JeremiahWeed

I think it's good to avoid jumping to ANY conclusions. Since neither the SIB or AIB reports are anywhere near complete, aren't you sort of doing just that? Isn't it possible that the unique mission of the T-clones doesn't really allow the option for a knee-jerk grounding for 30 days while the investigations proceed. Maybe the powers that be are assuming innocence until guilt is proven (as it should be) and allowing the squadron to get their season back on track. While I truly hope you're correct, assuming all is now well simply because they're flying again seems a bit premature, IMO.

Adam, Your military service is something you can be proud of and is far more than many Americans have been willing to offer. However, be straight about it and don’t try to turn it into something it isn’t. I think that might be what’s bugging a few of us as we look at your web site and consider what you posted here. No one likes feeling like they’re being given a line of BS, even if they can’t prove it for certain. You’re also using certain pictures, words and inferences to create an image that’s not completely accurate. You can’t remember what kind of airplane you were on? Really? Is that because you watched airdrops on a C-17 and others on a C-130 because your bud was dual qualified, you did so many they all ran together or you simply can’t tell the difference? Airdrops with the back door open, pallets or maybe troops going out, airplanes on the ramp, generally cool military ops and hardware and you go find a meadow with a rock to sit on for your photo? Can you see why this explanation is a little hard to buy? When we called you on it, you went down the “it was so long ago, I can’t remember all the details” path. At least you’ve got that part of politics figured out. Oh, and the “I’m too busy with the budget deficit to defend the picture I CHOSE to put on my website”. Nice try…Don’t you need to get elected first before you can “sort through the budget deficit”? Right now, you’re trying to get elected – and like it or not, you’re getting some blow back from your website. Speaking of that, here’s some feedback on the web site: You’re not a “Captain” any more. It appears a bit desperate. You separated. If you retired and you really felt like it was important, you could refer to yourself with your former rank and put a USAF (ret.) after it. But…. You didn’t. Lose the wings on your lapel. Those are about as subtle as a Rolls owner wearing his hood ornament on a necklace. There’s a reason you couldn’t find a little, classy set of ABM wings to use as a tie tack or lapel pin and had to use the ones from your mess dress. No one is going to mass produce ABM wing pins because no one wears them. But, wings = pilot and if no one looks close enough or understands what they’re looking at, why spoil the image with those pesky details. Same thing with the flight suit/helmet shot. Flight suit + helmet equals another image you’re trying to imply that’s not reality. You wore a flight suit on duty. If a picture of you in that uniform gets you a little mileage with the voting public, great. Add in the helmet (which you never wore on duty) and you’re flirting with creating a false image, hoping the general public will take it on face value. The fact that you didn’t own a camera or get any accurate pictures of yourself during your military service doesn’t make it okay to post one that clearly attempts to imply duties you didn’t have.

You got scolded over on APC for a similar post, so I guess I'll do it here. You got paid to get off active duty early, right? There were a few strings attached to those dollars, but you decided those strings were better for you than staying on active duty and the USAF was happy to oblige. You also knew all the IRR responsibilities and possibilities for future service when you took that money and signed all the paperwork detailing the specifics. Now you have some minor responsibilities to meet and you come on here bitching about losing a little airline pay. YGBSM!! Good grief, it's in May. Bid around it if you can. Trip trade to deconflict or mil drop if you have to. Pick up an extra trip between now and then if you need the coin that badly. Bottom line - suck it up, dude. Plenty of us here mil dropped airline trips worth thousands for drill weekends worth hundreds month after month, for years. Others got activated for extended periods, left their airline and took a serious monetary hit for 6 months. They probably could have come on here and gotten some actual sympathy but they didn't bother. They sacked up and did what they committed to do. Your pu$$y hurts over one IRR muster two months from now? You should be able to figure out how to make that happen with that much warning - don't ya think? You want to get some info about what to expect that day or some "been there" guidance from the bros - that's what we're here for - ask away. Coming on here and whining about losing some money is some real SNAP BS. I hope you're embarrassed - because you should be. Rant over.

https://www.citizenwatch.com/en-us/watches/watch-detail/?model=JY0000-53E I have the watch in the link above and it's the perfect aviation watch, IMO. If you're looking for something to pass on to your kids, wear an aviation icon on your wrist or show off at a cocktail party, then this might not be it. If you want a reasonably priced, good-looking, functional and accurate aviation tool, I highly recommend this watch. It keeps perfect (and I do mean perfect time). Our aircraft clock displays GPS time and it always matches my watch within a second. It updates every night off a radio signal in the US, Japan or Germany, depending on location. Auto update for daylight savings time/standard time in the spring and fall. World-wide time zone selection allows easy call-up of local time wherever you happen to land. Quick two step process allows hands to display any time zone. Zulu is always displayed on dedicated hands or you can have it in the digital window. It has luminous hands and a button activated light that illuminates the digital window and time zone. Eco-drive means no battery replacement - ever. List price is over $600 but it is usually available on-line for somewhere in the mid-300's.

