Heli, non-heli (and even non-aviation) humour ...
Join Date: Jan 2005
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A woman was in a coma.
She had been in it for months.
Nurses were in her room giving her a bed bath.
One of them was washing her private area and noticed that there was a slight response on the monitor when she touched her.
They tried it again and sure enough there was sizable movement.
They went to her husband and explained what happened, telling him, as crazy as this sounds,
maybe a little '0ral sex' will do the trick & bring her out of the coma.'
The husband was sceptical, but they assured him that they'd close the curtains for privacy.
The husband finally agreed and went into his wife's room.
After a few minutes the woman's monitor flat lined, no pulse, no heart rate.
The nurses run back into the room. 'What happened?' they cried.
The husband said, 'I'm not sure; maybe she choked.'
She had been in it for months.
Nurses were in her room giving her a bed bath.
One of them was washing her private area and noticed that there was a slight response on the monitor when she touched her.
They tried it again and sure enough there was sizable movement.
They went to her husband and explained what happened, telling him, as crazy as this sounds,
maybe a little '0ral sex' will do the trick & bring her out of the coma.'
The husband was sceptical, but they assured him that they'd close the curtains for privacy.
The husband finally agreed and went into his wife's room.
After a few minutes the woman's monitor flat lined, no pulse, no heart rate.
The nurses run back into the room. 'What happened?' they cried.
The husband said, 'I'm not sure; maybe she choked.'
Ninety degrees F...90 percent humidity....sweat dripping...buffing and waxing a 41 foot sailboat hull....should be sat in the crew room with a cup of tea in my mitt! I won't go into the charm of scrapping barnacles and slopping on bottom paint. No cistern chapel this work of art!
I always did tell me Mum I played piano in a whorehouse.....vice being a helicopter pilot....otherwise the truth would have broken the old dear's heart!
I always did tell me Mum I played piano in a whorehouse.....vice being a helicopter pilot....otherwise the truth would have broken the old dear's heart!
Join Date: Jun 2007
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Couting - US Army Style
A story narrated to me by an American Sailor, who probably served in the war.
The story goes like this ..
During the Vietnam war, there were those "US Army Advisors" in the field, when they came under fire from VietCongs.
The South Army Vietnam Guys (the good guys ??), let's call him x, called for artillery fire, and the artillery guy asks"how many enemies do you see?"
x replies, "about a hundred of them, trying to overrrun our perimeter" and the response from the artillery guy was "small problem, beat them back"
An hour or so later x calls again, and starts pleading for artillery support, saying "there seem to be a thousand VC attacking us" and pronto, the Artillery guy replies again "small problem, you got more guys than that to defend. Take care of it yourself"
Apparently the fire from the enemy increased, till the US Army advisor with the South Vietnam Army soldiers decides to call in artillery fire, and over the radio tells the artillery guys "buddy, there is a whole damn ****
load of enemies trying to overrun our positions".
The Artilley guy says "well, understood your situation, and we will start firing now. Atleast you know how to count"
The story goes like this ..
During the Vietnam war, there were those "US Army Advisors" in the field, when they came under fire from VietCongs.
The South Army Vietnam Guys (the good guys ??), let's call him x, called for artillery fire, and the artillery guy asks"how many enemies do you see?"
x replies, "about a hundred of them, trying to overrrun our perimeter" and the response from the artillery guy was "small problem, beat them back"
An hour or so later x calls again, and starts pleading for artillery support, saying "there seem to be a thousand VC attacking us" and pronto, the Artillery guy replies again "small problem, you got more guys than that to defend. Take care of it yourself"
Apparently the fire from the enemy increased, till the US Army advisor with the South Vietnam Army soldiers decides to call in artillery fire, and over the radio tells the artillery guys "buddy, there is a whole damn ****
load of enemies trying to overrun our positions".The Artilley guy says "well, understood your situation, and we will start firing now. Atleast you know how to count"
Join Date: Jun 2007
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One more for the weekend
Author - not me
>
*_THE JOURNEY OF MAN!!!!! _*
When I was 14, I hoped that one day I would have a girlfriend. When I was 16 I got a girlfriend, but there was no passion, so I decided I needed a passionate girl with a zest for life.
