Bonneville America Forums Forums Off Topic Discussion Forums Lounge Very funny and long

Saw this on another site...made me cry in laughter (people at work think I've lost it!!)
Thought I would share it...



I never dreamed that 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, "Banzai!" 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.

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 RPM's 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

Rob,

LMAO!

Steve B.

Very cool. Reminds me a little of Alices Restaurant where he keeps repeating "11 8x10 colored glossy prints with circles and arrows on each one and a paragraph on the back explaining what each one was to be used as evidence against us." Or something to that effect...

That's one funny story.

another really funny bit on the board today. this had me in stiches. good thing everyone at work already things i'm a "little weird"

And you can get anything you want from.....and the judge walked in walking a blind dog and he's not going to see those 11 8x10 color glossy prints so we got off with a...and then the draught for the army,cont.

I Love it!!!

Every time I see a landscaping truck/trailer, I think to myself "Shovels and rakes and impliments of DEstruction."

Ok sorry to derail... but that story had a bit of an Arlo feel to it!

That one had the tears rolling.
Wife thought I had gone mad.
Have copied it and sent to friends.

Thank you for giving me the laugh of the week.

this 'll fix your Alice craving....sorry it's so WIDE


CHORUS:
You can get anything you want at Alice's restaurant
You can get anything you want at Alice's restaurant
Walk right in, it's around the back
Just a half a mile from the railroad track
You can get anything you want at Alice's restaurant
RECITATION:
This song is called "Alice's Restaurant." It's about Alice, and the restaurant, but "Alice's Restaurant"
is not the name of the restaurant, that's just the name of the song. That's why I call the song "Alice's Restaurant."

Now it all started two Thanksgivings ago... two years ago, on Thanksgiving, when my friend and I went up to visit Alice at the restaurant.

But Alice doesn't live in the restaurant, she lives in the church nearby the restaurant, in the bell tower with her husband Ray and Facha, the dog.

And livin' in the bell tower like that, they got a lot of room downstairs where the pews used to be, and havin' all that room
(seein' as how they took out all the pews), they decided that they didn't have to take out their garbage for a long time.

We got up here and found all the garbage in there and we decided that it'd be a friendly gesture for us to take the garbage down to the city dump.

So we took the half-a-ton of garbage, put it in the back of a red VW microbus, took shovels and rakes and implements of destruction, and headed
on toward the city dump. Well, we got there and there was a big sign and a chain across the dump sayin',
"This dump is closed on Thanksgiving," and we'd never heard of a dump closed on Thanksgiving before, and with tears in our eyes, we drove off into the sunset lookin' for another place to put the garbage.

We didn't find one till we came to a side road, and off the side of the side road was another fifteen-foot cliff,
and at the bottom of the cliff was another pile of garbage. And we decided that one big pile was better than two little piles, and rather than bring that one up, we decided to throw ours down. That's what we did.

Drove back to the church, had a Thanksgiving dinner that couldn't be beat, went to sleep, and didn't get up until the next morning, when we got a phone call from Officer Obie. He said, "Kid, we found your name on a envelope at the bottom of a half a ton of garbage and I just wanted to know if you had any information about it."

And I said, "Yes sir, Officer Obie, I cannot tell a lie. I put that envelope under that garbage." After speakin' to Obie for about forty-five minutes on the telephone, we finally arrived at the truth of the matter and he said that we had to go down and pick up the garbage, and also had to go down and speak to him at the Police Officer Station. So we got in the red VW microbus with the shovels and rakes and implements of destruction and headed on toward the Police Officer Station.

Now, friends, there was only one of two things that Obie could've done at the Police Officer Station, and the first was that he could've given us a medal for bein' so brave and honest on the telephone (which wasn't very likely, and we didn't expect it), and the other thing was that he could've bawled us out and told us never to be seen drivin' garbage around in the vicinity again, which is what we expected.