That little "tit" of Turkish territory sticking down into Syria that they violated is barely 3 NM across at it's widest point. Do you really think it would be that difficult to accidentally fly over such a small piece of territory, especially if you're busy with other mission related duties?

I don't disagree. The Russians have chosen to attempt to prop up the existing Syrian government by bombing the rebel Syrian forces (the guy in the jeans, by my guess). That choice also probably means Russia is a de facto supporter of ISIS. By doing that, they've put themselves at odds with the rebels for certain, as well as the rest of NATO and the civilized world battling ISIS. While this situation may fall under the "enemy of my enemy, etc, etc." umbrella, to imply that the Syrian rebels attacking at target of opportunity from the forces that have been bombing them is somehow a coordinated effort with NATO, et al is a pretty big stretch in my opinion.

?? "Also........They got a helo"?? That statement makes it sound like you're saying the guy in the blue jeans setting up the missile and the Air Force of the sovereign nation of Turkey are one and the same.

I've heard that before but it's interesting to revisit it again. The thing that blows my mind (from an F-15C perspective) is the guy doing most of the talking is the backseater(RIO) in the lead aircraft. Thank goodness for single seat fighters. A few observations: "AB" (whoever that is, puts them on weapons hold). The backseater then directs a series of 30 degree offsets to assess the bogies intentions. Bogey heading remains steady at 330-340 through the the intercept. First he goes left and then goes back right across their nose. Any of us who have done any intercepts know how little the geometry of the intercept is going to change out at 50-60 miles after the initial offset of 30 degrees. If he stayed left, it might have worked. Going back right just heated the intercept back up and put the F-14s back on the bogey's nose. Any "jinking back into me" by the bogies that was perceived by the lead RIO was really just a result of the intercept geometry he created and a tendency of the F-14 radar to display erratic heading information on track-while-scan targets under ownship maneuvering. All they did was basically zig-zag across the MiG's noses while they drove on a steady north-northwesterly heading. The lead pilot tries to call AB when they arm hot since they are still under weapons hold. "Uh, wait a minute..... AB from 207". Shortly after that, the lead RIO takes the first AIM-7 shot (can you imagine having weapons coming off your jet without your consent as PIC?). The pilot had no idea the shot was coming until it left the jet, hence his "Aw Jesus" exclamation. Talk about the tail wagging the dog. First AIM-7 doesn't guide due to switch error (I think it was an F model that wasn't tuned properly). They have to follow up with another at close range pre-merge. The second F-14 pilot, who gets the AIM-9 kill, can't get a tone because..... wait for it.... He doesn't have AIM-9 selected. So, big surprise, no tone. When he finally does get the weapon he wants to shoot selected, his 9L works like a charm. Score two for the good guys, but what a cluster. They're lucky the political climate lent itself to bitch slapping Gaddafi at every opportunity.

Didn't really seem like he got enough vertical to do what he attempted, especially in a 50's vintage jet. Didn't we use ~10k for an over-the-top maneuver in the T-38?

No spectators involved. Crashed on a nearby motorway and it appears all fatalities were simply using the road - not attending the airshow.

