VET HATS AND MORONS

Submitted By Jim "Duck" Campbell 19MAY2012

 A few days ago my best friend from High School sent me a 'Viet Nam Veteran' hat. I never had one of these before and I was pretty hyped about it, especially because my friend Ronn was considerate enough to take the time to give it to me.

  Yesterday, I wore it when I went to Walmart. 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, enough of my psychological fixes.

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

  "No" I replied.

  "Then why are you wearing that hat?"

  "Because I couldn't find my one for 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. "1936"

  He pondered my response for a moment and responded, "Why do they call it the War of 1812 if it was in 1936?"

  "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. By this time the lady behind me was about to have a heart attack she was laughing so hard. 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.

  What a great time! Tomorrow I'm going back with a Homeland Security hat. Whoever said retirement is boring just needs the right kind of hat..


DEDICATED TO ALL THOSE WHO FLEW WITH ROUND ENGINES

Submitted By "Buffalo" Bill Brabant

Author Unknown

We gotta get rid of those turbines, they're ruining aviation and our hearing...

A turbine is too simple minded, it has no mystery. The air travels through it in a straight line and doesn't pick up any of the pungent fragrance of engine oil or pilot sweat.

Anybody can start a turbine. You just need to move a switch from "OFF" to "START" and then remember to move it back to "ON" after a while. My PC is harder to start.

Cranking a round engine requires skill, finesse and style. You have to seduce it into starting. It's like waking up a horny mistress. On some planes, the pilots aren't even allowed to do it...

Turbines start by whining for a while, then give a lady-like poof and start whining a little louder.

Round engines give a satisfying rattle-rattle, click-click, BANG, more rattles, another BANG, a big macho fart or two, more clicks, a lot more smoke and finally a serious low pitched roar. We like that. It's a GUY thing...

When you start a round engine, your mind is engaged and you can concentrate on the flight ahead. Starting a turbine is like flicking on a ceiling fan: Useful, but, hardly exciting.

When you have started his round engine successfully your crew chief looks up at you like he'd let you kiss his girl too!

Turbines don't break or catch fire often enough, leading to aircrew boredom, complacency and inattention.

A round engine at speed looks and sounds like it's going to blow any minute. This helps concentrate the mind!

Turbines don't have enough control levers or gauges to keep a pilot's attention. There's nothing to fiddle with during long flights.

Turbines smell like a Boy Scout camp full of Coleman Lamps. Round engines smell like God intended machines to smell.




Promotion

Submitted By "Buffalo" Bill Brabant

The colonel had three Second Lieutenants eligible for promotion. The problem was, he only had one First Lieutenant slot available.

  The colonel called the first butter-bar into his office and said, "This is a promotion test. If I were to tell you that I wanted a flag pole erected in front of Base HQ by 1700, what would you do?"

 The first 2nd Looey thought about it for a second, and said, "Sir, I would get a shovel, head for HQ and start digging..."

 "You're not ready to be promoted," the Colonel interrupted.

 The colonel asked the same question of the next candidate.

 "Sir," said the next butter-bar, "I would fill out a CE work order, making sure I made provisions for the appropriate environmental study and..."

 "You are definitely not ready to be promoted," the Colonel said.

 The Colonel asked the question of the final candidate. Without hesitation, the Lieutenant said, "Sir. I would call the First Sergeant,and say, 'Top, I want a f*****g flag pole in front of HQ by 1700!"

 "You're ready to be promoted," the Colonel said.




F-100 Super Sabre Jump Start

Submitted By Jim Kinter Jr.

The F-100 Super Sabre had a large chamber to accept a large gas generating cartridge. When ignited by electrical current, the expanding gas from the black powder-like pyrotechnic cartridge drove a starter turbine which brought the engine up to a self-sustaining RPM via a drive system.

This eliminated the need for heavy and bulky ground starting units, but the starter cartridge spewed out a characteristic dense cloud of choking black smoke, which was often mistaken by inexperienced ground crews for an engine fire.

The powder charge for the ground start came in a big sealed can, and on opening and extracting the cartridge, you'd find two small metal tabs on the bottom of the cartridge. These tabs were the electrical contact points that fired the cartridge when the pilot moved the throttle outboard on start, before bringing the throttle forward. As soon as RPM registered on the tach, you brought the throttle around the horn to feed fuel and engine ignition to the rapidly-building engine rpm.

Sometimes the big metal receptacle that held the gas generator cartridge would get so dirty from repeated use that the metal tabs wouldn't make contact. Then the cartridge would refuse to fire, and the crewchief would give the starter receptacle a good healthy whack with a wooden wheel chock, usually curing the powder charge of any reluctance to detonate.

We'd often take a can containing a starter cartridge along with us as an alternative starting means on cross-country.