But when we got to the Police Officer Station, there was a third possibility that we hadn't even counted upon, and we was both immediately arrested, handcuffed, and I said, "Obie, I can't pick up the garbage with these here handcuffs on." He said: "Shut up kid, and get in the back of the patrol car."

And that's what we did . . . sat in the back of the patrol car, and drove to the quote scene of the crime unquote.

I wanna tell you 'bout the town of Stockbridge, Massachusetts, where this is happenin'. They got three stop signs, two police officers, and one police car, but when we got to the scene of the crime, there was five police officers and three police cars, bein' the biggest crime of the last fifty years and everybody wanted to get in the newspaper story about it.

And they was usin' up all kinds of cop equipment that they had hangin' around the Police Officer Station. They was takin' plaster tire tracks, footprints, dog-smellin' prints and they took twenty-seven 8 x 10 colored glossy photographs with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explainin' what each one was, to be used as evidence against us. Took pictures of the approach, the getaway, the northwest corner, the southwest corner . . .
and that's not to mention the aerial photography!

After the ordeal, we went back to the jail. Obie said he was gonna put us in a cell.

He said: "Kid, I'm gonna put you in a cell. I want your wallet and your belt."
I said, "Obie, I can understand your wantin' my wallet, so I don't have any money to spend in the cell, but what do you want my belt for?" and he said, "Kid, we don't want any hangin's." I said, "Obie, did you think I was gonna hang myself for litterin'?"

Obie said he was makin' sure, and, friends, Obie was, 'cause he took out the toilet seat so I couldn't hit myself over the head and drown, and he took out the toilet paper so I couldn't bend the bars, roll the toilet paper out the window, slide down the roll and have an escape. Obie was makin' sure.

It was about four or five hours later that Alice--(remember Alice? There's a song about Alice.)--Alice came by and, with a few nasty words to Obie on the side, bailed us out of jail, and we went back to the church, had another Thanksgiving dinner that couldn't be beat, and didn't get up until the next morning, when we all had to go to court. We walked in, sat down, Obie came in with the twenty-seven 8 x 10 colored glossy pictures with the circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one, sat down.

Man came in, said, "All rise!" We all stood up, and Obie stood up with the twenty-seven 8 x 10 colored glossy pictures, and the judge walked in, sat down, with a seein' eye dog and he sat down. We sat down.

Obie looked at the seein' eye dog . . . then at the twenty-seven 8 x 10 colored glossy pictures with the circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one . . . and looked at the seein' eye dog . . . and then at the twenty-seven 8 x 10 colored glossy pictures with the circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each on and began to cry.

Because Obie came to the realization that it was a typical case of American blind justice, and there wasn't nothin' he could do about it, and the judge wasn't gonna look at the twenty-seven 8 by 10 colored glossy pictures with the circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explainin' what each one was, to be used as evidence against us.

And we was fined fifty dollars and had to pick up the garbage... in the snow.

But that's not what I'm here to tell you about.

I'm here to talk about the draft.

They got a buildin' down in New York City called Whitehall Street, where you walk in, you get injected, inspected, detected, infected, neglected and selected!

I went down and got my physical examination one day, and I walked in, sat down (got good and drunk the night before, so I looked and felt my best when I went in that morning, 'cause I wanted to look like the All-American Kid from New York City. I wanted to feel like . . . I wanted to be the All-American Kid from New York), and I walked in, sat down, I was hung down, brung down, hung up and all kinds of mean, nasty, ugly things.

And I walked in, I sat down, they gave me a piece of paper that said: "Kid, see the psychiatrist in room 604."

I went up there, I said, "Shrink, I wanna kill. I wanna kill! I wanna see blood and gore and guts and veins in my teeth! Eat dead, burnt bodies! I mean: Kill. Kill!"

And I started jumpin' up and down, yellin' "KILL! KILL!" and he started jumpin' up and down with me, and we was both jumpin' up and down, yellin', "KILL! KILL! KILL! KILL!" and the sergeant came over, pinned a medal on me, sent me down the hall, said "You're our boy". Didn't feel too good about it.

