These last several have been excellent! I burst out laughing!

Eagle

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Raccoon Lovers

The Female Demerit System

I didn't want to laugh, but I couldn't help myself!

Hopefully this hasn't been posted before. I only lurk here from time to time...

HOW TO IMPRESS A WOMAN
Wine her,
Dine her,
Call her,
Hug her,
Hold her,
Surprise her,
Compliment her,
Smile at her,
Laugh with her,
Cry with her,
Cuddle with her,
Shop with her,
Give her jewelry,
Buy her flowers,
Hold her hand,
Write love letters to her,
Go the end of the earth and back again for her.

HOW TO IMPRESS A MAN
Show up naked,
Bring beer.

LOL....kitty joke.


When Love Fades:

Last night I was sitting on the sofa watching TV when I heard my wife's voice from the kitchen.
"What would you like for dinner, my love?
Chicken, Beef or Lamb?"
I said, "Thank you dear, I'll have chicken."
She replied...
"You'll be having soup, butt head ... I was talking to the cat."

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"Freedom is just Chaos, with better lighting." Alan Dean Foster

Hudson miracle APCH Chart

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This was not my find.....

Reposting something that I found hilarious.
British humour is so funny.

Blackberry.

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"Freedom is just Chaos, with better lighting." Alan Dean Foster

A bum comes up to the front door of a very expensive house and raps gently on the door. When the rich owner answers, the bum asks him, "Please, sir, could you give me something to eat? I haven't had a good meal in several days."

The owner says, "I have made a fortune in my lifetime by supplying goods for people. I've never given anything away for nothing. However, if you go around the back, you will see a gallon of paint and a clean paint brush. If you will paint my porch, I will give you a good meal."

So the bum goes around back and a while later he again knocks on the door. The owner says, "Finished already? Good. Come on in. Sit down. The cook will bring your meal right in."

The bum says, "Thank you very much. But there's something that I think you should know. It's not a porch you got there. It's a BMW."

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Little Larry attended a horse auction with his father. He watched as his father moved from horse to horse, running his hands up and down the horse's legs and rump, and chest. After a few minutes, Larry asked, 'Dad, why are you doing that?' His father replied, 'Because when I'm buying horses, I have to make sure that they are healthy and in good shape before I buy. Larry, looking worried, said......

'Dad, I think the UPS guy wants to buy Mom ....'

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"Freedom is just Chaos, with better lighting." Alan Dean Foster

You've heard of the new fight club that serves mexican food in the back?
It's called....

Taco Brawl

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"Freedom is just Chaos, with better lighting." Alan Dean Foster

As Woody Allen was once heard to say, "I want to be two with the universe."

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"Folks, we're just about ready for taxi and take-off. I need you guys to turn off your Blackberrys, Strawberrys and Blueberrys."

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We have clearance, Clarence. Roger, Roger. What's our vector, Victor?

(Cockpit crew in the movie 'Airplane.')

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We have clearance, Clarence. Roger, Roger. What's our vector, Victor?

(Cockpit crew in the movie 'Airplane.')

I AM serious....and don't call me Shirley.

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"Freedom is just Chaos, with better lighting." Alan Dean Foster

SR-71 Blackbird Communication to Tower


This was forwarded to me by LTC Robert Bent, US Army, Retired

Written by Brian Schul—former sled (SR-71 Blackbird) driver.

There were a lot of things we couldn't do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane—intense, maybe, even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment.

It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plane in the past ten months. Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet.

I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn't match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury. Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace.

We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot who asked Center for a read-out of his ground speed. Center replied: "November Charlie 175, I'm showing you at ninety knots on the ground." Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the "Houston Center voice." I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country's space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the Houston controllers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that and that they basically did. And it didn't matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios.

Just moments after the Cessna's inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his ground speed in Beech. "I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed." Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren.

Then out of the blue, a navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios. "Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check." Before Center could reply, I'm thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million-dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a read-out? Then I got it, ol' Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He's the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet. And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion: "Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground." And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done—in mere seconds we'll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now. I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn.

Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet. Then, I heard it—the click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke: "Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?" There was no hesitation, and the replay came as if was an everyday request.

"Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground." I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice: "Ah, Center, much thanks, we're showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money."

For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the Houston Center voice, when L.A. came back with, "Roger that Aspen. Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You boys have a good one." It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day's work. We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast. For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.

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That was just really cool! I loved it!

Steve

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Warning, addicted to SETI crunching!
Crunching as a member of GPU Users Group.
GPUUG Website

1900 Knots, 80000 Feet, and still able to read a license plate.

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BOINC WIKI

That was 1900 knots, which is 2186 MPH. Holy moly!

Steve

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Warning, addicted to SETI crunching!
Crunching as a member of GPU Users Group.
GPUUG Website

That was just really cool! I loved it!

Steve

Nice to know you liked it!
I bet there are a couple more that enjoyed it.
Cheers!

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That was just really cool! I loved it!

Steve

Nice to know you liked it!
I bet there are a couple more that enjoyed it.
Cheers!

More than a couple, Dirk. "Multi-Service" Veteran here (USAF, Colo. ArNG, USN)

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It is crazy to see how you can kill a bad guy with just pushing the mic button and making the right question to ground control at the right time.....LOL
As soon as I found it by surfing the net, I thought I had to share it here on the wall with you all.
A fact: the Blackbird SR71 has no weapons at all.....well, sorry, just two: hell speed and crew teamwork!!!
Have a nice day, folks!

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