The story is told, of USAF Capt. John Green going into Cherry Point MCAS, in an F-100 way back in the early '60s.

He was met by a couple of young Marine ground crewmen, who asked what kind of plane he was flying. "F-100 Super Sabre" only got him further puzzled looks. One of the ground crew said, " Sir, I don't think we have tech data on this bird. What do you need for start . . a huffer . . or just electrical"?

" Neither one," John replied with his tongue in his cheek.

" If I can get, oh, about six guys to give me a push to start me rolling, I'll just pop the clutch and get the engine started that way."

More and more doubtful looks. " Yessir " was the final comeback. What else would a young Marine say ?

The Hun was pretty finely balanced on the two main gear struts.

When you tapped the brakes, the nose strut compressed so much that the nose took a dip, just like the hood of our cars used to dip when being clutch-started after a similar push from our friends.

So now six Marines are standing at the ready, still doubtful but not about to question an Officer on Procedure. " Just get me going at about a fast walk," John instructed. " I'll wave you all clear when we're fast enough, pop the clutch and be on my way. "

" Thanks for the good turnaround ! "

With six Marines pushing, they quickly get the bird up to a brisk-stepping speed. John waves his arms, and the Marines warily stand well clear.

The nose dips as John " pops the clutch " . . THERE IS A BIG CLOUD OF CHOKING SMOKE AS THE F-100'S ENGINE WHINES TO LIFE.

And off goes Captain Green to the takeoff end of the runway, leaving six puzzled Marines in his wake.



CO-PILOT

By Dale Kingsbury

It happened in the early or mid-50s when the 1370th was still at West Palm Beach. The wing was doing aerial surveys in the islands and had personnel temporarily stationed at Ramey AFB. One member took his wife and young son down for a stay there and when ready to return home, he put them on an airliner, a DC-3 type for the flight back to Florida. On the way, the co-pilot or second officer went back and invited the young man to come up to the flight deck. (Remember, this was long before 9/11). The young man sat in the right seat for a while, and then the pilot leaned over and said he would make a good co-pilot.

The young man replied, "It's easy to be a co-pilot, all you have to do is get the gear, flaps and flight lunches."




NPR interview

Marine Corp's General Reinwald was interviewed on the radio the other day and you have to read his reply to the lady who interviewed him concerning guns and children. Regardless of how you feel about gun laws you gotta love this!!!!

This is one of the best comeback lines of all time. It is a portion of National Public Radio (NPR) interview between a female broadcaster and US Marine Corps General Reinwald who was about to sponsor a Boy Scout Troop visiting his military installation.

FEMALE INTERVIEWER: So, General Reinwald, what things are you going to teach these young boys when they visit your base?

GENERAL REINWALD: We're going to teach them climbing, canoeing, archery, and shooting.

FEMALE INTERVIEWER: Shooting! That's a bit irresponsible, isn't it?

GENERAL REINWALD: I don't see why, they'll be properly supervised on the rifle range.

FEMALE INTERVIEWER: Don't you admit that this is a terribly dangerous activity to be teaching children?

GENERAL REINWALD: I don't see how. We will be teaching them proper rifle discipline before they even touch a firearm.

FEMALE INTERVIEWER: But you're equipping them to become violent killers.

GENERAL REINWALD: Well, Ma'am, you're equipped to be a prostitute, but you're not one, are you?

The radio went silent and the interview ended.

You gotta love the Marines




Fighters vs. Bombers

An F-117 was flying escort with a B-52 and generally making a nuisance of himself by flying rolls around the lumbering old bomber. The message for the B-52 crew was, "Anything you can do, I can do better."

Not to be outdone, the bomber pilot announced that he would rise to the challenge. The B-52 continued its flight, straight and level, however.

Perplexed, the fighter pilot asked, "So? What did you do?"

"We just shut down two engines."




Fighters vs. Transports

A couple of A-10's are escorting a C-130 Hercules and their pilots were chatting with the pilot of the transport to pass the time.

Talk fell on the subject of relative merits of their respective aircraft with the fighter pilots holding their planes were better because of their maneuverability, weaponry and the like

The C-130 pilot replied "Yeah? Well I can do a few things in this old girl that you'd only dream about." Naturally, he was challenged to demonstrate. "Just watch," he tells them.

The C-130 continues to fly straight and level, and after several minutes the Herk pilot returns to the air and says, "There! How was that?"

Not having seen anything, the fighter pilots say, "What are you talking about? What did you do?"

He replies, "Well, I got up, stretched my legs, got a cup of coffee, then went back and took a leak."



Thumbs Up

I guess we've all seen Air Force pilots look up just before taxi for takeoff and look at their fist to see if their thumb is sticking straight up.

