Classic thread - Good puke stories

[Toro]

"William Parkar" has been flagged as a spammer, and his posts either deleted, modified or hidden. He cannot make any further posts until a determination has been made that he is not a spammer, but having read through his other "contributions," I doubt he will return.

You're too kind M2. I have deleted his account, banned his e-mail address from re-registring, and banned his IP address from logging onto this site.

[BQZip01]

You're too kind M2. I have deleted his account, banned his e-mail address from re-registring, and banned his IP address from logging onto this site.

M2: Toro, cleared hot.

Toro: F**k that clearance! I'm already WINCHESTER, gone home, got thrown out of the O'Club and banged your wife.

...but I paraphrase...

Thread revival- I'm going to call myself out.

First sortie in the Buff FTU as a nav. I've never gotten sick between IFS, T-43s, and T-1 low levels in the Texas summer, so I figure, heck, I'll be ok. I take one dinky standard issue puke bag, you know, just in case. Now we usually do an hour-ish of AR and maybe an hour and a half to two in the pattern on these first few sorties. Not this time. Brand new student crewdogs, and they're really going to break us in good (sts). They decide to throw some instructor candidates on our jet for a little extra work, which leads to another half an hour of AR. Up to that point, I'm loving it. It's loud, shaky, old, smelly, but still, I'm livin the dream. We do the AR, and I'm doin' ok. I get a little queasy, but manage to hang on. This entire time, I've been munching on goldfish crackers and drinking gingerale, thinking that stale crackers and decaff soda can't really be that much of a threat. Wrong...we get back to the pattern and do every damn thing imaginable in this jet. No flaps touch and goes, six engine tough and goes, two engine go arounds, you name it, we flew it for three fnckin hours. Finally, blessedly, mercifully, a full stop. Ok, good to go. We're rolling down the taxiway, and that same sensation that everybody else has talked about starts. Sweating, watering mouth...shit. Luckily, I had quick access to my one little sicksack. I manage to regurgitate two cans of gingerale and a ziplock bag full of goldfish into this thing. Of course, I feel better immediately, and think the worst has passed. I set the bag on my chart table and am attempting to tie it off when the crusty IP sitting in the co's seat honks on the brakes. I don't know if that was deliberate or not, but it doesn't really matter. It's slow motion...the bag, still pretty much open and unsecured, rotates and dumps its entire contents square in my lap. My buddy sitting in the radar seat gets a good look and his eyes get about as big around as Kennedy half-dollars. He turns away and throws his mask on, trying to avoid going sympathetic. To add insult to injury, my instructor is laughing uncontrollably.

Perhaps the only upshot to this whole affair is that I took the brunt of the blast and there was only a couple of spots I had to clean up in the jet, but sticky goldfish puke is fairly hard to wipe up. It was a Friday, and all my bros knew the story by the time I had changed into a fresh bag and made it to the OClub. And by Monday my tale of woe had made it around the entire squadron. Lesson learned...next flight I took two garbage bags. Oh well, such is life, but that was one hell of an introduction to the Buff.

Effin' AWESOME! Apparently you missed my advice on p.2: "ALWAYS double bag".

You still at Barkatraz or are you up here with me at Minot? (not everyone updates their location)

Edited April 3, 2010 by BQZip01

[brickhistory]

Damn, that William Parkar guy can write! He's effin' brilliant with words...

[nsplayr]

Dude, the garbage bag is *key* for the flight. I've got a garbage bag you could shove a midget in just in case anyone has to puke/shit.

[08Dawg]

I learned my lesson. Next flight I had a double bagged garbage bag.

BQ, I'm stayin' in Barkatraz. Feet of snow and subzero temperatures aren't too high on my "must experience" list.

[BQZip01]

I learned my lesson. Next flight I had a double bagged garbage bag.

BQ, I'm stayin' in Barkatraz. Feet of snow and subzero temperatures aren't too high on my "must experience" list.

NSplayr,

What squadron you in these days? You a Buc or Flamer?

[Guest]

Dude, the garbage bag is *key* for the flight. I've got a garbage bag you could shove a midget in just in case anyone has to puke/shit.

Shit? WTFO?!

[amcflyboy]

Shit? WTFO?!

Oh snap! That's a good laugh right there!

[08Dawg]

Shit? WTFO?!

