trash falls from above
The devil comes over to him and puts his arm around his shoulders.
"I don't understand," stammers the Liberal. "Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and clubhouse, and we ate lobster and caviar, drank champagne, and danced and had a great time. Now there's just a wasteland full of garbage and my friends look miserable. What happened?"
The devil smiles at him and says,
"Yesterday we were campaigning, Today, you voted.."
Vote wisely in 2019.
- Reaction score
- 1,003
- Points
- 1,160
- Reaction score
- 1,003
- Points
- 1,160
Two guys grow up together, but after college one moves to Michigan and the other to Texas. They agree to meet every ten years in Vero Beach Florida to play golf and catch up with each other.
At age 32 they meet, finish their round of golf and head for lunch.
"Where you wanna go?"
"Hooters."
"Why Hooters?"
"They have those broads with the big racks, the tight shorts and the legs."
"You're on."
At age 42, they meet and play golf again.
"Where you wanna go for lunch?"
"Hooters."
"Again? Why?"
"They have cold beer, big screen TVs, and side action on the games."
"OK."
At age 52 they meet and play again. "So where you wanna go for lunch?"
"Hooters.
"Why?"
"The food is pretty good and there's plenty of parking."
"OK."
At age 62 they meet again.
After a round of golf, one says, "Where you wanna go?"
"Hooters."
"Why?"
"Wings are half price"
"Good choice"
At age 72 they meet again.
Once again, after a round of golf, one says, "Where shall we go for lunch?"
"Hooters."
"Why?"
"They have six handicapped parking spaces right by the door."
"Great choice."
At age 82 they meet and play again. "Where should we go for lunch?"
"Hooters."
"Why?"
"Because we've never been there before."
"Okay."
At age 32 they meet, finish their round of golf and head for lunch.
"Where you wanna go?"
"Hooters."
"Why Hooters?"
"They have those broads with the big racks, the tight shorts and the legs."
"You're on."
At age 42, they meet and play golf again.
"Where you wanna go for lunch?"
"Hooters."
"Again? Why?"
"They have cold beer, big screen TVs, and side action on the games."
"OK."
At age 52 they meet and play again. "So where you wanna go for lunch?"
"Hooters.
"Why?"
"The food is pretty good and there's plenty of parking."
"OK."
At age 62 they meet again.
After a round of golf, one says, "Where you wanna go?"
"Hooters."
"Why?"
"Wings are half price"
"Good choice"
At age 72 they meet again.
Once again, after a round of golf, one says, "Where shall we go for lunch?"
"Hooters."
"Why?"
"They have six handicapped parking spaces right by the door."
"Great choice."
At age 82 they meet and play again. "Where should we go for lunch?"
"Hooters."
"Why?"
"Because we've never been there before."
"Okay."
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