I remembered another one – I went through my log book and realized I totally brain dumped this one. It’s both a shit and puke story, so it’s a twofer. A good deal materializes in an otherwise routine month teaching fledgling Eagle drivers the ropes while stationed at Tyndall. IP cross-country!! Tyndall is having its annual open house/air show over the upcoming weekend. A 4-ship is needed to do a fly-by Sunday morning to kick off the day. Since the field will be closed over the weekend, the 4-ship needs to be elsewhere until needed that Sunday morning. In addition, Randolph AFB needs a flyby Friday afternoon. Tyndall closes Friday for show prep so we have to bug out Thursday afternoon. Our ONLY marching orders: Do the Randolph flyby Friday and make a 1200L TOT for the flyby at Tyndall on Sunday. Easy. The plan: 5-ship (1 air spare for Sunday). 4 – C-models and a D-model. Personal shotguns and golf clubs loaded in bay-5 (behind C-model seats). The jets are clean since we’re in the BFM phase and we decide to stay in the general vicinity of the Southeastern US. We’ll hit Ellington field Thursday night and spend some time on one of the largest sporting clay ranges in the country Friday morning. PM departure to hit the Randolph flyby and spend Friday night at the Auger Inn. Saturday morning on either the Randolph golf course or skeet range (maybe both). Sat PM departure to NAS New Orleans (conveniently close for Sunday flyby). Sunday morning 1100L takeoff for 1200 TOT continuing on to Patrick AFB for Sunday PM bikini contest on the beach. Monday RTB. The somewhat short notice on the whole affair leaves many of the bros without a kitchen pass that weekend and we were unable to fill the pit of the family model. After hearing this, our young, single intel officer (we’ll call him Fred) decides he wants to come along and see what’s so fun about this whole cross-country thing. Since D-models are in high demand at the FTU, Fred’s opportunities to get some time in the pit were few and far between. Even though he does have a few sorties under his belt and he’s never actually barfed in flight to that point, he’s a little concerned about airsickness. So, he grabs a bunch of barf bags, just in case. We load up and depart during the second go Thursday afternoon. We do a little VFR tour of southern Texas and arrive at Ellington that evening. Pacing ourselves that night, we grab some Tex-Mex with plenty of beans and of course several drinks. We spend much of the time advising Fred, who (according to him) is on his ”first real TDY”, to throttle back a bit. It’s going to be a long weekend. The next morning, we spend several hours blasting the shit out of helpless clay pigeons and depart that afternoon for Randolph. Since we don’t have far to go, it is decided that we will drop into Wichita Falls and beat up the pattern on the way to Randolph. The IP leading us is a euro-NATO alumni and thinks the studs will appreciate it. We scoff but get overruled. In order to ensure we have the gas to do the flyby, we skyhook at FL450 up to Sheppard. It’s been a while since his altitude chamber and according to 5-Alpha, Bravo’s digestive system appears to be incompatible with cabin altitudes in the range of FL180. Being a newbie to the single-seat flying world, Fred has done a poor job of shit management and is paying for that oversight dearly. A rapid descent to Sheppard pattern altitude in the Texas summer heat doesn’t help matters. Once the pattern has been suitably beaten there, we climb back up to observe the curvature of the earth on our way to Randolph. At this point, Fred looks and (according to 5A) smells like a giant turd in a flight suit. We get the report that Fred has shat himself over the aux-radio along with a request from Five to “push it up”. The airshow gods must have had sympathy for Fred, because when we arrive ready to do our best T-clone impression for the crowd it’s about 300-1 and the show is cancelled. ILS to a full-stop and when we shut down on the TA ramp, Fred is in full sprint to the Base ops bathroom before the turbines have stopped spinning. As it turns out, it was a minor shit-fart separator failure as opposed to a full up evac. 5-Alpha pulls me aside in base ops and offers me twenty bucks to take the D-model the next day. Fred comes out of the head trailing “eau de-farm animal” and I graciously decline. So, the night is looking up, Fred promises to show up at the club not smelling like a 2-year old and we are beer in hand at the Auger by 1900. Fred is stoked. He’s wearing a (clean) bag in the Auger, two vomit-free sorties under his belt and the whiskey is flowing. Probably as a result of a few hours at altitude and his extreme exuberance over the reality of Friday night in the fast-jet business, Fred overshoots the OBL. We manage to pour him into his Q-room later and decide to let him sleep in while we blast more clay targets the next morning and play a quick 9 before we leave. Fred rallies by departure time but is definitely looking a little rough while we file in base ops. He curls up on one of the couches in a fetal ball and might have had his thumb in his mouth when we woke him up to step. The afternoon flight to New Orleans is very gentlemanly and requires no trips to the ionosphere which is greatly appreciated by Fred. 5-alpha even let him fly for a while and he tried his hand at route formation. Fred would take the jet and immediately start climbing or descending out of formation. The hilarious part was, each time he starts flying, he asks, “Hey, where are those guys going?” The cumulative effects of the weekend so far were starting to have an effect on him, however. He was looking a little green when we landed, but he’s still 0 for 3 on barf bag usage. The marine duty driver gets us to our hotel one block off Bourbon Street and promises