Proceeded down the hall, gettin' more injections, inspections, detections, neglections, and all kinds of stuff that they was doin' to me at the thing there, and I was there for two hours... three hours... four hours... I was there for a long time goin' through all kinds of mean, nasty, ugly things, and I was just havin' a tough time there, and they was inspectin', injectin', every single part of me, and they was leavin' no part untouched!

Proceeded through, and I finally came to see the very last man. I walked in, sat down, after a whole big thing there. I walked up, and I said, "What do you want?" He said, "Kid, we only got one question: Have you ever been arrested?"

And I proceeded to tell him the story of Alice's Restaurant Massacree with full orchestration and five-part harmony and stuff like that, and other phenomenon.

He stopped me right there and said, "Kid, have you ever been to court?" And I proceeded to tell him the story of the twenty-seven 8 x 10 colored glossy pictures with the circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one . . .

He stopped me right there and said, "Kid, I want you to go over and sit down on that bench that says 'Group W'."

And I walked over to the bench there, and there's... Group W is where they put you if you may not be moral enough to join the army after committin' your special crime.

There was all kinds of mean, nasty, ugly-lookin' people on the bench there . . . there was mother-rapers . . . father-stabbers . . . father-rapers! FATHER-RAPERS sittin' right there on the bench next to me! And they was mean and nasty and ugly and horrible and crime fightin' guys were sittin' there on the bench, and the meanest, ugliest, nastiest one . . . the meanest father-raper of them all . . . was comin' over to me, and he was mean and ugly and nasty and horrible and all kinds of things, and he sat down next to me. He said, "Kid, what'd you get?"

I said, "I didn't get nothin'. I had to pay fifty dollars and pick up the garbage."

He said, "What were you arrested for, kid?" and I said, "Litterin'"' . . . . And they all moved away from me on the bench there, with the hairy eyeball and all kinds of mean, nasty things, till I said, "And creatin' a nuisance . . . " And they all came back, shook my hand, and we had a great time on the bench talkin' about crime, mother-stabbin', father-rapin', . . . all kinds of groovy things that we was talkin' about on the bench, and everything was fine.

We was smokin' cigarettes and all kinds of things, until the sergeant came over, had some paper in his hand, held it up and said: "KIDSTHISPIECEOFPAPERSGOTFOURTYSVENPAGESTHIRTYSEVENSENTENCESFIFTYEIGHTWORDSWEWANTTOKNOWTHEDETAILSOFTHECRIMETHETIMEOFTHECRIMEANDANYOTHERKINDOFTHINGYOUGOTTOSAYPERTAININGTOANDABOUTTHECRIMEWEWANTTOKNOWTHEARRESTINGOFFICERSNAMEANDANYOTHERTHINGYOUGOTTOSAY . . ."

And he talked for forty-five minutes and nobody understood a word that he said.

But we had fun fillin' out the forms and playin' with the pencils on the bench there.

I filled out the Massacree with the four-part harmony. Wrote it down there just like it was and everything was fine. And I put down my pencil, and I turned over the piece of paper, and there . . . on the other side . . . in the middle of the other side . . . away from everything else on the other side . . . in parentheses . . . capital letters . . . quotated . . . read the following words: "Kid, have you rehabilitated yourself?"

I went over to the sergeant. Said, "Sergeant, you got a lot of god-damned gall to ask me if I've rehabilitated myself! I mean . . . I mean . . . I mean that you send . . . I'm sittin' here on the bench . . . I mean I'm sittin' here on the Group W bench, 'cause you want to know if I'm moral enough to join the army, burn women, kids, houses and villages after bein' a litterbug."

He looked at me and said, "Kid, we don't like your kind! We're gonna send your fingerprints off to Washington"!

And, friends, somewhere in Washington, enshrined in some little folder, is a study in black and white of my fingerprints.

