Banter Board v2.0

Social Banter between Cybercaders on non-Americade Subjects.

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Banter Board v2.0

Postby strix » Mon Feb 12, 2018 11:04 am

A 10-year-old girl was walking home alone from school one day, when a big man on a black motorcycle pulls up beside her.
After following along for a while, turns to her and asks, “Hey there little girl, do you want to go for a ride?”
“NO!” says the girl as she keeps on walking.
The motorcyclist again pulls up beside her and asks, “Hey little girl, I will give you $10 if you hop on the back.”
“NO!” says the girl again as she hurries down the street.
The motorcyclist doesn’t give up, pulls up beside her again and says, “Okay kid, my last offer! I’ll give you 20 bucks and a big bag of candy if you will just hop on the back of my bike and we will go for a ride.”
Finally, the little girl stops and turns towards him and screams out, “Look Dad, you’re the one who bought the Honda instead of the Harley, like I wanted. GO RIDE IT ALONE!”

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Re: Banter Board v2.0

Postby Mainah » Sat Feb 24, 2018 10:44 am

SUBMITTED FOR YOUR APPROVAL: An oldie but one of my favorite stories. I'm sure this was on the original "banter board"


Out for a nice ride and . . . .!

I have 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, I 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 car that decided it needed more lane 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 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 newly empty streets, I opened the visor on my full-face helmet to 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 of my motorcycle 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 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 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 with 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 man on a large black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a slightly squirrel torn t-shirt, and only one leather glove roaring at maybe 70 mph 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 as my brain was 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 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 in tone and intensity. It seemed to have little effect against 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 80 mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy squirrel’s tail sticking out of his mostly closed full-faced 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 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 directional control and dropped the front end 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 grabbing 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.

Now he has a patrol car.

I took a deep breath, turned on my turn signal, made an easy right turn, and left the neighborhood. As for my easy and slow drive home?

Screw it. Faced with the choice of 80 mph cars and inattentive drivers, or the evil, demonic attack squirrel of death…. I’ll take my chances with the freeway, and I can just buy myself a new pair of gloves.

Author Unknown
It's never too late to have a happy childhood.


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Re: Banter Board v2.0

Postby WCLamb » Tue Feb 27, 2018 3:25 pm


Yesterday, I wore my VietNam Veteran cap to Wal-Mart. There was nothing in particular that I needed at the world's largest retailer, but since I retired, trips to "Wally World" to look at the Walmartians is always good for some comic relief. Besides, I always feel pretty normal after seeing some of the people that frequent the establishment. But, I digress . . . enough of my psychological fixations.

While standing in line to check out, the guy in front of me, probably in his early thirties, asked, "Are you a Viet Nam Vet?"

"No," I replied.

"Then why are you wearing that cap?"

"Because I couldn't find the one from the War of 1812 . . ."

I thought it was a snappy retort.

"The War of 1812, huh?" the Walmartian queried, "When was that?"

God forgive me, but I couldn't pass up such an opportunity. "1946," I answered as straight-faced as possible.

He pondered my response for a moment and responded, "Why do they call it the War of 1812 if it was in 1946?"

"It was a Black Op. No one is supposed to know about it." This was beginning to be way fun!

"Dude! Really?" He exclaimed. "How did you get to do something that COOOOL?"

I glanced furtively around me for effect, leaned toward the guy and in a low voice said, "I'm not sure. I was the only Caucasian on the mission."

"Dude," he was really getting excited about what he was hearing, "that is seriously awesome! But, didn't you kind of stand out?"

"Not really. The other guys were wearing white camouflage."

The moron nodded knowingly.

"Listen man," I said in a very serious tone, "You can't tell anyone about this. It's still 'top secret' and I shouldn't have said anything."

"Oh yeah?" he gave me the 'don't threaten me look.' "Like, what's gonna happen if I do?"

With a really hard look I said, "You have a family don't you? We wouldn't want anything to happen to them, would we?"

The guy gulped, left his basket where it was and fled through the door. The lady behind me started laughing so hard I thought she was about to have a heart attack. I just grinned at her

After checking out and going to the parking lot, I saw dimwit leaning in a car window talking to a young woman.
Upon catching sight of me he started pointing excitedly in my direction. Giving him another 'deadly' serious look, I made the 'I see you' gesture. He turned kind of pale, jumped in the car and sped out of the parking lot.

And these people VOTE!

What a great time! Tomorrow I'm going back wearing my Homeland Security cap.

Then the next day I will go to the driver's license bureau wearing my Border Patrol hat, and see how long it takes to empty the place. Whoever said retirement is boring? You just need to wear the right kind of cap!

See you guys at Walmart!!

David from Rhode Island
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Re: Banter Board v2.0

Postby David from Rhode Island » Fri Mar 02, 2018 12:48 pm

Old Guys Rule!!