Yeah, there's a quote/unquote toilet, but it's not even really worthy of being called that. No plumbing, really just a bowl where you put a bag of some sort, drop your deuce, and then seal the bag up. You have to carry your own shit off the jet, literally. And since the so-called "honey bucket" is halfway between the pilot and the E-dub, crapping on the jet is highly frowned upon. A buddy of mine actually got hooked by his instructor for doing so, among other things that ride. Callsigns are made of such things.

[nsplayr]

What squadron you in these days? You a Buc or Flamer?

?? PM.

Not sure we have bucs or flamers down here. Good thing about the flamers, not my cup of tea. Maybe that's an eagle squadron...

<-------------------

Shit? WTFO?!

It has been done unfortunately. One gentleman I know may or may not have earned the callsign "Deucer" after dropping two hot & steamys in one sortie while the DO was on board. Not a good look...but extremely funny to everyone who didn't have to smell it.

Edited April 6, 2010 by nsplayr

[magnetfreezer]

Yeah, there's a quote/unquote toilet, but it's not even really worthy of being called that. No plumbing, really just a bowl where you put a bag of some sort, drop your deuce, and then seal the bag up. You have to carry your own shit off the jet, literally. And since the so-called "honey bucket" is halfway between the pilot and the E-dub, crapping on the jet is highly frowned upon. A buddy of mine actually got hooked by his instructor for doing so, among other things that ride. Callsigns are made of such things.

In the Bone (only plane you can go supersonic and take a dump at the same time BTW) there is a chem toilet with a knife valve as part of the flushing procedure. One crewmember years ago got his very own warning in the -1 for forgetting to close the lid before opening the knife valve resulting in a somewhat spectacular pressure release.

[BQZip01]

Yeah, there's a quote/unquote toilet, but it's not even really worthy of being called that. No plumbing, really just a bowl where you put a bag of some sort, drop your deuce, and then seal the bag up. You have to carry your own shit off the jet, literally. And since the so-called "honey bucket" is halfway between the pilot and the E-dub, crapping on the jet is highly frowned upon. A buddy of mine actually got hooked by his instructor for doing so, among other things that ride. Callsigns are made of such things.

Ok, so it's not exactly a puke story, but it is in the same basic category except in reverse...

So, there I was...(WHERE WERE YOU?!?!?)

The Monday after the local base airshow. Right after it, I got a serious case of the runs. Went to the flight doc and grounded myself despite the fact I had a ride on Monday. Cancelling and forcing some other dude with a few hours notice onto an 8+ hr sortie isn't my idea of winning friends and influencing people, but when you can't keep anything down (to include water) or it goes through "like crap through a goose", you have to call a "knock-it-off" somewhere.

Another guy in my training class calls that night to laugh at me, but he gets it a few days later. I guess he thought his pride was on the line, so he decided to fly anyway.

Big mistake.

He hops into the mighty BUFF with his stomach gurgling, but apparently thinks, Meh! I can hold it until we land. 15 minutes into the 7 hour sortie, his body says, "oh no you can't..."

They level off and over interphone you hear, "Uh...guys, does that crapper work up there"

Considering it's a glorified stainless steel bowl, they answer. "Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah?"

"I've gotta drop a deuce man. I'll be right up"

I guess he'd never even looked at the damn thing, but he had to make a separate trip back down the ladder to get a garbage bag because he thought "he could just go".

I haven't been in that long, but EVERYONE knows you don't take a crap unless you have to. I've been on a 10.3 hour sortie and others have been on 24hr+ rides and I NEVER heard anyone (even on those sorties) drop a deuce. This guy couldn't make it 15 minutes into the sortie!

So he comes up the ladder with bag in hand, does his business while everyone goes on the hose, then goes back downstairs. After about 15 minutes, the EW figures the smell has dissipated and takes off his mask. He starts retching and puts his mask back on. Being that this was a training sortie, he tells his instructor that it must have been a serious explosion of poo to smell that bad after 15 minutes. The instructor (the only one who can actually see the "can") looks back only to find the guy left his sh** in the can and left the bag open! The whole jet smells like crap and he didn't even bag it.

The instructor is pissed and basically yells down to the nav in question, "WTF!?! Get back up here and pack up your sh**!!!"

Apparently he thought he'd "just leave it there in case he had to go again." So he climbs back up the ladder, bags it up, and leaves it upstairs.