The crew chief on the ground then agrees and confirms that it is there, salutes and the Air Force pilot then takes off. Not until I talked to an Air Force flight surgeon did I ever know the true reason for this time tested tradition. This is the last link in the Air Force safety net to confirm just prior to takeoff that the pilot does not have both thumbs up his ass.




Military Intelligence

A Proven Fact...

Of the sister Services, the Air Force has the most intelligent enlisted members! This is no theory; it's actually been proven:

Take the Army. When the s--- hits the fan, the young Army private wakes up to the bellowing of his First Sergeant. He grabs his BDUs out of his foot locker, dresses, runs to the chow-hall for breakfast on the fly, then jumps in his tank. Pretty soon, the Platoon Commander arrives, gives him a big salute, and says, "Give 'em Hell, soldier!"

Now take the Navy. When the s--- hits the fan, the young Sailor is eating breakfast in the mess. He hustles the 20 feet to his battle station, stuffing extra pastries in his pocket as he goes. There he sits, in the middle of a steel target, with nowhere to run, when the Captain comes on the 1MC and says, "Give 'em Hell, Sailors! I salute you!"

Now take the Marines. When the s--- hits the fan, the young Marine is kicked out of bed by his First Sergeant and puts on the muddy set of BDUs he was wearing on the field exercise he was part of three hours earlier. He gets no breakfast, but is told to feel free to chew on his boots. He runs out and forms up with his rifle. Pretty soon, his platoon commander comes out, gives the Marine a sharp salute, and says, "Give 'em Hell, Marine!"

Now the Air Force. When the s--- hits the fan, the Airman receives a phone call at his off-base quarters. He gets up, showers, shaves, and puts on the fresh uniform he picked up from the BX cleaners the day before. He jumps in his car and cruises through the McDonalds Drive-Thru for an Egg McMuffin and Coca-Cola on his way into work. Once at work, he signs in on the duty roster. He proceeds to his F-15, spends 30 minutes pre-flighting it, and signs off the forms. Pretty soon the pilot, a young captain arrives, straps into the jet, and starts the engines. Our young Airman stands at attention, gives the aviator a sharp salute, and says, "Give 'em Hell, Captain!"




The Night Before Christmas - Aviators Version

Submitted By Kent Sawyer


'Twas the night before Christmas, and out on the ramp,

Not an airplane was stirring, not even a Champ.

The aircraft were fastened to tie downs with care,

In hopes that come morning, they all would be there.

The fuel trucks were nestled, all snug in their spots,

With gusts from two-forty at 39 knots.

I slumped at the fuel desk, now finally caught up,

And settled down comfortably, resting my butt.

When the radio lit up with noise and with chatter,

I turned up the scanner to see what was the matter.

A voice clearly heard over static and snow,

Called for clearance to land at the airport below.

He barked his transmission so lively and quick,

I'd have sworn that the call sign he used was "St. Nick".

I ran to the panel to turn up the lights,

The better to welcome this magical flight.

He called his position, no room for denial,

"St. Nicholas One, turnin' left onto final."

And what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a Rutan-built sleigh, with eight Rotax Reindeer!

With vectors to final, down the glideslope he came,

As he passed all fixes, he called them by name:

"Now Ringo! Now Tolga! Now Trini and Bacun!

On Comet! On Cupid!" What pills was he takin'?

While controllers were sittin', and scratchin' their head,

They phoned to my office, and I heard it with dread,

The message they left was both urgent and dour:

"When Santa pulls in, have him please call the tower."

He landed like silk, with the sled runners sparking,

Then I heard "Left at Charlie," and "Taxi to parking."

He slowed to a taxi, turned off of three-oh

And stopped on the ramp with a "Ho, ho-ho-ho..."

He stepped out of the sleigh, but before he could talk,

I ran out to meet him with my best set of chocks.

His red helmet and goggles were covered with frost

And his beard was all blackened from Reindeer exhaust.

His breath smelled like peppermint, gone slightly stale,

And he puffed on a pipe, but he didn't inhale.

His cheeks were all rosy and jiggled like jelly,

His boots were as black as a cropduster's belly.

He was chubby and plump, in his suit of bright red,

And he asked me to "fill it, with hundred low-lead."

He came dashing in from the snow-covered pump,

I knew he was anxious for drainin' the sump.

I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,

And I filled up the sleigh, but I spilled like a jerk.

He came out of the restroom, and sighed in relief,

Then he picked up a phone for a Flight Service brief.

And I thought as he silently scribed in his log,

These reindeer could land in an eighth-mile fog.

He completed his pre-flight, from the front to the rear,

Then he put on his headset, and I heard him yell, "Clear!"

And laying a finger on his push-to-talk,

He called up the tower for clearance and squawk.

"Take taxiway Charlie, the southbound direction,

Turn right three-two-zero at pilot's discretion"

He sped down the runway, the best of the best,

"Your traffic's a Grumman, inbound from the west."

