Classic thread - Good puke stories

[Guest rivet_doobie]

A few years back I was a T-1 IP at Vance. Every year they would fly in ROTC cadets during the summer (part of their encampment if I remember correctly). So our squadron gets something like half a dozen cadets or so to give incentive rides on. We split them into two groups to fly on some IP continuation training sorties. First group would see simulated air refueling and second group got to see formation low-level/simulated air drop. It's been a while so I can't remember if I flew with the first group or not.

Meanwhile, we cut the #2 group of cadets loose to go eat. This was back before the new o-club, so the only place to eat on base was at the bowling alley. Now you can imagine seeing these guys, after taking their lumps at encampment and getting a one-day break, all go to eat the greasy belly-bomb burgers at the bowling alley. When they get back we brief up our mission and step with the cadets in tow.

Being as it was the middle of the summer I know the ramp temperature under the good ol' Oklahoma sun was 100+. Add to that we went to the low-level route first, so the air conditioning had a hard time keeping up. We cycle the three cadets through the jump seat and all get to see the show. It's still hot as hell and the jet's been bumping around for the last hour before we finally exit and head up to the MOA for a little formation practice.

Right in the middle of my turning rejoin my nose detects something that is not a usual airplane smell. I look at the other IP and he looks at me. Then we both turn around together and see this poor kid with his hand about three inches from his mouth and his entire harness is covered with puke. Needless to say we call knock-it-off and land early. The smell was so horrible I depressurized the aircraft below 10,000 to get as much air flowing through as possible.

The kid was a good sport, though, and did clean up his mess (like the crew chief was gonna have it any other way).

[nsplayr]

Thread bump (working duty desk late into the night and was re-reading classic threads)

First off, I almost crapped my pants reading story and that would have been a serious issue while on the job.

Here's my contribution:

Flying T-1s at the end of nav school, we're on a low-level with two pilots, myself and another nav in the back, and my buddy in the jump (let's call him Bob). We had stopped at Hooks I think and had a nice lunch where Bob ordered an enourmas turkey sandwich. He knew his stomach was not the strongest in the world, but he only ate 1/2 the sandwich and turkey is pretty safe, right?

So we're on the low level, "yanking and banking" as much as our crusty ole' reservists can muster in the tone, and we're getting close to our simulated air drop point and Bob is dutifully giving leg briefings and generally doing a bang-up job. We shack the IP and are crusing in for the drop and all of a sudden Bob goes quiet. Suddenly, he looks back at the two of us in the back and mutters "Gimmie a bag" in a barely audible slur. The other dude in the back reaches in his helmet bag, pulls out the brown envelope, and throws it frisbee-style at Bob up in the jump. Unfortunatly, Bob is still strapped in and my friend's throwing skills aren't exactly NFL quality, and the bag falls short. Later on Bob told us that "All my hopes and dreams died when that bag hit the ground."

With the pilots questioning him for the second time on when to drop, Bob twists to the right and blows chuncks all over the right side of the jet, the mask he wasn't wearing, and the AC's open helmet bag. I was watching a stopwatch in the back just to pretend to be doing something useful and Bob had managed to puke +1 seconds from the briefed green light time and we were on course/altitude; complete shack.

We're cracking up in the back, the AC realizes what's going on and calls knock it off, and brings us out of the low level route. Luckily Bob only had two good heaves in him, but there was puke EVERYWHERE and we had nothing to clean it up with other than our shirts. Being true pals, the two of us in the back pull off our black undershirts and help Bob clean up his puke as best we can at the suggestion of the AC.

When we get on the ground we all head back into the squadron minus Bob who was explaining to the crew chief what happened. Never had the zipper on my bag zipped quite so high. Funny side note, Bob's puke actually smelled relatively delicious since it was pretty much 100% turkey sandwich that was less than an hour old even after he puked it up. Good times. Bob, if you're on here and read this, you're my boy.

[TacAirCoug]

Bob had managed to puke +1 seconds from the briefed green light time and we were on course/altitude; complete shack.

Load clear!

Funny side note, Bob's puke actually smelled relatively delicious since it was pretty much 100% turkey sandwich that was less than an hour old even after he puked it up.

This is probably the most disgusting part of your story.

[discus]

Don't know how good the story is going to be, but figured I'd add it in the spirit of things.