The instructor looks back and sees a semi-transparent bag of floaties, nearly gets airsick, and yells, "TAKE YOUR SH** DOWNSTAIRS!!!" Apparently the student didn't want to sit next to his own crap, so he just left it...leaving other guys to sit next to it.

He responds, "Can you hand it down?"

So now he wants the instructor to pass him a bag of floating deuces? The instructor calms down a bit and responds in a near-whispering tone I can only describe as "Emperor Palpatine"-like: "No."

The guy gets his bag, but 7 hours later he gets off the jet and asks people to "pass down the bag". No one moves a muscle to help him.

FWIW, the guy hasn't been given a callsign yet and ideas are always appreciated.

[BQZip01]

?? PM.

Not sure we have bucs or flamers down here. Good thing about the flamers, not my cup of tea. Maybe that's an eagle squadron...

<-------------------

My bad. That comment was meant for 08 Dawg. I thought about typing a response to yours and changed my mind instead responding to 08Dawg's, but forgot to change the first line.

Had to jazz them a little :-) (to reiterate: that was "jazz" to all you sophomoric pervs...)

Just wonderin'. My dad was a 20th guy.

Just to keep everyone in the loop, the 20th and 69th bomb squadrons call their new guys FNGs. The 23rd bomb squadron calls their new guys FUNGUSs (F*** U New Guy. U Suck!) and the 96th calls their newbies "flamers".

[Guest]

The 23rd bomb squadron calls their new guys FUNGUSs (F*** U New Guy. U Suck!) and the 96th calls their newbies "flamers".

That's not very sensitive.

[Day Man]

In the Bone (only plane you can go supersonic and take a dump at the same time BTW)

Concorde?

<---bustin balls

[JarheadBoom]

I haven't been in that long, but EVERYONE knows you don't take a crap unless you have to. I've been on a 10.3 hour sortie and others have been on 24hr+ rides and I NEVER heard anyone (even on those sorties) drop a deuce. This guy couldn't make it 15 minutes into the sortie!

So he comes up the ladder with bag in hand, does his business while everyone goes on the hose, then goes back downstairs. After about 15 minutes, the EW figures the smell has dissipated and takes off his mask. He starts retching and puts his mask back on. Being that this was a training sortie, he tells his instructor that it must have been a serious explosion of poo to smell that bad after 15 minutes. The instructor (the only one who can actually see the "can") looks back only to find the guy left his sh** in the can and left the bag open! The whole jet smells like crap and he didn't even bag it.

The instructor is pissed and basically yells down to the nav in question, "WTF!?! Get back up here and pack up your sh**!!!"

Apparently he thought he'd "just leave it there in case he had to go again." So he climbs back up the ladder, bags it up, and leaves it upstairs.

The instructor looks back and sees a semi-transparent bag of floaties, nearly gets airsick, and yells, "TAKE YOUR SH** DOWNSTAIRS!!!" Apparently the student didn't want to sit next to his own crap, so he just left it...leaving other guys to sit next to it.

He responds, "Can you hand it down?"

So now he wants the instructor to pass him a bag of floating deuces? The instructor calms down a bit and responds in a near-whispering tone I can only describe as "Emperor Palpatine"-like: "No."

The guy gets his bag, but 7 hours later he gets off the jet and asks people to "pass down the bag". No one moves a muscle to help him.

FWIW, the guy hasn't been given a callsign yet and ideas are always appreciated.

It's not very imaginative, but "Deucebag" seems appropriate...

Or:

Bagboy

Bagman

Shitbag

OK, none of those are very good. I'll STFU now.

[BQZip01]

It's not very imaginative, but "Deucebag" seems appropriate...

Or:

Bagboy

Bagman

Shitbag

OK, none of those are very good. I'll STFU now.

One guy thought of SOAP: Sh**s On A Plane

Any other thoughts?

Concorde?

<---bustin balls

C'mon. You can take a dump in ANY plane that goes supersonic...

...the results might be less than stellar in those without facilities though...

[08Dawg]

My bad. That comment was meant for 08 Dawg. I thought about typing a response to yours and changed my mind instead responding to 08Dawg's, but forgot to change the first line.

Had to jazz them a little :-) (to reiterate: that was "jazz" to all you sophomoric pervs...)