Then I heard him proclaim, as he climbed thru the night,

"Merry Christmas to all! I have traffic in sight."


You Might Be An Aircraft Mechanic If...

Submitted By Bob Oberst

You've ever slept on the concrete under a wing.

You've ever said "Oh yes sir, its supposed to look like that"

You know what JP4 or 145 octane tastes like.

You've ever used a black grease pencil to fix an overworked tire.

You have a better bench-stock in the pockets of your coveralls then the supply system.

You've ever used a piece of safety wire as a toothpick.

You've ever been told to go get "some prop wash and a yard of flightline."

You've ever worked a 14 hour shift on a aircraft that isn't flying the next day.

You can sleep anywhere, anytime, but as soon as the engines shut down you are wide awake.

You've ever stood on wheel chocks to keep your feet dry.

Used dikes to trim fingernails.

Wiped leaks immediately prior to crew show.

Wondered where they keep finding the idiots that keep making up stupid rules.

You've ever had to defuel an aircraft an hour after refueling it.

You've used a wheel chock as a hammer.

You know more about your coworkers than your own family.

You ever wished the pilot would say "Great Airplane".

You've ever wondered why it takes a college degree to break an airplane but only a high school diploma to fix one.

You have used a wooden chock as a pillow while sleeping on a pushback tug.

You have scuba dived a lav tank to remove everything under the sun.

You have had a pilot ask you why the valve stems on all the tires are not the same size.

You have had a steering bypass pin fall out during a blinding snowstorm while in a near red-line turn.....BOOM!!!

You have had a starter hang while performing a manual start on a RC-130!!!!

You just screwed up something really expensive.....D'OH!!!!

You have seen the "northern lights" inside the cabin while being shocked by a ballast (200v).

You have had fire lick the back of your neck after getting that inop APU FINALLY started (tub removed).

You have told someone that you are an aircraft mechanic only to have them say, "But not on the engines...right?"

You have been blamed by management for looking where you were NOT SUPPOSED TO BE LOOKING.

You have wanted to put your foot up a pilot's butt on many occasions.

You have wished that you had chosen a different career.




Sports Illustrated

Submitted By Tom Hegre


Below is an article written by Rick Reilly of Sports Illustrated. He details his experiences when given the opportunity to fly in a F-14 Tomcat. If you aren't laughing out loud by the time you get to "Milk Duds," your sense of humor is broken.

"Now this message is for America's most famous athletes:

Someday you may be invited to fly in the back-seat of one of your country's most powerful fighter jets. Many of you already have ...John Elway, John Stockton, Tiger Woods to name a few. If you get this opportunity, let me urge you, with the greatest sincerity...

Move to Guam. Change your name. Fake your own death! Whatever you do ... Do Not Go!!!

I know. The U.S. Navy invited me to try it. I was thrilled. I was pumped. I was toast! I should've known when they told me my pilot would be Chip (Biff) King of Fighter Squadron 213 at Naval Air Station Oceana in Virginia Beach.

Whatever you're thinking a Top Gun named Chip (Biff) King looks like, triple it. He's about six-foot, tan, ice-blue eyes, wavy surfer hair, finger-crippling handshake -- the kind of man who wrestles dyspeptic alligators in his leisure time. If you see this man, run the other way. Fast.

Biff King was born to fly. His father, Jack King, was for years the voice of NASA missions. ("T-minus 15 seconds and counting ..." Remember?) Chip would charge neighborhood kids a quarter each to hear his dad. Jack would wake up from naps surrounded by nine-year-olds waiting for him to say, "We have a liftoff."

Biff was to fly me in an F-14D Tomcat, a ridiculously powerful $60 million weapon with nearly as much thrust as weight, not unlike Colin Montgomerie. I was worried about getting airsick, so the night before the flight I asked Biff if there was something I should eat the next morning.

"Bananas," he said.

"For the potassium?" I asked.

"No," Biff said, "because they taste about the same coming up as they do going down."

The next morning, out on the tarmac, I had on my flight suit with my name sewn over the left breast. (No call sign -- like Crash or Sticky or Leadfoot ... but, still, very cool.) I carried my helmet in the crook of my arm, as Biff had instructed. If ever in my life I had a chance to nail Nicole Kidman, this was it.

A fighter pilot named Psycho gave me a safety briefing and then fastened me into my ejection seat, which, when employed, would "egress" me out of the plane at such a velocity that I would be immediately knocked unconscious.

Just as I was thinking about aborting the flight, the canopy closed over me, and Biff gave the ground crew a thumbs-up. In minutes we were firing nose up at 600 mph. We leveled out and then canopy-rolled over another F-14.