For those of you who currently live, or were raised in the Midwest, you know of a magical place called Steak 'n Shake. It's greasy burgers, and even greasier shoestring fries cannot be rivaled anywhere. Well, flashback almost 20 years. I am a 14 year old kid at the time and decide Steak 'n Shake sounds like a great place for lunch right before going out to fly a single seat sailplane for the first time. I had anticipated this day for a long time, and got my solo flights in the two seat trainer done as quickly as possible so I could fly the single seat "Hotrod". I had two 45 pound barbell weights duct taped together to put under the seat cushion for ballast as I weighed about 87 pounds at the time and the minimum weight was 145 or so.

At any rate, I finished my greasy meal, jumped into the glider on a nice, hot Indiana August day. After amusing myself in the thermals for a while, I started to not feel so good, so I entered the downwind to land. It was right about at that time that the Steak 'n Shake decided to make an encore appearance. I can remember that you could actually still identify the hard to miss Steak 'n Shake french fries in the pile that now covered my front, my lap, and the stick boot of the glider. So there I was, 14 years old, covered in puke, and now I had to land a glider that I had never flown before. (I remember the stick was quite slippery as well) I managed to make it down safely, and spent the remainder of the day taking the floor panels out of the glider and cleaning the vomit out from every nook and cranny of the sailpalne.

Not nearly as good as some of the stories on here, but I'm still proud of 14 year old me for remembering to fly the plane first and worrying about the mess later. That glider never did smell right again.

[kapilot]

Ok I got one. This is a civilian story but puke is involved none the less. About four years ago when I was still building time I would on occasion ride with a buddy who had a part time job flying a corporate baron. This particular night he was tasked with picking up one of the bosses and bosses buddy and taking them from LIT to home in northwest AR. After playing the waiting game for these two guys to show up they finally come stumbling through the doors about thrity minutes late (which is actually not that bad for corporate). Note that I said stumbling not walking. This was a friday night and the duo had hit been out for a night out on the town and by all looks had had a pretty good time. One guy in particular was well... sloshed and literally had to be led/carried to the plane. As the other two were preparing his seat I stood by him as he swayed in the 4 kt crosswind that night and asked him, "Dude are you going to be ok? Your not going to puke are you?" To which he responded. "YeshImFruckinFin. ImshNaGoangFruginPUk" I looked at my buddy who looked a little frustrated at the fact that I had just asked his employer such an insulting and stupid question. But damn it I knew this was a bad situation and had the potential to get worse. As we crossed the hold short line to depart my buddy the corporate pilot who I will now refer to as Captain Stupid turned back to the drunk duo and shouted, "Hey you guys wanna see a high performance take off?!" Both responded with jubilant whoops of joy while I informed Captain Stupid of his new name and how I thought that was a bad idea. So here we go rolling down the runway the wheels come off, he keeps the plane low sucks up the gear and as we pass the end of the threshold cranks it up to about a 45 degree climb and holds it until about 1500 agl and goes back to normal climb. About thirty seconds after going back to a normal climb captain stupid turns to me and asks, "Do you smell apples?" Unfortunately I did and as he hit the cabin light I turned back and saw that the really drunk dude had ralphed all of his dinner plus however many apple martinis that evening had resulted in. Kudos to that guy though because he managed to keep it all on his chest and lap. Only one little spot made it onto the carpet. I have never seen someone keep puke that neat before. The only reason that I can imagine he was able to keep everything so tidy was that when captain stupid cranked back the yoke that the G forces pinned his head into his chest so everything just kinda stayed right there. The rest of that flight not as drunk guy kept coming to the front and asking how much longer every ten minutes of the hour flight. It was like having a kid in the back seat... are we there yet?

[Guest herkgrrl]

One minute prior to greenlight on my first sandbag drop out the troop door, I start filling a bag. My instructor immediately hopped in the door and took over the checklist. I stopped long enough to grab the bag and say, "I'm fine I want to do this!" He steps out of the way, I hear and see green light, toss the bag and the last of my lunch out the door. My poor instructor just starts laughing. I am leaning out as far as I can, puking my guts out and I remember seeing these folks on the ground waving. I just waved back and thought, "You poor bastards.

[JarheadBoom]

One minute prior to greenlight on my first sandbag drop out the troop door, I start filling a bag. My instructor immediately hopped in the door and took over the checklist. I stopped long enough to grab the bag and say, "I'm fine I want to do this!" He steps out of the way, I hear and see green light, toss the bag and the last of my lunch out the door. My poor instructor just starts laughing. I am leaning out as far as I can, puking my guts out and I remember seeing these folks on the ground waving. I just waved back and thought, "You poor bastards.

