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Bingo. The Russian hackers may have been targeting Hillary, but she gave them a target in the first place. It wasn't the hack, it was the content of the emails that hurt the campaign.

Paul Ryan when asked if he doubted the intelligence community’s assessment that Russia meddled in the presidential election: "...Russia didn’t tell Hillary Clinton not to go to Wisconsin or Michigan. They didn’t put the server in her basement or put the stuff on Anthony Weiner’s laptop...” He went on to throw a bone to the intelligence community and say how he trusts their assessment and whatnot... Just thought his quote was a direct hit to the quibbling the Clinton campaign has been spewing to explain why it's not her fault she lost.

This chick agrees!

Hey guys, after a little break from Baseops, was checking back in with you all to see what stuff I need to be aware of. Are there issues out there you think I need to know about or concerns, etc? Im not going to engage in debates or complaints about votes I have taken, but was curious if there is anything I need to be aware of. I'm still flying in the guard so I know about many of them, but wanted to see what was up Feel free to PM if youd rather, cant guarantee Ill be on often but Ill take a look occasionally. Hope everyone is doing well.

Not sure really. I'll look at it. Not on armed services committee so haven't been looking. We def need to cut the civilian force and reduce the overhead at the pentagon. More money to destroy stuff and less money for making jobs. Efficient and effective

I disagree. Senators should be accountable to their constituency, just like all other elected officials. States are still given equal weight in the Senate, and the Senators are chosen by the citizens on each state. Even in a Republic, I think layers of separation between a constituency and their representatives create opportunity for misplaced loyalty, entrenched interests, and corruption. Plus, I wouldn't trust my state legislature to choose qualified senators - hell, I don't trust them to do much of anything but bicker and waste my money. I'm no scholar of the 17th amendment so I won't comment on your assessment. But I wouldn't use the dirty word of Presentism to describe my view - more of "living" view with priority still placed on original meaning. The founding fathers were some smart guys and they created something new and comprehensive in the Constitution. But they also acknowledged that they didn't know everything, that they wouldn't get it right on the first try, and that the world was dynamic. One of the greatest and most insightful inclusions in the Constitution is Article 5 - the ability to amend it. It is an arduous process with a high barrier, as it should be. There have been 27 amendments since the Constitution was ratified, including 1 to repeal a previous amendment (Prohibition). I believe that the framers wanted future generations to apply their guiding principles to learn from experience and modify when necessary. The framers themselves learned that the original EC construct wasn't working and in 1804 the 12th amendment was ratified to solve their contemporary problem of deadlocked elections and opposing candidates potentially becoming President and Vice President. Amendments have been fairly regular until recently, when the Constitution has been viewed as some holy document passed down from on high. Originalism is one thing, but exulting the Constitution (and its creators) to religious status is something else. We need to learn from our history and experience, and adapt in a dynamic world using the very tools that the framers gave us - hence the American Experiment. Anyway, I veered off the topic a bit, but this will be my last post about it. To summarize my position : The Constitution is truly remarkable and I will defend it to my death; the framers wanted us to change it based on our experience; the EC could use an amendment to account for the national popular vote. I certainly appreciate the debate. And I bet they have big, goofy, bewildered smiles on their faces as they are dragged out in cuffs.

Same exact TDYs and deployments. If you're comparing the flying, most will agree Dyess is the place to be if you want to fly the Herk the way it's supposed to be flown. Way better airspace, less brass, less queep, more tactically focused. If you're comparing the locations, one is in the middle of nowhere where people either drive to Dallas/Austin on the weekends or push it up at one of the local bars. The other is in the middle of the Outdoorsmen's paradise with hiking, fishing, and other similar shit to keep you busy. Decide what's important to you and choose accordingly.

Had not heard of this, kinda surprised they just don't go to a single multi-role fighter for logistical savings but have at it, there should be some options out there to keep LM on it's toes.

There is a currency for fighter dudes but it doesn't mean much, I hadn't tanked in 5 years and my first time back I was in a single seater with an IP on the wing. They can make it easy.

Just some humorous Saturday night juxtaposition.

Keys to graduating UPT: 1. Have a good work ethic. 2. Don't be a douche. I wouldn't sweat trying to go to IFS or whatever it's called now. I knew guys in UPT who went and guys who didn't (including myself) and I don't think it makes any difference. It'd be a different story if you hadn't flown before at all. Sent from my SM-G920V using Tapatalk