he will be there in the morning to pick us up at 0945L for our 1100L takeoff. Keeping in mind, the only reason we are out on this boondoggle is to do the Sunday flyby, we haven’t had to takeoff before noon since we left home station AND we’re in New Orleans on Saturday night, we are all aware of the potential for failure. Everyone promised to set their room alarm clocks while we were sober before we left the hotel that night. We quickly forget our concerns and hit the Big Easy. Fred is a N’awlins virgin and quickly decides he really, really likes hurricanes. Two hours and 6 hurricanes later, Fred is a blithering idiot and his lips look like he’s either a local cross-dresser or a 5 year-old who has OD’d on watermelon jolly ranchers. Since we went with the liquid dinner option, eventually some of the bros get the muchies and decide some craw-dads are in order. The place we went first wouldn’t let Fred in because he was too blotto. Someone had given him some kind of blue drink at the last bar that I’m pretty sure was pure grain alcohol. Think about that – how drunk does someone have to be to get refused service………IN NEW ORLEANS!! After some food, the drinking continued (at least by those who could still walk on their own). Since I wouldn’t trade jets with Five, he directed me to split North and get Fred back to the hotel since we were all rapidly losing any ability to care for anyone but ourselves. Fred was fully established in the “I love you man” phase of drunkenness by this point. By the time we were getting close to the hotel, he had transitioned to the “Crank up the Enola Gay” phase and was ready to pick a fight with anyone who would listen. We stopped twice so he could hurl. The first time, he ejected what looked to me like three whole craw-dads. I started laughing at him because they didn’t look like they had even been chewed. At least the shells were gone. I can also report that even when mixed with stomach acid, primary colors work. The combination of red hurricanes and whatever the blue death drink was did, in fact, make purple. I got him to his room and even remember to keep his room key since it was almost guaranteed he would need to be revived before departure. We got back to the hotel at some point and that’s all I have to say about that. Miraculously, the next morning, all five pilots were conscious and ready in the lobby at pickup time. Fred was back in the fetal position on the lobby couch after being pulled out of bed still in his clothes. 0945L came and went with no sign of the duty driver. Phone calls began shortly thereafter to attempt to find out where our ride was. We had given ourselves a 15 minute buffer, so no need to panic yet. However, as the minutes ticked by, we were watching our potential failure at our one and only mission loom on the horizon. We were finally able to determine that our driver had gotten a late start and gotten lost. We bit off on the “he’s 5 minutes out” for 20 minutes like a bunch of hungover idiots….wait, what? Just as we were about to exercise the taxi option, the driver finally showed at 1030, 45 minutes late. On the drive, individual duties were assigned to each guy and those duties were to be accomplished at the speed of light or faster, if possible. One guy would file, two guys were the bag stowing gurus, the other two would pre-flight all the jets and Fred would strap in. We got the driver to attempt a new land speed record and he dropped us by the jets at 1105L. Screeching to a halt in the parking lot, we scattered to our duty locations looking like an indy car pit crew (on Quaaludes). The rest of the ops looked like an Air Defense Alert scramble but slower. The first engine started turning at 1120 and we taxied quickly after that. Tower let us takeoff to the east and as soon as One got on the runway, he lit ‘em and blasted. The next two hadn’t made it to the runway yet, I (as Four) was just passing EOR and Five was leaving the TA ramp. Time now – 1135L. As I crossed the airfield boundary doing 400 knots and accelerating, I got a boresite lock on One. He was on my nose for about 8 miles with 200 knots of opening Vc. I came out of AB to stay sub-sonic and was able to hold about 650 knots in mil power as we slowly climbed. Range to One – 7.5 miles, 25 knots of closure. You do the math. It took me until abeam Eglin to get inside a mile. I'm sure ATC was highly impressed with this 5-ship of idiots staggered out in a 10 mile long string blasting across the Gulf of Mexico. For those unfamiliar with the amazing array of air to ground computer power available in the Eagle, we could have probably done better with a slide rule. TOT calculations were limited to a basic set up. You could get a “time to destination” in the HUD to whatever point was in the steer to INS window. That time was figured using your current ground speed based on the actual conditions at that moment. Destination “B” was usually home base and as I lifted off and began to try to catch One, I selected that and the appropriate mode to give me the data in the HUD. While I was still accelerating, my heart sank and failure appeared imminent as I looked at the time to destination which read 32 minutes. Time now 1137. TOT 1200. Muthaf…..we are so, totally, totally screwed. As I continued to gradually climb and rapidly accelerate to the little known cross-country, gotta make an airshow tech order climb speed of 650 knots, I noticed the time to destination beginning to look better. By the time I stabilized in my race to catch One, it now looked like we might arrive abeam Tyndall with about 2 minutes to spare. Okay, maybe it won’t be real pretty but we’ll fill the square. Halfway to Tyndall and still about 4 miles back from One, we changed freqs in an attempt to contact the Airboss. For the show that day, the Airboss was a squadron pilot named “Hoss”. Now Hoss was a big fella and a little rotund, filling out his flight suit quite well. He looked more like a USAF version of Friar Tuck than an F-15 pilot. He would be positioned in the SOF truck acting as the ground FAC for the fly by. The SOF truck was equipped with the standard one each, UHF radio as expected. After numerous unsuccessful attempts to raise him after getting airborne, we finally got him. We could picture his round, smiling face as we finally heard his jolly, booming voice come across the frequency about the time we were abeam Eglin AFB. 60 miles and 8 minutes to get there. Holy shit, this might just work. “Eagle 11, Airboss… I’ve been trying to call you for 30 minutes”. “Ah, yeah, sorry about that – long story.” “We have a 15 minute rolex, I say again, a 15 minute rolex”. 