Those 20 minutes were the rush of my life. Unfortunately, the ride lasted 80. It was like being on the roller coaster at Six Flags Over Hell. Only without rails. We did barrel rolls, sap rolls, loops, yanks and banks. We dived, rose and dived again, sometimes with a vertical velocity of 10,000 feet per minute. We chased another F-14, and it chased us.

We broke the speed of sound. Sea was sky and sky was sea. Flying at 200 feet we did 90-degree turns at 550 mph, creating a G force of 6.5, which is to say I felt as if 6.5 times my body weight was smashing against me, thereby approximating life as Mrs. Colin Montgomerie.

And I egressed the bananas. I egressed the pizza from the night before. And the lunch before that. I egressed a box of Milk Duds from the sixth grade. I made Linda Blair look polite. Because of the G's, I was egressing stuff that did not even want to be egressed. I went through not one airsick bag, but two.

Biff said I passed out. Twice. I was coated in sweat. At one point, as we were coming in upside down in a banked curve on a mock bombing target and the G's were flattening me like a tortilla and I was in and out of consciousness, I realized I was the first person in history to throw down.

I used to know cool. Cool was Elway throwing a touchdown pass, or Norman making a five-iron bite. But now I really know cool. Cool is guys like Biff, men with cast-iron stomachs and freon nerves. I wouldn't go up there again for Derek Jeter's black book, but I'm glad Biff does every day, and for less a year than a rookie reliever makes in a home stand.

A week later, when the spins finally stopped, Biff called. He said he and the fighters had the perfect call sign for me. Said he'd send it on a patch for my flight suit.

What is it? I asked.

"Two Bags."




INSTRUMENT FLYING



Most people wish to fly on the old gauges at one time or another but are prevented by the high cost of the instruments necessary for this form of flight. The following is a more or less known and extremely simple method which may be used by all.

Place a live cat on the cockpit floor, because a cat always remains upright, he or she can be used in lieu of a needle and ball instrument. Merely watch to see which way he leans to determine if a wing is low and if so, which one. This will enable you to your aircraft level in route with complete accuracy and confidence.

A duck is used for final instrument approach and landing, because of the fact that any sensible old duck will refuse to fly under instrument conditions, it is only necessary to hurl your duck out of the cockpit window and follow her to the ground.

There are some limitations on the cat and duck method, but by rigidly adhering to the following check list a degree of success will be achieved which will not only startle you, but will astonish your passengers as well, and may have an occasional tower operator with an open mouth.

** Get a wide-awake cat, most cats do not want to stand up all the time, so it may be necessary to carry a fierce dog along to keep the cat at attention.

** Make sure your cat is clean, dirty cats will spend all the time washing. Trying to follow a washing cat usually results in a slow roll followed by an inverted spin. You will see that this is most unprofessional.

** Old cats are the best, young cats have nine lives, but an old used up cat with only one life left has just as much to loose and will be more dependable.

** Avoid stray cats. Try to get one with good character because you may want to spend time with her.

** Beware of cowardly ducks, if the duck discovers that you are using the cat to stay upright, she will refuse to leave the airplane without the cat. Ducks are no better on instruments than you are.

** Get a duck with good eyes. Near sighted ducks sometimes fail to recognize that they are on the old gauges and will go flogging into the nearest hill. Very near sighted ducks will not realize that they have been thrown out and will descend to the ground in a sitting position. This is a most difficult maneuver to follow in an airplane.

** Choose your duck carefully, it is easy to confuse ducks with geese. Many large birds look alike. While they are very competent instrument flyers, geese seldom want to go in the same direction that you do. If your duck seems to be taking a heading to Ireland or Sweden, you may be safe in assuming that someone has given you a goose.




Operation Iraqi Freedom

Submitted By Jim Kinter Jr.


Elmer Fudd

Click Thumbnail For Larger Image




Easy Life
Submitted by Bob Oberst


Dear Ma and Pa,

Am well. Hope you are too. Tell brothers Walt and Elmer the Marine Corps beats working for old man Minch by a mile. Tell them to join up quick before maybe all of the places are filled.

I was restless at first because you got to stay in bed till nearly 6 a.m., but am getting so I like to sleep late. Tell Walt and Elmer all you do before breakfast is smooth your cot and shine some things. No hogs to slop, feed to pitch, mash to mix, wood to split, fire to lay. Practically nothing.

Men got to shave but it is not so bad, they git warm water.

Breakfast is strong on trimmings. Like fruit juice, cereal, eggs, bacon, etc..., but kind of weak on chops, potatoes, ham, steak, fried eggplant, pie, and other regular food. But tell Walt and Elmer you can always sit between two city boys that live on coffee.