Way to play through the pain.

[MadMac]

I’ve never puked in the Buff except once.

The SAC Bomb Comp ’89. This was the first (and I believe only) time they had the Best Gunner in SAC (Maynard H “Snuffy” Smith) trophy at the competition. My crew was selected that year and I was the gunner. I was nervous as hell because it was the first time our crew competed and we were going to have an evaluator gunner on board for our conventional sortie to grade my performance. I decided to not to eat before the flight because I knew the A/C and Co were going get aggressive. Instead, I dragged along a thermos full of coffee…caffeine can be a blessing and a curse. After crawling across half the US to get to the UTTR, I swallow a cup of coffee, get ready for the FIE, and take a look over my shoulder to see if the evaluator is ready. My evaluator is a seasoned gunner who just kind gives me the nod to proceed. I’m thinkin’ it’s just my luck to draw the hard-ass for this flight. Well, there’s nothing I can do about now. So I cinch down my harness, slip the mask into place, and reached over to smack my EW on the helmet.

We’re not even into the UTTR when the flying tennis courts start spiking us. The pilot starts making the descent into the area when F-15s call fights on. My EWs jamming trons and dumpin’ chaff like it’s a buy one get 100 free sale. The pilot got the nose down looking for the hard deck while the EW calls maneuvers. We’re fairly nose to nose with the Eagle’s and the pilots not getting as aggressive as I thought he would. Then the F-15s swing aft and we’re nearing bottom.

It’s my turn in the barrel…no pun intended. I’ve got one bandit moving off and the other closing. I lock up the one closing and starting calling for breaks followed shortly by bend its. Now the pilot’s throwing the aircraft all over the sky, loading it up then dumping it. My heart pounding and stomach is starting to protest that cup of coffee from earlier. The eagle finally closes to my max range…Fox 4: 1200 yards, Fox 4: 1000 yards, Fox 4: 800 yards…Break Left and Bend It. We go through this about 3 times before the F-15 suddenly calls knock it off on the last engagement. By this point, I’m 6 shades of green and ready to blow. I reach into my pocket and pull out the trusty barf sack envelope. I launched a perfect replica of a cup of coffee with a little foam into the sack. Well there goes the competition; I’m “incapacitated” so I blew my score.

So you might be asking what’s so funny about this episode. When I rolled my head around to admit my defeat to the evaluator and what do I see? The evaluator’s got his head in a sack and still heaving with 2 extra sacks tied up next to feet. He’s been puking from our initial descent and hadn’t “evaluated” anything. We got a perfect score. My sack disappeared into my helmet bag…never to be seen again.

Props to Billy, Rusty, and Brian – we’re only ones to win the Snuffy.

[Gov]

Buddy of mine is IP in Tweet, student on last ride before washing out for airsickness. Halfway through the acro in the area, IP looks over and there is a pink froth spiraling down the kid's O2 hose.(Evidently he had washed his spicy sausage dog down with a strawberry soda). He knows the guy has puked and can hear him gagging so he tells him to just drop his mask and fess up. When he drops his mask my buddy can't help but look over, and he sees that the mass of puked up sausage dog and pink soda is actually moving! He proceeds to spew all over the cockpit, far exceeding the damage done by the student. Diagnosis - pinworms - the student puked so hard they came up with everything else.

Bon Appetit.

[tac airlifter]

Buddy of mine is IP in Tweet, student on last ride before washing out for airsickness. Halfway through the acro in the area, IP looks over and there is a pink froth spiraling down the kid's O2 hose.(Evidently he had washed his spicy sausage dog down with a strawberry soda). He knows the guy has puked and can hear him gagging so he tells him to just drop his mask and fess up. When he drops his mask my buddy can't help but look over, and he sees that the mass of puked up sausage dog and pink soda is actually moving! He proceeds to spew all over the cockpit, far exceeding the damage done by the student. Diagnosis - pinworms - the student puked so hard they came up with everything else.

Bon Appetit.

Ok, that is a new low for baseops barf stories. I guess it's good the stud got them out. But gross dude, gross.

[Wolf424]

Diagnosis - pinworms - the student puked so hard they came up with everything else.

Bon Appetit.

Go wikipedia pinworms! That's f'n gross!

[nsplayr]

Go wikipedia pinworms!

Ugh...that was a mistake. Found this gem on "self-diagnosis" of a pinworm infection and how to proceed.