Just wonderin'. My dad was a 20th guy.

Just to keep everyone in the loop, the 20th and 69th bomb squadrons call their new guys FNGs. The 23rd bomb squadron calls their new guys FUNGUSs (F*** U New Guy. U Suck!) and the 96th calls their newbies "flamers".

Not even there yet. Still a Jiggs Mafia disciple.

As to your excretory story and the dude deucing in the bag...an RN I know got tagged with Lamerde after a similar incident. But your bro's story is definitely worthy of something.

[BQZip01]

Not even there yet. Still a Jiggs Mafia disciple.

As to your excretory story and the dude deucing in the bag...an RN I know got tagged with Lamerde after a similar incident. But your bro's story is definitely worthy of something.

PM sent

[Vertigo]

One guy thought of SOAP: Shits On A Plane

LOL perfect!

[Guest 511Hogdriver]

Might as well share my most memorable air-sickness story (although I wasn't the one performing the protein lofting.)

Randolph AFB, Fall 1995. I was tasked with giving a Crew Chief his T-38 incentive flight. The guy showed up in our flight room at about 1300 (right after lunch), and we began briefing. I asked if he had any special requests for the flight. He said, "I've been waiting for this opportunity my whole life, so I want to do it all -- I wanna fly upside down, right side up, go fast, go slow, do loops and rolls, pull Gs, and whatever else you can possibly show me.

Needless to say, I was pleased with his enthusiasm, and I planned a full-up contact profile with all the acro -- aileron roll, barrel roll, loop, Cuban-8, Immellmann, Split-S, cloverleaf, sliceback, pitchback, slow flight, and stalls, followed by some variations and special maneuvers: point rolls, stability demo, inverted flight, tactical popups and low-angle bomb delivery simulations (at altitude, of course).

He also wanted to go as fast as we were allowed to go, and pull as many Gs as we could. I put these two items at the end of my lineup card, figuring I'd accelerate to 0.97 Mach or so toward the back of the area, then use the smash to do a hook turn back toward home at just about Joker.

He was a big, muscular dude -- probably 6' 2" and 215+ lbs, and he fit in the back seat about like I do: Snugly.

The acro part of the flight was great. He loved every minute of it, whooping and hollering as we rolled and looped our way around the practice area. With just the last two items left to accomplish, I reviewed the Anti-G Strain Maneuver (AGSM) with him, and told him I was accelerating to as near the Mach as he was probably ever gonna get. He was very excited and animated.

I held 0.95+ Mach for about 20 seconds, then said, "OK, here come the Gs!" He started straining like Gordo Cooper as we rolled to 80 degrees of bank and I blended in the G to about 6.5.

Around we went, turning toward the TACAN needle and home. I relaxed the pull and rolled out. "How'd you like that?" I asked. No answer.

"You doin' OK back there? No answer, except for a gurgling sound that sounded like a Jacques Cousteau underwater recording of a whale mating or something. I glanced in the mirror and the dude's head wasn't even visible. He had apparently slumped way, way down in the seat. Either that or he had dissolved into anti-matter. Finally the top of his helmet appeared over the glareshield. After a series of belches and mask adjustments that made me turn the intercom volume down to avoid hearing it, he returned to the conversation. "Oh damn. Are we going home, sir?"

"Yep. We'll be on the ground in ten minutes. Did you get to your bag in time?"

"Yes. Well, the first time I did, but not the second or third time. Sorry."

We landed (straight in, instead of the initial I'd planned) and taxied to the chocks. After shutdown, the crew chief hooked our ladders on and climbed up to the back cockpit. Five seconds later, I heard him say, "Oh, sweet Jesus!"

My rider had projectiled all over the instrument panel. Every nook and cranny of the panel, every instrument face and switch, was sprayed with what looked Campbell's chunky clam chowder. (This was the A-model, you youngsters. It had a lot more nooks and crannies than yer fancy glass panels nowadays...) ;-)

I spent the next two hours with a sponge, a toothbrush, a bucket of water, and a very annoyed and grossed-out crew chief. My big, tough-guy rider had been reduced to jello, and although he volunteered to help us, I sent him back to his dorm room after seeing how pale and weak he was. He told me later he slept for 12 hours.