Their food plus yours holds you till noon, when you get fed again. It's no wonder these city boys can't walk much. We go on "route" marches, which the Platoon Sergeant says are long walks to harden us. If he thinks so, it is not my place to tell him different. A "route march" is about as far as to our mailbox at home. Then the city guys gets sore feet and we all ride back in trucks. The country is nice, but awful flat. The Sergeant is like a schoolteacher. He nags some. The Capt. is like the school board. Majors and Colonels just ride around and frown. They don't bother you none.

This next will kill Walt and Elmer with laughing. I keep getting medals for shooting. I don't know why. The bulls-eye is near as big as a chipmunk and don't move. And it ain't shooting at you, like the Higgett boys at home.

All you got to do is lie there all comfortable and hit it. You don't even load your own cartridges. They come in boxes. Be sure to tell Walt and Elmer to hurry and join before other fellers get onto this setup and come stampeding in.


Your loving daughter,
Gail



Setting The Pace


The drill sergeant making his morning announcements to a group of newcomers in a training camp, stated: "Today, gentlemen, I have some good news and some bad news. First, the good. Private Peters will be setting the pace on our morning run.' With this the platoon was overjoyed, as Private Peters was overweight and terribly slow. But then the drill sergeant finished his statement: "Now for the bad news. Private Peters will be driving a truck."

Night Before Christmas

Sent in by Bob Oberst


'Twas the night before Christmas, and out on the ramp,
Not an airplane was stirring, not even a Champ.
The aircraft were fastened to tiedowns with care,
In hopes that come morning, they all would be there.
The fuel trucks were nestled, all snug in their spots,
With gusts from 240 at 39 knots.
I slumped at the fuel desk, now finally caught up,
And settled down comfortably, resting my butt.
When the radio lit up with noise and with chatter,
I turned up the scanner to see what was the matter.
A voice clearly heard over static and snow,
Called for clearance to land at the airport below.
He barked his transmission so lively and quick,
I'd have sworn that the call sign he used was "St. Nick".
I ran to the panel to turn up the lights,
The better to welcome this magical flight.
He called his position, no room for denial,
"St. Nicholas One, turnin' left onto final."
And what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Rutan-built sleigh, with eight Rotax Reindeer!
With vectors to final, down the glideslope he came,
As he passed all fixes, he called them by name:
"Now Ringo! Now Tolga! Now Trini and Bacun!
On Comet! On Cupid!" What pills was he takin'?
While controllers were sittin', and scratchin' their head,
They phoned to my office, and I heard it with dread,
The message they left was both urgent and dour:
"When Santa pulls in, have him please call the tower."
He landed like silk, with the sled runners sparking,
Then I heard "Left at Charlie," and "Taxi to parking."
He slowed to a taxi, turned off of 30
And stopped on the ramp with a "Ho, ho-ho-ho..."
He stepped out of the sleigh, but before he could talk,
I ran out to meet him with my best set of chocks.
His red helmet and goggles were covered with frost
And his beard was all blackened from Reindeer exhaust.
His breath smelled like peppermint, gone slightly stale,
And he puffed on a pipe, but he didn't inhale.
His cheeks were all rosy and jiggled like jelly,
His boots were as black as a cropduster's belly.
He was chubby and plump, in his suit of bright red,
And he asked me to "fill it, with 100 low-lead."
He came dashing in from the snow-covered pump,
I knew he was anxious for drainin' the sump.
I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,
And I filled up the sleigh, but I spilled like a jerk.
He came out of the restroom, and sighed in relief,
Then he picked up a phone for a Flight Service brief.
And I thought as he silently scribed in his log,
These reindeer could land in an eighth-mile fog.
He completed his pre-flight, from the front to the rear,
Then he put on his headset, and I heard him yell, "Clear!"
And laying a finger on his push-to-talk,
He called up the tower for clearance and squawk.
"Take taxiway Charlie, the southbound direction,
Turn right 320 at pilot's discretion"
He sped down the runway, the best of the best,
"Your traffic's a Grumman, inbound from the west."
Then I heard him proclaim, as he climbed thru the night,
"Merry Christmas to all! I have traffic in sight."

Oaths Of Enlistment

Sent in by Bob Oberst



 All persons, upon entering Military Service and upon reenlistment, are required to take the Oath of Enlistment. At one time, the Oath of Enlistment was the same for all services. Due to changes in both society and the differing Military Branches, the Oath has undergone marked change and has been specifically tailored to each branch of the Military and their specific function. Here are the latest versions of the Oath of Enlistment as recently released by the Joint Chiefs of Staff:

US AIR FORCE OATH OF ENLISTMENT


 "I, (State your name), swear to sign away 4 years of my life to the UNITED STATES AIR FORCE because I know I couldn't hack it in the Army, because the Marines frighten me, and because I am afraid of water over waist-deep. I swear to sit behind a desk. I also swear not to do any form of realexercise, but promise to defend our bike-riding test as a valid form of exercise. I promise! to walk around calling everyone by their first name because I find it amusing to annoy the other services.
  I will have a better quality of life than those around me and will, at all times, be sure to make them aware of that fact. After completion of "Basic Training", I will be a lean, mean, donut-eating, Lazy-Boy sitting, civilian-wearing-blue-clothes, Chair-borne Ranger. I will believe I am superior to all others and will make an effort to clean the knife before stabbing the next person in the back. I will annoy those around me, and will go home early every day. So Help Me God!"
  ____________________
  Signature
 ____________________
  Date

US ARMY OATH OF ENLISTMENT


  "I, Rambo, swear to sign away 4 years of my mediocre life to the UNITED STATES ARMY because I couldn't score high enough on the ASVAB to get into the Air Force, I'm not tough enough for the Marines, and the Navy won't take me because I can't swim. I will wear camouflage every day and tuck my trousers into my boots because I can't figure out how to use blousing straps. I promise to wear my uniform 24 hours a day even when I have a date.
  I will continue to tell myself that I am a fierce killing machine because my Drill Sergeant told me I am, despite the fact that the only action I will see is a court-martial for sexual harassment. I acknowledge the fact that I will make E-8 in my first year of service, and vow to maintain that it is because I scored perfect on my PT test.
  After completion of my Sexual.....er.....I mean "Basic Training," I will attend a different Army school every other month and return knowing less than I did when I left. On my first trip home after Boot Camp, I will walk around like I am cool and propose to my 9th grade sweetheart. I will make my wife stay home because if I let her out she might leave me for a better-looking Air Force guy. Should she leave me twelve times, I will continue to take her back. While at work! I will maintain a look of knowledge while getting absolutely nothing accomplished. I will arrive to work every day at 1000 hrs because of morning PT and leave everyday at 1300 to report back to "COMPANY."
  I understand that I will undergo no training whatsoever that will help me get a job upon separation, and will end up working construction with my friends from high school. I will brag to everyone about the Army giving me$30,000 for college, but will be unable to use it because I can't pass a placement exam. So Help Me God!"
_____________________
  Signature
  _____________________
  Date

US NAVY OATH OF ENLISTMENT


  "I, Top Gun, in lieu of going to prison, swear to sign away 4 years of my life to the UNITED STATES NAVY, because I want to hang out with Marines without actually having to BE one of them, because I thought the Air Force was too "corporate," because I didn't want to actually live in dirt like the Army, and because I thought, "Hey, I like to swim...why not?"
  I promise to wear clothes that went out of style in 1976 and to have my name stenciled on the butt of every pair of pants I own. I understand that I will be mistaken for the Good Humor Man during summer, and for Nazi Waffen SS during the winter. I will strive to use a different language than the rest of the English-speaking world, using words like "deck, bulkhead, cover, geedunk, scuttlebutt, scuttle and head," when I really mean "floor, wall, hat, candy, water fountain, hole in wall and toilet."
  I will take great pride in the fact that all Navy acronyms, rank, and insignia, and everything else for that matter, are completely different from the other services and make absolutely no sense whatsoever.
  I will muster, whatever that is, at 0700 every morning unless I am buddy-buddy with the Chief, in which case I will show up around 0930. I vow to hone my coffee cup-handling skills to the point that I can stand up in a kayak being tossed around in a typhoon, and still not spill a drop. I consent to being promoted and subsequently busted at least twice per fiscal year. I realize that, once selected for Chief, I am required to submit myself to the sick, and quite possibly illegal, whims of my newfound "colleagues." So Help Me Neptune!"
______________________
  Signature
  ______________________
  Date

US MARINE CORPS OATH OF ENLISTMENT


  "I, (pick a name the police won't recognize), swear..uhhhh....high-and-tight.... grunt... cammies....kill....fix bayonets....charge....slash....dig....burn....blowup....ugh...Air Force women....beer.....sailors wives.....air strikes....yes SIR!....whiskey....liberty call....salute....Ooorah Gunny....grenades...women....OORAH! So Help Me Chesty PULLER!"
  X____________________
  Thumb Print
 
  XX _________________________________
  Teeth Marks
  _____________________
  Date