Self-diagnosis is also possible without observing worms around the anus. Crawling sensations inside the anus indicate female pinworm migration, and they may be visually detected at this time by using lubricant to insert a finger into the anus, hooking it slightly, and pulling the finger out while at the same time gently scraping the rectal wall. This may cause some of the thread-like pinworms to adhere to the lubricated finger, and they may thus be extracted from the anus. The method requires a sufficient number of repetitions, and scraping of all sides of the rectal wall. The method can also be used to provide temporary relief from intense crawling sensations caused by large numbers of pinworms in the lower rectal area, simply by manually removing some of them.

So, if I feel an "intense crawling sensation" up my ass I should stick my finger up there and root around for worms. Truly a moment.

[BQZip01]

Sorry if I missed this if it was previously posted, but I found this else where and thought I would have to share this gem. Clip of girl barfing in bag at zero G.

https://www.break.com/index/barf-bags-dont-work-at-0-gs.html

link? You gave just a link to this videographic work of art?

My favorite part about this was when she's kicking her legs in the air as the puke flows back into her face...

I had an instructor that used this clip as a break in his lesson while he chatted about other inane things for about 15 minutes. This video looping over and over...airsickness just didn't seem to gross after that lecture.

Ok, my turn for puke stories.

Story 1: Flyin' in the tweet and the student landing in front of me pukes on short final. We land right behind them and continue taxiing. We pretty much catch up with them on the landing roll and taxi off close to one another. As we clear the runway, we open our canopies and the lead aircraft makes a left turn, I watch as the student leans out, unstraps his mask and pours it out. Safety regs being what they are, he dutifully straps his mask back on...

Story 2: (told secondhand) Same guy was flying and they finish some acro. This guy didn't have the stomach for it at first. Unfortunately, he went from "I'm fine" to "sweetmercifulheavenigottapuke" in about 2 seconds. Right after the IP demos some maneuver he looks over to the student who is looking straight ahead as a foamy puke is curling out of his mask.

The guy graduated and went on to be a tweet IP (now is flying IP on the T-6).

Story 3: Now I fly on the BUFFs and I can only imagine what low-level missions were like in a bird that size. Apparently there used to be an E-Dub that puked on every low level run. It got to the point that he couldn't even call out threats over the radio, but he had an ace up his sleeve. It was a new invention he picked up when he went through the B-52 FTU: sticky notes. He put down everything he could think of on these notes and the gunner would act as his voice. Imagine if you will, some guy holding a barf bag in one hand and puking in it while the gunner is calling out, "Pilot, guns, the E-Dub says Break...Left...Bandit...Spiked...2o'clock...make that 3 o'clock."

Story 4: I'm not going to trash guys who puke and not fess up myself. I prided myself on the fact that I never got airsick. I was green a few times, but I never threw up despite being in MH-53s, T-37s, T-43s, and T-1s...

...then I got in the B-52 as an E-Dub. No windows and a broken air conditioner on my first flight followed by some "High-G" maneuvers (to paraphrase Iron Eagle II: "I'VE BEEN TO TWO!") left me queasy, but I was all right, or so I thought. We then get back to Barkatraz for 2+ hours of pattern work. Around pattern #3 I'm really thinking "don't do it man..." Pattern #5, my body sent a message to my forehead, "Dude, it's coming! Start pumping out sweat!" I look over at my instructor who has flown a BUFF for 15+ years and he is just sitting there calmly twiddling his thumbs. Then I get "that sensation" and I think to myself, that bag better be out and close by (it was already out and in my lap)! I grab it and feel the momentum of vomit as the wheels touch down for a touch and go. I puke during the entire rollout and stop once we get airborne.

My instructor call up to the pilots, "Hey guys can we take it out to the radar pattern?"

"Great idea!" They respond.

I catch my breath. Then I thank the instructor for the breather. The pilots do a swapout and 4 guys take a leak.

We get done and land and I unhappily unload my puke which is double bagged (always remember to double bag if you can, folks). I tossed it the first chance I had. What I didn't know was that the student nav was basically incapacitated with vomiting up his lunch...then bile...and then dry heaving for about 4 hours, but refused to give up. He filled eleven bags but kept trying to work his job.

During the debrief, the pilots said, "Man, I am so glad you guys asked for that trip out to the radar pattern. I had to piss so badly..."

My instructor spoke up, "Yeah, that was me. With that last pattern, I was about to puke and we HAD to sit level for a few minutes or it was gonna come up."

"Oh! We just thought you had to pee."