Going back through my old e-mails, I found this gem. Ironically, it was written by a T-38 FAIP bud of mine who would later go on to be an Albino driver. Less than 10 years ago this occured, but it's a throwback to the fighter pilot days of lore. ***************************** Taxpayers beware; this story involves the combustion of tens of thousands of pounds of JP-8 and the consumption of many of your tax dollars in an effort to retrieve one long-dead aviator. Mr. Bones, or Mr. F. Bones, or Frank T. Bones, is the mascot of the 95th Fighter Squadron at Tyndall Air Force Base, Florida (the home of the mighty F-15 Eagle). He has a long and glorious history, most of which I don't know, which started back in WWII when the "Boneheads" (as the 95th FS pilots are called) flew P-38s and generally kicked everyone's butt. He's a full-size plastic skeleton, like you would find in your high school biology classroom, dressed in a flight suit complete with name tag and O-6 rank (that's right--though dead, Mr. Bones has attained the rank of Colonel. Hope for us all.) He usually resides comfortably in his coffin in the Bonehead's squadron bar at Tyndall. Usually. I am proud to say that the 50th FAIPs now have a place in the history of the venerable Mr. Bones. It all started when my squadron commander, Lt Col XXX "Grover" XXX, and my good friend and fellow FAIP XXX "Bob" XXX went cross-country to Mountain Home AFB (that's in Boise, ID) so Grover could attend the retirement ceremony of a friend. Yes, when you're the squadron commander, you can grab a "Seeing-eye Captain" like Bob, take a jet, and travel across the entire country if the mood strikes you. Anyway, Grover, like Mr. Bones, has a long and distinguished history himself, much of it involving the F-15. He found his loyalties torn when, while drinking in the F-15 squadron's bar at Mountain Home (his old unit), he spied Mr. Bones propped nonchalantly in the corner. It seems the F-15 boys from Boise had been on a trip to Tyndall in the spring and had stolen Mr. Bones right from his coffin! Grover's first assignment as a pilot was to the 95th, so being a Bonehead at heart, he decided to stuff Mr. Bones into his T-38's travel pod and wrest him back to lovely Columbus, Mississippi (the Mountain Home Eagle drivers, being both drunk and somewhat dim-witted, were none-the-wiser until it was too late...). On the way back to Columbus, Grover and Bob stopped for the night at Elsworth AFB in South Dakota, just down the road from Sturgis, where a huge Harley rally was underway (apparently it's the biggest Harley rally in the land--who knew?) Since Grover is a Harley driver and Bob had the foresight of toting his video camera along on the trip, the two of them escorted Mr. Bones for several hours through the streets and bars of Sturgis. The resulting 30 debaucherous minutes of video, replete with drunk and sometimes naked biker women, come into play later.... In the meantime, Saw, another good friend and fellow FAIP, had left Columbus to pursue his dreams of becoming a real man and was about half-way through the F-15 syllabus at Tyndall, training with the fine instructors of none other than the 95th FS. Well, word traveled quickly that Grover had acquired Mr. Bones, and since Saw was once a member of the 50th, it fell upon him to get him back to the Boneheads. Saw contacted me to find out what Grover wanted for ransom, and Grover put it into Bob's and my hands. So what did we ask for? RIDES IN THE MIGHTY EAGLE JET, what else? The 30 debaucherous minutes of video were edited down to 20, set to loud music, and sent along with a ransom note (authentically constructed out of magazine clippings, I might add) to the Boneheads. The note demanded "family models" be flown to the land of "pork and catfish," and was signed the "FAIP Mafia," a throwback to days of yore. To my great surprise, Saw called me a few days later with the news that the ransom had been accepted and that four Eagles were on their way up for retrieval. After I got over my disbelief, Bob and I spent two weeks drafting paperwork and assembling agendas for their visit. Grover left everything to us, insisting that we only "make it memorable." To us that meant one thing--lots of booze (yes, there is irony to be found there). Last Thursday, as the four-ship of mighty Eagles was taxiing up to Base Operations at Columbus, Bob and Slaydog and I stood waiting on th ramp with a cooler full of beer. From there we took them to the squadron for a tour, and Ringo (an Eagle pilot) gave an "Eagle Reach" presentation in our auditorium for interested IPs and students. We rolled to Proffitt's Porch around seven, still in our flight suits, and basically took over the whole restaurant. Bob and I had taken Polaroids of Mr. Bones in several unflattering situations, so before everyone got too drunk, we presented the 95th squadron commander (callsign "Gorilla") with a shot of Weed, the pictures, and several vulgar though surprisingly lyrical poems. About one hour and four bottles of whiskey later, the Mississippi woods reverberated with fighter pilot songs, none of which can be repeated here, as my now fairly inebriated co-workers sang at the top of their slurring voices. It was then that I knew that I had done good, though it was a fleeting feeling cause I passed out soon thereafter. And yes, the next morning at eight we managed to brief a three-ship ACM ride (that's Air Combat Maneuvering), and Bob, Slaydog, and I crawled into the back of the Eagle jets and raged for about 45 minutes. 45 minutes of 7+ G's, full afterburner, and a sense that I've made the right decision. When we landed, we all limped out of our jets and were shaking hands when Grover pulled out onto the flightline in his Harley, Mr. Bones riding on the back. We handed him over, a more than fair trade, and watched a little sadly as he was stuffed into an F-15 travel pod and taken back to his coffin at Tyndall.

We sing... a lot.