Evolution Of An Airman

Sent in by Bob Oberst



  E-1 Airman Basic– You’ve been in the Air Force all day and don’t know squat. You’re being taught how to fold your underwear and that two silver bars is a captain not a colonel.
  E-2 Airman – You still don’t know squat, however you are going to technical school, completing CDCs, and doing the most simplest tasks in your new career field.
  E-3 Airman First Class – You’re now upgraded to a 3-level. Although you now know which end of the screwdriver to hold in your hand and that lefty loosey, righty tighty , you’ve still got along way to go before anyone will believe you know what you’re doing
  E-4 Senior Airman – Now you’re a 5-level. You can remove and replace an aircraft component so long as there are no more than 4 bolts, but throw in a few lock washers or some safety wire and you’re looking for help.
  E-5 Staff Sergeant – After completing more CDCs, you’re upgraded to a 7-level. Now that you have a rocker, you think you should have more responsibility as a leader of men. The shop chief agrees, so he names you as a vehicle crew chief.
  E-6 Technical Sergeant – You’ve been in the Air Force about 10 years and feel that the Air Force could not possible get along without you. Lower ranking airmen look to you for expertise in fixing the more difficult problems. You now have one hell of a chip on your shoulder and feel that you are God’s gift to the Air Force.
  E-7 Master Sergeant – You made it to the top three. And feel that since you made it this far you’re going to take on the world and make Chief. You complete the Senior NCO Academy by correspondence. You’re now given more responsibility and are leading a shift, or a duty section. You seldom do more than write performance reports, or decide who works the grave shift.
  E-8 Senior Master Sergeant – You attend the in-residence Senior NCO Academy, and will never touch a tool box again through the rest of your Air Force career. Lower ranking airmen know better than to ask you about difficult tasks in the career field, because they know you forgot most of it by now. They realize that you are only concerned about keeping your nose clean, getting attention for that endorsement, and making Chief.
  E-9 Chief Master Sergeant – You’ve made it to where very few men in the Air Force do. You are a Chief. It’s been between 5 and 10 years since you’ve carried a toolbox and by now you’ve forgotten the names of most of the tools. Your job now is simply to be present, listen to the airmen’s concerns, act like you actually do give a shit, and delegate. You reach your 30-year mark and are refused the 3-year extension beyond High Year of Tenure. You have a retirement ceremony, listen to the complements that people had to dream up about you and drive out the gate. The Air Force returns you to society the same way they got you. You once again don’t know squat.


Subject: More Proof

Sent in by Bob Oberst


A Soldier, a Sailor, an Airman, and a Marine all died and went to Heaven.
There they met Saint Peter and decided that only he could be the ultimate source of truth and honesty. So, the four servicemen asked him, "Saint Peter, which branch of the United States Armed Forces is the best?"
Saint Peter replied, "I can't answer that. However, I will ask God what He thinks the next time I see Him. Meanwhile, thank you for your service on Earth and welcome to Heaven."
Some time later, the four Servicemen saw Saint Peter and remind him of the question they had asked when first entering Heaven. They asked Saint Peter if he was able to find the answer.
Suddenly, a sparkling white dove landed on Saint Peter's shoulder. In the dove's beak was a note glistening with gold dust. Saint Peter said to the four Servicemen, "Your answer from the Boss. Let's see what He says." Saint Peter opened the note, trumpets blared, gold dust drifted into the air, harps played crescendos, and Saint Peter began to read the note aloud.


MEMORANDUM FROM THE DESK OF THE ALMIGHTY ONE


TO: Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, and Marines


SUBJECT: WHICH MILITARY SERVICE IS BEST


Gentlemen, all branches of the United States Armed Forces are honorable and noble. Each serves America well and with distinction. Being a Serviceman in the United States Military represents a special calling warranting special respect, tribute and dedication. Be proud of that.

Sincerely,

God

US Air Force (Ret)




Hot Shot Pilot

A young and foolish hot-shot pilot wanted to sound cool and show who was boss on the aviation radio frequencies. So, this was his first time approaching an airfield during the nighttime. Instead of making any official landing requests to the tower, he said.... "Guess who?" The tower controller switched the field lights off and replied..... "Guess where!"




Bangety Bang Bang

Seems there was a young soldier, who, just before battle, told his sergeant that he didn`t have a rifle.

"That`s no problem, son," said the sergeant. "Here, take this broom. Just point it at the enemy, and go `Bangety Bang Bang`."

"But what about a bayonet, Sarge?" asked the young and gullible recruit.

The sergeant pulls a piece of straw from the end of the broom, and attaches it to the handle end. "Here, use this... just go, `Stabity Stab Stab`."

The recruit ends up alone on the battlefield, holding just his broom.

Suddenly, an enemy soldier charges at him. The recruit points the broom. "Bangety Bang Bang!" The enemy falls dead.

More enemy appear. The recruit, amazed at his good luck, goes "Bangety Bang Bang! Stabity Stab Stab!" He mows down the enemy by the dozens.

Finally, the battlefield is clear, except for one enemy soldier walking slowly toward him.

"Bangety Bang Bang! shouts the recruit. The enemy keeps coming.

"Bangety Bang Bang!" repeats the recruit, to no avail. He gets desperate.

"Bangety Bang Bang! Stabity Stab Stab!" It`s no use.

The enemy keeps coming. He stomps the recruit into the ground, and says... "Tankety Tank Tank."



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