Related funny story: on the B-52, there is a toilet (which is really a glorified bedpan in which you bring your own bag to collect your waste) and a urinal (which is a 6-inch spherical cup with a lid on the side). Most people opt to use the urinal. To use it, the instructor nav downstairs has to get up from his seat and fold it away. This urinal cup is connected by a thin plastic tube to a 5-gallon canteen (the kind you find on the back of a humvee).

Well, a few guys use the urinal after about an hour into the 8.7 hour flight and the nav instructor sits back down for refueling. He reaches down to get his gloves only to find them slightly damp. He calls out to the crew, "Guys, if you are going to use the urinal, please watch your aim," and we continue with the flight. Most people on our crew of nine take a couple of pee breaks. As we are about to land, the same instructor goes to sit down and put his gloves on again. This time however, he finds they are floating in his helmet bag...

It turns out that plastic tube came disconnected from the canteen and every time guys took a leak, their urine flowed directly into his helmet bag.

[MadMac]

Someones got to have a B-52 story about plastic wrap on the urinal and shorting out the BNS.

[war007afa]

So I pretty much puked every single flight that I had in Tweets. It was weird. I would fly the manuevers, spins, stalls, everythinng, never once feeling sick. Then on the descent into the pattern area, I'd feel queasy, hand off the jet, blow chow into my bag, tie it up, put it in my pocket, take back the jet, and press on. Ended up doing the chair every damn day (including Fridays while everyone was out at the club) and found that the only cure was a combination of chewing mint gum while flying (sugarless so your mask seals don't stick) and time. Eventually, my body just stopped wanting to puke, just like they advertised me it would. It got to where I couldn't really even puke when I was drunk, so I got used to not puking after that. Enter my false sense of confidence.

So there I was. Little Rock, AR. 2005. My buddy is having a birthday party while we are there and we go to Cajun's Wharf (you know this place if you are a herk dude). It's a typical weekend night and we've been rockin' out pretty hard and decide to tie one on to celebrate his day. So we get a pretty cute waitress and she's pretty nice to us and lets us pretty much order whatever we want. This is a mistake. We order those plastic cups that you would normally drink from a keg with full of two things: ice, and John Daniels (we have a pretty decent relationship built on trust and mutual boredom). So we are getting these things brought to us and start to CHUG them, toasting, from what I can remember of this, "...to the bottom of the glass". We are holding our shit together by some miracle and she, in her ignorance, continues to serve us these drinks. The night continues on, and for some reason I remember that Roy Jones Jr. was in the bar that night, only important because of the pure volume of clientel that turned out to be in that bar that particular night. There was no getting anywhere in the bar in a hurry, no matter what.

So we're blasting these drinks down like madmen. For those who have not been to Cajun's Wharf in Little Rock, it is a 2-story establishment with an outdoor deck on the roof/2nd floor. We're up there looking out at the river and enjoying the cool night air and getting stupid drunk. Then, it happens...

You know how it starts...first the movement feeling in your stomach, maybe a little bit of the spins, the saliva in your mouth. Then you get that last moment of clarity that pulls you completely out of your drunken stupor and directly into full consciousness: I AM GOING TO VOMIT...NOW!

There is no way to get to the bathroom. I am stumbling around and make it to the edge of the balcony. I assume the balcony goes over the river, so I get there, and in my degraded state, neglect to preflight my trajectory and just let it all out. I puke for what must have been 4 straight minutes. My friends are laughing, but the one who comes over to check on me makes the stark realization that I did not: the balcony is over more of the club, with tables down below. A few people are running away from the table that I had just shacked. Lucky for me there were only a few people in that particular area at the time. So I'm standing 15 feet over my handiwork and the waitress comes back upstairs and realizes that we are not as jovial as we have once been and are in a hurry to leave. Then she sees the railing of the balcony that I got a little puke on and you can literally see the realization as to what happened come across her face. She says only one word: "Leave". Our driver pays our tab, tips the waitress like 25 bucks, and we pretty much run to my buddy's truck to get out of there. I have only one time in my life been drunker than that evening, and I am pretty sure that I am still not allowed back into that bar.

Cheers

[BQZip01]

Someones got to have a B-52 story about plastic wrap on the urinal and shorting out the BNS.

Not me, but thanks for the great idea...