Four old retired guys are walking down a street in Naples, Florida.
They turned a corner and see a sign that says, 'Old Timers Bar - all drinks 10 cents.'
They look at each other, and then go in, thinking this is too good to
be true. The old bartender says in a voice that carries across the room,
Come on in and let me pour one for you! What'll it be, Gentlemen?'
There seemed to be a fully-stocked bar, so each of the men ask for a martini.
In short order, the bartender serves up four iced martinis... Shake n, not stirred,and says,
'That'll be 10 cents each, please'
The four men stare at the bartender for a moment. Then look at each other... They can't believe their good luck.
They pay the 40 cents, finish their martinis, and order another round.
Again, four excellent martinis are produced with the bartender again saying, 'That's 40 cents, please.'
They pay the 40 cents, but their curiosity is more than they can stand.
They have each had two martinis and so far they've spent less than a dollar.
Finally one of the men says, 'How can you afford to serve martinis as good as these for a dime a piece?'
'I'm a retired tailor from Boston,' the bartender said, 'and I always wanted to own a bar.
Last year I hit the Lottery for $25 million and decided to open this place.
Every drink costs a dime - wine, liquor, beer, it's all the same.' Wow!!!! That's quite a story,' says one of the men.
The four of them sipped at their martinis and couldn't help but notice seven other people at the end of the bar
who didn't have drinks in front of them, and hadn't ordered anything the whole time they were there.
One man gestures at the seven at the end of the bar without drinks and asks the bartender, 'What's with them?'
The bartender says, 'Oh, they're all old retired farts from Oregon.
They're waiting for happy hour when drinks are half price.'

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Re: Banter Board v2.0

Postby michaelcycle » Fri Mar 02, 2018 4:15 pm

I went out for pizza and a few beers at a local restaurant and was sitting at the bar next to a few old geezers. They apparently had a few too many and were getting a little boisterous and started to complain to the bartender about the two drunks at the other end of the bar who were making fools of themselves. The bartender turned around looking at the two geezers and said to them "Look you old fools, you're looking at the bar mirror" :mrgreen:

Take care, Mike
Mike Carroll

I spent most of my life on my motorcycle, the rest I just wasted. " Author unknown"

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Re: Banter Board v2.0

Postby cybercader » Fri Mar 02, 2018 7:13 pm

I was in a bar last Saturday night, drank a few too many, and noticed two very large women at the other end of the bar. They both had pretty strong accents,so I asked, "Hey, are you two ladies from Ireland?" One looks at me incredulously and says, It's WALES, you bloody idiot!" So, I apologized and replied, "I'm very sorry. So are you two WHALES from Ireland?" Things got fuzzy after that.

Qui desiderat pacem, praeparet bellum

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Re: Banter Board v2.0

Postby Ryck » Tue Mar 13, 2018 10:52 pm

Didn't realize this was here. Happy to see this. Enjoying the new banter.


David from Rhode Island
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Re: Banter Board v2.0

Postby David from Rhode Island » Wed Mar 14, 2018 11:47 am

Dear Abby,

I've never written to you before, but I really need your advice on what could be a crucial decision.
I've suspected for some time now that my wife has been cheating on me. The usual rings, but if I answer, the caller hangs up. My wife has been going out with the girls a lot recently, although when I ask their names she always says, "Just some friends from work, you don't know them."

I sometimes stay awake to look out for her cab coming home, but she always comes walking up the drive as I hear the sound of a car leaving, around the corner, as if she has gotten out and walked the rest of the way. Why? Maybe she wasn't in a taxi at all?

I once picked up her cell phone, just to see what time it was. This caused her to go completely berserk. She quickly snatched the phone out of my hand and cursed me hysterically, screaming that I should never touch her personal property, then accused me of trying to spy on her.

Anyway, I have never broached the subject with my wife. I think deep down I just didn't want to know the truth, but last night she went out again and I decided to really check on her. I decided I was going to park my Harley Davidson Lowrider next to the garage and then hide behind it so I could get a good view of the street around the corner when she came home. It was at that moment, crouching behind my motorcycle that I noticed a small amount of motor oil leaking through the gasket between the rear head and rocker arm cover. this something I can easily repair myself or do you think I should take it back to the dealer?

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Re: Banter Board v2.0

Postby WCLamb » Mon Mar 19, 2018 8:06 am

There was a Mensa convention in San Francisco. Mensa, as you probably know, is a national organization for people who have an IQ of 150 or higher.

Several of the Mensa members went out for lunch at a local café. When they sat down, one of them discovered that their salt shaker contained pepper, and their pepper shaker was full of salt. How could they swap the contents of the two bottles without spilling any, and using only the implements at hand? Clearly, this was a job for Mensa minds.

The group debated the problem and presented ideas and finally came up with a brilliant solution involving a napkin, a straw, and an empty saucer.

They called the blonde waitress over ready to dazzle her with their solution.

"Ma'am," they said, "we couldn't help but notice that the pepper shaker contains salt and the salt shaker has pepper."

But before they could finish, the waitress interrupted: "Oh, sorry about that." She leaned over the table, unscrewed the caps of both bottles and switched them.

There was dead silence at the Mensa table.

Kind of reminds you of the past 30 years in Washington D.C., doesn't it?

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