I felt terrible about making the guy sick, but hey, he got exactly the ride he wanted, and neither of us will ever forget it. Subsequent incentive rides given by me, however, were a bit more mellow, regardless of what the passengers wanted. I also made sure they hadn’t just eaten three slices of pizza.

[discus]

Might as well share my most memorable air-sickness story (although I wasn't the one performing the protein lofting.)

Randolph AFB, Fall 1995. Blah, blah blah

Ladies and Gents, we have the very rare first post WIN! Thanks for a good story.

Edited April 7, 2010 by discus

[donkey]

Might as well share my most memorable air-sickness story (although I wasn't the one performing the protein lofting.)

Randolph AFB, Fall 1995. I was tasked with giving a Crew Chief his T-38 incentive flight. The guy showed up in our flight room at about 1300 (right after lunch), and we began briefing. I asked if he had any special requests for the flight. He said, "I've been waiting for this opportunity my whole life, so I want to do it all -- I wanna fly upside down, right side up, go fast, go slow, do loops and rolls, pull Gs, and whatever else you can possibly show me.

Needless to say, I was pleased with his enthusiasm, and I planned a full-up contact profile with all the acro -- aileron roll, barrel roll, loop, Cuban-8, Immellmann, Split-S, cloverleaf, sliceback, pitchback, slow flight, and stalls, followed by some variations and special maneuvers: point rolls, stability demo, inverted flight, tactical popups and low-angle bomb delivery simulations (at altitude, of course).

He also wanted to go as fast as we were allowed to go, and pull as many Gs as we could. I put these two items at the end of my lineup card, figuring I'd accelerate to 0.97 Mach or so toward the back of the area, then use the smash to do a hook turn back toward home at just about Joker.

He was a big, muscular dude -- probably 6' 2" and 215+ lbs, and he fit in the back seat about like I do: Snugly.

The acro part of the flight was great. He loved every minute of it, whooping and hollering as we rolled and looped our way around the practice area. With just the last two items left to accomplish, I reviewed the Anti-G Strain Maneuver (AGSM) with him, and told him I was accelerating to as near the Mach as he was probably ever gonna get. He was very excited and animated.

I held 0.95+ Mach for about 20 seconds, then said, "OK, here come the Gs!" He started straining like Gordo Cooper as we rolled to 80 degrees of bank and I blended in the G to about 6.5.

Around we went, turning toward the TACAN needle and home. I relaxed the pull and rolled out. "How'd you like that?" I asked. No answer.

"You doin' OK back there? No answer, except for a gurgling sound that sounded like a Jacques Cousteau underwater recording of a whale mating or something. I glanced in the mirror and the dude's head wasn't even visible. He had apparently slumped way, way down in the seat. Either that or he had dissolved into anti-matter. Finally the top of his helmet appeared over the glareshield. After a series of belches and mask adjustments that made me turn the intercom volume down to avoid hearing it, he returned to the conversation. "Oh damn. Are we going home, sir?"

"Yep. We'll be on the ground in ten minutes. Did you get to your bag in time?"

"Yes. Well, the first time I did, but not the second or third time. Sorry."

We landed (straight in, instead of the initial I'd planned) and taxied to the chocks. After shutdown, the crew chief hooked our ladders on and climbed up to the back cockpit. Five seconds later, I heard him say, "Oh, sweet Jesus!"

My rider had projectiled all over the instrument panel. Every nook and cranny of the panel, every instrument face and switch, was sprayed with what looked Campbell's chunky clam chowder. (This was the A-model, you youngsters. It had a lot more nooks and crannies than yer fancy glass panels nowadays...) ;-)

I spent the next two hours with a sponge, a toothbrush, a bucket of water, and a very annoyed and grossed-out crew chief. My big, tough-guy rider had been reduced to jello, and although he volunteered to help us, I sent him back to his dorm room after seeing how pale and weak he was. He told me later he slept for 12 hours.

I felt terrible about making the guy sick, but hey, he got exactly the ride he wanted, and neither of us will ever forget it. Subsequent incentive rides given by me, however, were a bit more mellow, regardless of what the passengers wanted. I also made sure they hadn’t just eaten three slices of pizza.

[BQZip01]

Might as well share my most memorable air-sickness story (although I wasn't the one performing the protein lofting.)