Edited October 10, 2009 by BQZip01

[Guest Trashhauler]

Flight Screening in the mighty Firefly. None of us had our own headsets, so the community headsets stayed with the plane. I'm on second go. IP and first student taxi in, and I see them coming with canopy open and student 1 leaning over the side - pretty obvious he was having bigger problems that day than finding Taco, or Enchilada, or whatever the fk the VFR entry point was called. Mx guy meets him with vomit cleaning kit and stud 1 proceeds to give that plane the most thorough cleaning I have ever seen. I'm impressed with his de-vomitification and have no worries hopping in. Neither he nor I had thought about that fkn headset until I put it on and proceeded to press that foam-covered mike directly to my lips like I always do. The time span of me noticing the feel of a soggy mike, pulling it away, reaching up to my bottom lip to pull off a chunk of some other dude's chow, scream like a chick, egress the plane, and run to the shitter was about 8 seconds to the best of my recollection.

[BQZip01]

Flight Screening in the mighty Firefly. None of us had our own headsets, so the community headsets stayed with the plane. I'm on second go. IP and first student taxi in, and I see them coming with canopy open and student 1 leaning over the side - pretty obvious he was having bigger problems that day than finding Taco, or Enchilada, or whatever the fk the VFR entry point was called. Mx guy meets him with vomit cleaning kit and stud 1 proceeds to give that plane the most thorough cleaning I have ever seen. I'm impressed with his de-vomitification and have no worries hopping in. Neither he nor I had thought about that fkn headset until I put it on and proceeded to press that foam-covered mike directly to my lips like I always do. The time span of me noticing the feel of a soggy mike, pulling it away, reaching up to my bottom lip to pull off a chunk of some other dude's chow, scream like a chick, egress the plane, and run to the shitter was about 8 seconds to the best of my recollection.

helluva first post, man

you should fit right in here...

[Guest Trashhauler]

helluva first post, man

you should fit right in here...

Yeah - figured I can only loiter so long without feeling unseemly.

[08Dawg]

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.

[Guest William Parkar]

After some swirling around the sky, none of which I could reconstruct if I tried, we knocked it off and reset. Both flights turned for their points to set up for the next fight.

Regaining my vision, my gastrointestinal tract let me know it was NOT happy at the treatment. I unclipped the side of my mask, loosened my shoulder straps and reached for my Mark I barf bag.

As I heaved, I thought I had more time before the next engagement. I was therefore totally unprepared for the next “merged” call. With my mask loose and the preoccupation with examining my stomach’s contents, I must have missed the “fight’s on” broadcast.

This call went the same as the last fight. The same pull and hard climbing turn produced the same “g’s” and loss of vision. Unfortunately, with my shoulder straps loose, I was pinned to my lap by the crushing force. My now-filled ex-lunch sack plummeted to the cockpit floor and sprayed everywhere. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t sit upright and I didn’t think it could get any worse.

Edited April 2, 2010 by M2

[Steve Davies]

After some swirling around the sky, none of which I could reconstruct if I tried, we knocked it off and reset. Both flights turned for their points to set up for the next fight.

Regaining my vision, my gastrointestinal tract let me know it was NOT happy at the treatment. I unclipped the side of my mask, loosened my shoulder straps and reached for my Mark I barf bag.

As I heaved, I thought I had more time before the next engagement. I was therefore totally unprepared for the next "merged" call. With my mask loose and the preoccupation with examining my stomach's contents, I must have missed the "fight's on" broadcast.

This call went the same as the last fight. The same pull and hard climbing turn produced the same "g's" and loss of vision. Unfortunately, with my shoulder straps loose, I was pinned to my lap by the crushing force. My now-filled ex-lunch sack plummeted to the cockpit floor and sprayed everywhere. I couldn't see, I couldn't sit upright and I didn't think it could get any worse.

As if it's not bad enough that you are tying to sell a product that promises not to plagiarise, despite the fact that you can barely string a sentence together yourself, the post above is a cut and paste job.

And if you thought it couldn't get any worse, you've plagiarised the work of someone who *belongs to this forum*! and has posted *the exact same text in the first page of this thread* That is so sloppy that it hurts.

Brick, do you recognise the words above?!

Check the second post in this thread, or checkout post #4 on PPRuNe: https://www.pprune.or...p/t-204422.html

I wouldn't touch your writing services with a barge pole.

Edited April 2, 2010 by Steve Davies

[WheelsOff]

ZING!!!

[GrndPndr]

Somebody's always watching (and checking). Ten posts in less than a day...

Perhaps posts like this are inevitable with the number of new members signed up over the past few days?

FM

[M2]

"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.

Cheers! M2