5 sets of throttles hit the idle stop at about the same time as we attempted to save some of the JP-8 we had been spewing out the back like a fire hose for the last 20 minutes. Lack of closure problem finally solved. We coordinated with approach to hold in one of the MOAs to the west of the field since the flyby was to the east. Five held high as the 4-ship got into fingertip and tried to fly something that looked marginally presentable. As One was making his slide rule calculations and planning his final turn inbound for the run, we got another call from the Airboss with another 10 minute rolex. During this final 10 minutes, we got some additional info from Hoss about the location of the band, the color guard and the guests of honor. We were getting a pretty good running commentary on the situation and it looked like this would be it. Inside of 5 minutes to the new TOT and Hoss gave us an exasperated call indicating another possible delay… a pause and then….”standby”. Reaching the front of the MOA with no further word, One began a turn cold back into the area. All through this turn, he attempted to raise Hoss. “Airboss, Eagle 11” “Airboss, Eagle 11” Rolling out of the turn, pointing away from Tyndall, he was still unable to raise Hoss. “Airboss, Eagle 11”………..Nothing. Suddenly, a new, female, timid, non-Hoss –like voice came over the frequency. “Eagle 11, uh… this is Airman Jones…..The radio in the SOF truck stopped working and he’s running to a different truck……but, the music has started.” So many, many things flashed through my mind in the next few seconds. First was, of course – ah shit! Second was, who is Airman Jones…she sounds kind of hot. Third, was incredulity as I attempted to picture Hoss running….anywhere. The thought of his round, now red face as he huffed, puffed and pounded across the tarmac toward whatever vehicle might have an operable radio was hilarious. Last, was a little more complicated. You know the hero shots on display in the Squadron or Wing buildings with aerial photographs of the unit aircraft in action? Inevitably there is usually one photo taken on initial from the number two aircraft. Number One has just pitched out and is belly up to the camera, 90 degrees of bank about to bend his jet around to inside downwind. So, it’s a face full of aircraft belly a wingspan-ish away. Cool, right? Well, that’s what One looked like the instant after Airman Jones called. The only major, but important difference was Three and I were looking at the top of his jet, not the bottom and it was coming our way fast. So, not cool. He racked his jet up to get us turned around and I think both three and I saw our miserable lives flash before us as we bunted – hard - to keep living an extra few seconds. The rest was pretty anticlimactic. We flew inbound, never heard from Hoss, descended through an undercast and popped out a mile from the ramp. We did the fly by and never even knew our status. No one said shit to us when we got back, so I guess it was okay. We didn’t feel the need to share too much either. We rejoined with Five and started east. Weather from Tydnall to Patrick was total DS so we split into 3 and 2, got separate clearances and flew over there IMC. We had been so focused on the airshow issue, no one had even thought to wonder about Fred. Since I was leading Five now, I had a few brain cells left on life support and began to wonder how he was doing. I looked over at him and he gave me a thumbs up - so I guess, okay. We had a way to go and if Five felt like I did, the last thing he was going to want was 30 minutes in fingertip in the weather, so I cleared him to drag back to radar trail. That decision was critical for Fred. I’m no expert on the workings of the inner ear, but I can say, in Fred’s case, having another aircraft for attitude reference is a good thing. Pulling the power, popping the boards, deceleration, acceleration, all while IMC and making the aircraft for reference go away?….bad…..very, very bad. I’m sure the aftereffects of his first night on Bourbon street as well as the cross-country up to that point had a lot to do with it as well. Fred was not capable of going cold mic and Five cursed me silently from 2 miles back for refusing the D-model as he listened to every retch. If he had live missiles, it’s possible I may not be here writing this now. Considering none of us had eaten anything since the craw-dads the night before, it was kind of amazing there was much available. Especially since Fred had already made a couple of deposits back on Bourbon street. Unlike my negative-G pal in Germany, Fred managed to make do with just one bag. We finally cleared the weather, rejoined and came up initial at Patrick. As we flew in fingertip, he held it up proudly from the back seat as I laughed into my mask. After we landed and we were heading inside, Fred walked by me carrying his craw-dad surprise. I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure the damn thing had a slightly purple tint to it through the bag.