Randolph AFB, Fall 1995. I was tasked with giving a Crew Chief his T-38 incentive flight. The guy showed up in our flight room at about 1300 (right after lunch), and we began briefing. I asked if he had any special requests for the flight. He said, "I've been waiting for this opportunity my whole life, so I want to do it all -- I wanna fly upside down, right side up, go fast, go slow, do loops and rolls, pull Gs, and whatever else you can possibly show me.

Needless to say, I was pleased with his enthusiasm, and I planned a full-up contact profile with all the acro -- aileron roll, barrel roll, loop, Cuban-8, Immellmann, Split-S, cloverleaf, sliceback, pitchback, slow flight, and stalls, followed by some variations and special maneuvers: point rolls, stability demo, inverted flight, tactical popups and low-angle bomb delivery simulations (at altitude, of course).

He also wanted to go as fast as we were allowed to go, and pull as many Gs as we could. I put these two items at the end of my lineup card, figuring I'd accelerate to 0.97 Mach or so toward the back of the area, then use the smash to do a hook turn back toward home at just about Joker.

He was a big, muscular dude -- probably 6' 2" and 215+ lbs, and he fit in the back seat about like I do: Snugly.

The acro part of the flight was great. He loved every minute of it, whooping and hollering as we rolled and looped our way around the practice area. With just the last two items left to accomplish, I reviewed the Anti-G Strain Maneuver (AGSM) with him, and told him I was accelerating to as near the Mach as he was probably ever gonna get. He was very excited and animated.

I held 0.95+ Mach for about 20 seconds, then said, "OK, here come the Gs!" He started straining like Gordo Cooper as we rolled to 80 degrees of bank and I blended in the G to about 6.5.

Around we went, turning toward the TACAN needle and home. I relaxed the pull and rolled out. "How'd you like that?" I asked. No answer.

"You doin' OK back there? No answer, except for a gurgling sound that sounded like a Jacques Cousteau underwater recording of a whale mating or something. I glanced in the mirror and the dude's head wasn't even visible. He had apparently slumped way, way down in the seat. Either that or he had dissolved into anti-matter. Finally the top of his helmet appeared over the glareshield. After a series of belches and mask adjustments that made me turn the intercom volume down to avoid hearing it, he returned to the conversation. "Oh damn. Are we going home, sir?"

"Yep. We'll be on the ground in ten minutes. Did you get to your bag in time?"

"Yes. Well, the first time I did, but not the second or third time. Sorry."

We landed (straight in, instead of the initial I'd planned) and taxied to the chocks. After shutdown, the crew chief hooked our ladders on and climbed up to the back cockpit. Five seconds later, I heard him say, "Oh, sweet Jesus!"

My rider had projectiled all over the instrument panel. Every nook and cranny of the panel, every instrument face and switch, was sprayed with what looked Campbell's chunky clam chowder. (This was the A-model, you youngsters. It had a lot more nooks and crannies than yer fancy glass panels nowadays...) ;-)

I spent the next two hours with a sponge, a toothbrush, a bucket of water, and a very annoyed and grossed-out crew chief. My big, tough-guy rider had been reduced to jello, and although he volunteered to help us, I sent him back to his dorm room after seeing how pale and weak he was. He told me later he slept for 12 hours.

I felt terrible about making the guy sick, but hey, he got exactly the ride he wanted, and neither of us will ever forget it. Subsequent incentive rides given by me, however, were a bit more mellow, regardless of what the passengers wanted. I also made sure they hadn’t just eaten three slices of pizza.

Well-played, SNAP. well played

Callsigns? How gay. We had a RN in G-models blow diahrea all over the circuit breaker panel upstairs. He had the shits and was trying to undress so he could sit on the shitter. As soon as he got his flight suit down, he lost it.

There was a 1 Star sitting in the IP seat on an observation ride. Welcome to the Air Force, General.

What would his "callsign" have been? Hell if I know, but he was an Academy grad. so who knows...

Let's be kind to the old-timer here. My dad flew BUFFs too and they didn't have callsigns (it was more of a TAC thing!). While I appreciate the lineage, callsigns are fun and have become part of the BUFF culture and the Air Force as a whole (especially those in/attached/related to flying squadrons...even our intel troops earn their callsigns). I say embrace it and have fun with it. The only thing that is constant with respect to tradition is change.

[BQZip01]

Ladies and Gents, we have the very rare first post WIN! Thanks for a good story.

4