And the only reason I'm singin' you the song now is 'cause you may know somebody in a similar situation.

Or you may be in a similar situation, and if you're in a situation like that, there's only one thing you can do:

Walk into the shrink wherever you are, just walk in, say, "Shrink, . . . you can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant", and walk out.

You know, if one person, just one person, does it, they may think he's really sick and they won't take him.

And if two people do it, in harmony, they may think they're both faggots and they won't take either of them.

And if three people do it! Can you imagine three people walkin' in, singin' a bar of "Alice's Restaurant" and walkin' out? They may think it's an organization!

And can you imagine fifty people a day? I said FIFTY people a day . . . walkin' in, singin' a bar of "Alice's Restaurant" and walkin' out? Friends, they may think it's a MOVEMENT, and that's what it is: THE ALICE'S RESTAURANT ANTI-MASSACREE MOVEMENT! . . . and all you gotta do to join is to sing it the next time it comes around on the guitar.

With feelin'.

CHORUS

thought I would post the Nixon addition to this great song, I go hunting every thanksgiving in NY state, and I'm garunteed to listen to this song 5 or 6 times on different radio stations on the way out.

You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant
You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant
Walk right in it's around the back
Just a half a mile from the railroad track
(Arlo drops out)
You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant


No, nooo! You can't start singing loud just at the end if I quit singing! You would've thought after all this time you'd've learned by now! If you wanna end war and stuff you've gotta sing loud all the time, so people can hear you!

Now, I know this is a long song, believe me, I know how long it is, even on the record when it come out it was pretty long, what, eighteen minutes like I said or something, and I'm not sitting here trying to make it any longer, but I can feel it. I know there's people sitting in this very room tonight that don't believe that songs can change the world, or that songs can change the destiny of nations.

I don't blame you. I wouldn't have thought so myself. 'Course I know something that some of you may not know, but I was reminded of it during the last election, see, I remembered when Jimmy Carter was elected President, 'cause I got an invitation to his inauguration, and I knew I had to go, 'cause I knew it'd be the only one I ever got. Been right so far. But I went down to Washinton, D.C. -- I ain't making this up now, this is real -- I went down to Washington, and it's just like you see on TV, people partying and stuff, and everything was fine until along toward evening somebody come around, tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned around, and it was Chip Carter, the President's son.

I said, "Hi, Chip!" -- I recognized him, he was about my age -- he said,

"Arlo, I've been looking everywhere for you."

I said, "Chip, how come?"

He said, "Arlo, I've got something very important to tell you."

And I said, "Chip, what is it?"

He said, "Arlo, we were moving our stuff into the White House, and in the Nixon Record Library we found a copy of your record, Alice's Restaurant."

I looked at Chip Carter, I looked deep into the man's soul and I said, "Chiiii-iiiiip! Was it opened?"

And it slow motion he noded, yes, it had been opened. Now I want you folks to know that I did not think about that for a long time, until recently, when we was all thinking 'bout Richard Nixon when he passed away, and... I see some people here who may not know, see, but Richard Nixon was the President of the United States, and he used to like to tape stuff. I mean, if you can imagine a world before cassette decks and VCRs was everywhere, you can imagine a man who was truly ahead of his time! He taped everything that went on in the White House, and everything was fine until one day they started playing back the tapes! People found out what was going on in there! But it wasn't anything that was on any tape that got the man in trouble, so much as it was what he had erased from the tapes, and there was one particular famous gap in one of the tapes that I was thinking about one night, when I said to myself,

"Arlo, how many things in the world are eighteen minutes and twenty seconds long?"

Well? How many things in the world ARE exactly eighteen minutes and twenty seconds long? Probably just a coincidence, but it's good enough for me.

So when the song comes around on the guitar, remember that songs can change the destiny of nations, even if it's only by coincidence. You just have to know the words, have the feeling, and wait for it come around again on the guitar...