Thanks. Unfortunately, I think I might be Winchester on the good puke stories. Lots of just funny stories, but we all have those. Cheers.

I guess, after some minor success with the first, I’ll try one more. Hopefully I don’t wear out my welcome. Although not aircraft induced, I think it’s still worthy. A minor caveat: I was not actually present when this happened but the guy who told me the story was. He began by saying, “You know, you just can’t make this kind of shit up”……. I agree. Middle weekend of a Red Flag and it’s Friday night at the Nellis O’Club. Our hero has just taken over as the new CC of the Gorillas at Eglin. He was a well-known and highly respected target arm in the community. The bros were extremely happy to have him as the new boss. In order to welcome him and really start things out on the right foot, one of the guys decided to buy his new “Big Toe” a shot of, what else……Weed. So, “Uncle Hulka” (I guess I’ll just go with the “Stripes” reference for lack of something else) and his new subordinate toss back that historic elixir. Using typical fighter pilot logic of “more is always better”, another squadron pilot decides he should be just as welcoming to his new commander as the first guy. More bros take notice and the situation unfolds quickly. At some point between the first shot and say… number 6, it becomes pretty clear that a conspiracy has developed. Whether it was planned from the start or just happened will probably never be known (or admitted). One thing I can say from personal experience is that Uncle Hulka is not the kind of guy to shy away from a challenge. Prior to these events I had the pleasure of flying a few sorties with him during his TX course. Always the warrior. Anyway, back at Nellis…….. So, the boys are tag-teaming shots of Weed and the new guy is up for the challenge. There is enough judgment left in those present to realize having the boss overshoot the OBL (optimum buzz level) by 2045 on Friday night isn’t the best plan. Best to let him go a little while longer. The night continues with crud, more drinking and the standard stupid fighter pilot tricks. The conspiracy continues, however, and it seems that barely 30 minutes can pass before another one of his new minions arrives with pair of welcome Weed shots for them both. Finally, last call arrives and the O’Club bar sells one last Weed shot which sloshes around in Uncle Hulka’s belly as he stumbles out into the parking lot. The designated driver and a couple other squadron drunks have corralled the boss and are making sure he gets back to the hotel. As is typical of rental car ops during a Flag, finding the damn thing is sometimes harder than mission employment. This 4-ship is no more successful than any other and they wander the parking lot for a few minutes in search of their steed. Drunks number 2 and 3 find it first and call the rejoin at their current posit. They grab hold of the fin across the back of the trunk for support while Uncle Hulka takes up a position at the front leaning on the hood as they wait for the DD to get there and open the car. At this point, the eventual goal of the conspiracy is achieved as Uncle Hulka’s “weed over-serviced” warning activates. As expected, he does his best imitation of Mr. Creosote and paints the hood of the car from grill to windshield. Simultaneous with the completion of his outburst, the DD arrives and hits the button on the key FOB to open the car. This results in the car lights flashing and the happy little “here I am” sound we are probably all familiar with. Unfortunately, the sound and the lights are about 50 feet away coming from a different car parked in different spot. It’s around this time that Uncle Hulka, while catching his breath and spitting out a little leftover weed-bile onto the hood, looks up from his masterpiece into the horrified eyes of the two occupants sitting in their car that he has just christened with his welcome to the squadron present. A little wave, a shrug and a quiet “hic....Sorry” and he stumbles off in the direction of the flashing lights and the waiting back seat of the rental car – rightfully leaving at least some of his new charges to deal with the fallout from their master plan.

Long enough ago that I must finally admit to myself that I’m an old dude, we had a 2-ship of Eagles on the way to a weekend airshow in France. In the lead aircraft, a two seat D-model, I was accompanied by a crew chief who was one of two maintainers that were joining us for this grueling weekend flying for the crowd, drinking and generally living the dream. His partner was already a couple of hours southwest in one of the base vehicles beginning his land journey when we lifted off. That guy had no desire to slip the surly bonds, which meant my GIB got to look forward to an extra sortie on the way home. After departing Bitburg AB, we spent about an hour of that beautiful summer Friday tapping various NATO fighters, taking in some of the sites and raging around Germany and France VFR. 1-Bravo was taking it in stride. He seemed to really be enjoying himself and had no problems with 6-8 G conversion turns, wrapping it up with some of the aware fighters and just bouncing around in the typical hot summer thermals at low altitude. 500 knots on initial at our destination, a snappy high G pitch out with the jets disappearing in balls of summer vapor completed his test and he passed with flying colors. Man, I wish all my incentive rides were with guys like that. In addition to the standard fare of military aircraft demos, there were also a large number of civilian singles and teams flying everything from classic Warbirds to Extras, Sukhois and Stearmans. At various points in their displays, some of those high performance civilian aircraft were flying outside loops, resulting in what I’m sure were some fairly high negative Gs. As we were watching this, the other pilot and I must have made some kind of remarks, cringed or probably both. My backseater asked why with a look of confusion on his face. We did our best to explain the negative Gs but I don’t think we were completely successful. Since I was still getting the “RCA dog look”, I offered, “I can show you on the way home if you want” – and promptly forgot. We finished up the rest of the weekend and got ready to depart Monday morning. The plan was to do another VFR low fly mission, land at Spandahlem AB, drop our bags and 1B off and fly a full-up BFM mission (since bags and a maintainer kept us at limited maneuvering training rules). His buddy would be waiting to pick him up and take him and our stuff back to Bitburg. After crossing back into Germany, we completely our sweep of low fly-7 and were RTB cruising at a couple thousand feet. Up to this point, his performance had been similar to the flight out and his enthusiasm was still high. While we enjoyed the morning view, he remembered my suggestion during the airshow. “Hey, what about showing me those negative-Gs”. I was kind of surprised that he suggested it (or even remembered after the weekend we had). But, considering how well he had done up to that point in both sorties, I didn’t think much about it. After a quick check to make sure the map case was covered and he didn’t have anything loose, I let him know it was coming. I then proceeded to pull the nose about 20 degrees up, paused and then smoothly, but smartly brought the nose back to the horizon with some forward stick. Duration of the event was at most 2 seconds and the G-meter registered just shy of 1 negative. Halfway through the 2 second interval of negative G, I heard a noise begin to come over the intercom that sounded like a clip from a demon possessed Linda Blair in “The Exorcist”. It starting out as a low growl and then, as we finished the maneuver, rose in pitch enough that I momentarily wondered if a loose lap belt had allowed him to float off his seat and he had crushed one of his nuts under his thigh when we returned to positive G. After that, he said nothing and communicated only with head nods and an occasional feeble thumbs up. To his credit, he found his sick bag in record time and even had the presence of mind to go cold mic without any prompting. The next 15 minutes were epic. It was like having Mr. Creosote (Monty Python’s Mean of Life) and his “wafer thin mint” riding in my jet. What was most alarming were the total body muscular contractions involved in each and every bout of literally violent vomiting. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he split the back of his flight suit up the middle like the Hulk. I don’t think I will do it justice if I tried to describe the noise he made with each hurl. Suffice it to say that it reminded me of a large wild animal and I could hear it through my earplugs and helmet over the ambient cockpit noise while he was cold mic. I monitored him with some morbid fascination using the mirrors and some fairly regular glances backward when the noise rose from behind me. I was amazed that he didn’t blow a hole in the bottom of his first sick bag which was filled in record time and looked like a white water balloon in his hand when he was finished. He managed to tie it off and prepare his second (and last one) as the next wave hit. During the initial part of this, I climbed to try to find some cooler air for the poor guy as he alternated between his incredible Hulk and Wild Kingdom impressions. As we got closer to Spang, we had to descend and I rocked #2 for a quick BD check. Apparently, that was the exact time my passenger was trying to tie off his second bag and my stick movement hit his hand and caused him to drop the twist tie. Anyone who had spent any significant time in the mighty Eagle knows that if you drop something on the floor, you may as well have put it at the bottom of the Marianas Trench. It’s gone until you land, shut down and get out. Unbeknownst to me, as we were making our approach, this poor bastard is feeling round 3 arrive and he is still trying to decide what to do with unsecured water balloon #2. Possibly as a result of dealing with a clean-up similar to those describe in previous posts, he made a stellar command decision to sacrifice the loaner helmet bag life support gave him Friday. Unfortunately, he opted to hold previously mentioned open bag #2 in one hand and the helmet bag in the other as he convulsed for his next delivery. When using his sick bags with both hands available, he was able to bring them completely up to his face. Now, with both hands occupied during this round, he didn’t consider the fact that his oxygen mask was dangling just to the side of his mouth ready to catch whatever flew out. Halfway through the next explosion, he realized the situation with the mask was a significant problem and made the grave error of trying to halt it mid-stream. Anyone who has witnessed such an attempt or tried it themselves knows what often results. There are other holes in the human head available to alleviate the quick pressure build up created in such a situation. Since this last part was fairly self-critiquing, he quickly realized his error and flexed back to the primary exit. Luckily, what didn’t fill up the mask (immediately unserviceable, for certain) blew straight past it into the helmet bag with some minor collateral damage to his flight suit. As I flew the straight-in, I knew things had gotten bad back there based on the smell and I was starting to think my BFM sortie might be on hold. By the time I was turning off the runway, I was very, very thankful for the opportunity to open the canopy. After shutdown, I got out of the jet and waited for him to do the same. It took him 15 minutes to actually exit the aircraft and make it down the boarding steps. He probably would have stayed longer but the fuelers made him get out so they could gas the jet. He told me later he didn’t go to work again until Thursday. When I climbed up to secure the back seat for the next flight, amazingly there were only a few stains on one side of the lap belt. I even found the twist tie.

Right after we get all the resiliency training finished up. That'll show 'em. Sweet Baby Jesus, if someone showed Putin that video, he'd probably authorize a pre-emptive nuke strike just on principle.

I'm sure it bothers him, too. If I was Jethro Tull, I wouldn't want to be thought of as just a person in a band, either.

.....and a lute. Also, what are the odds that our badass will be able to play the damn thing.

Witchy Poo?? Is that you? Can someone post a damn picture of her - I can never get pictures to work here.

We're using Airwatch version 4.9.1110 at FedEx with our iPads. I don't have anything to compare it to, so I'm not sure what kind of feedback I can offer. Generally speaking it works pretty well. You can view the various pubs/manuals using it or open them up in some other reader you prefer. The app sometimes just quits working and closes during updates and you have to restart.

"Clem, grab your video camera - I'm gonna go lay some pipe with that cow over there and I'm gonna want it on tape for later." "Well, alraht Enus. Hey, you got the jello?" "Shiiit, good think you done said something...... I almost forgot." Truly....W T F....... jello?

Come on!! It's so simple, maybe you need a refresher course. Playbook section 3.2: When you have clearly demonstrated that you are unqualified to hold your current position, you are failing on a regular basis and your policies are harming the country and citizens......... play the race card.

Clark, Is that really "just a bit" of risk or is it Bob Uecker in Major League - "KY ball, juuust a bit outside" risk?

I'll play along too, Pajaro: I'm guessing you're 39-40. I left active duty at 34 and finished my 20 in the Guard. When I was your age, I think my net worth was a little more than half of yours, so good job (not that I'm some kind of valid benchmark, but still, good job). I'm now 49, on my third airline and thankfully have recovered from what has been a pretty colorful transition to civilian flying. Low 100K income in 2001, 2002 and 2007-2008. Mid to high 100K since 2009. Married (wife 1.0), 3 kids, 1 at USAFA, no debt other than mortgage (15year 3%, with $207,000 to go). Owned a house since 1995, current one since 2000. Never carried any credit card debt. No family money. All funds came from USAF, Guard and Airline. Did the "DINK" thing with wife (USAF nurse) for first 4 years of marriage - so 2x O-3 pay helped establish a good base. Wife hasn't worked since 1995. Net worth: about $1,322,000 487, 000 in taxable brokerage account (7 mutual funds - diversified across equities, bonds and cash) 120,000 Roth IRA 132,000 Wife's Roth 216,000 Traditional IRA 21,000 Wife's Traditional IRA 159,500 401K 66,500 (state 529 college savings plan) 10,000 cash 5,000 UAL stock 105,000 equity in house I max out my IRAs every year (had to start putting back into traditionals because my income level precluded any more contributions to my Roths). Max out 401K each year. Invest about 25-30% of monthly take home pay into my brokerage portfolio. Donate 10% of annual pre-tax income to church/charity.

Aunt Mary?? I've heard it with "Uncle Jimmy" or "my Dad"........ hard to picture Aunt Mary wading through gooks with a machine gun. Just a thought.

Two guys are wrapping up a long night of drinking and are discussing their personal lives. "Let me ask you something..... do you talk to your wife after sex?" The other guy thinks for a second and replies, "That depends, am I near a phone?"