In college I dated a passionate girl, but she was too emotional. Everything was an emergency; she was a drama queen, cried all the time and threatened suicide.
So I decided I needed a girl with stability.
When I was 25 I found a very stable girl but she was boring. She was totally predictable and never got excited about anything.
Life became so dull that I decided that I needed a girl with some excitement.
When I was 28 I found an exciting girl, but I couldn't keep up with
her.. She rushed from one thing to another, never settling on anything. She did mad impetuous things and made me miserable as often as happy. She was great fun initially and very energetic, but directionless.
So I decided to find a girl with some real ambition.
When I turned 30, I found a smart ambitious girl with her feet planted firmly on the ground, so I married her. She was so ambitious that she divorced me and took everything I owned.
I am older and wiser now, and am looking for a girl with big tits.
>
*_THE JOURNEY OF MAN!!!!! _*
When I was 14, I hoped that one day I would have a girlfriend. When I was 16 I got a girlfriend, but there was no passion, so I decided I needed a passionate girl with a zest for life.
In college I dated a passionate girl, but she was too emotional. Everything was an emergency; she was a drama queen, cried all the time and threatened suicide.
So I decided I needed a girl with stability.
When I was 25 I found a very stable girl but she was boring. She was totally predictable and never got excited about anything.
Life became so dull that I decided that I needed a girl with some excitement.
When I was 28 I found an exciting girl, but I couldn't keep up with
her.. She rushed from one thing to another, never settling on anything. She did mad impetuous things and made me miserable as often as happy. She was great fun initially and very energetic, but directionless.
So I decided to find a girl with some real ambition.
When I turned 30, I found a smart ambitious girl with her feet planted firmly on the ground, so I married her. She was so ambitious that she divorced me and took everything I owned.
I am older and wiser now, and am looking for a girl with big tits.
US,
Your comments rang a bell for me....brought back some memories of my Honey Moon trip out West.
Me and the Missus...lovely young thing...5'2"...105 pounds....blue eyes...blonde...wine glass top...hour glass shape...but I digress. We were travelling out West on our Honey Moon and were somewhere in the middle of Nevada on US 50 (The Lonliest Highway in the Country). We stopped to buy some petrol (gas....gasoline....push water) at a small gas station in the middle of absolutely no where. The only facilities were the little house out behind the big house (Dunny....Outhouse) and with some hesitation off went the Missus to do her thing.
The old gentleman running the place suggested I looked like a Man that could enjoy a good joke. He noted the isolation of the place encouraged him to take every opportunity to break the monotony and boredom....and would I go along with a harmless prank upon my Missus.
In a very weak moment I agreed.
As the path to the Dunny was fairly lengthy....there was lots of time for the old Coot to walk into the station house and take up a strategic position whereby he could observe the Dunny. A minute or two after my Missus entered the Dunny....the fellow picked up a microphone and said quite firmly...."Hey Lady, would you move over a bit....we're painting down here and you're blocking our light!"
In a flash...my wife bolted out the door of the Dunny doing up her shorts and quick marched back to the car and slammed the door. Me and the old Coot had a great laugh....I paid the guy for the petrol and got into the car and drove away.
Not being able to leave well enough alone....I asked my Missus what was going on....and in a complete fit of Dumbass allowed I had been part of the prank. The Honey Moon ended immediately....and the rest of the trip could have been just another old retired couple traveling about the country.
Your comments rang a bell for me....brought back some memories of my Honey Moon trip out West.
Me and the Missus...lovely young thing...5'2"...105 pounds....blue eyes...blonde...wine glass top...hour glass shape...but I digress. We were travelling out West on our Honey Moon and were somewhere in the middle of Nevada on US 50 (The Lonliest Highway in the Country). We stopped to buy some petrol (gas....gasoline....push water) at a small gas station in the middle of absolutely no where. The only facilities were the little house out behind the big house (Dunny....Outhouse) and with some hesitation off went the Missus to do her thing.
The old gentleman running the place suggested I looked like a Man that could enjoy a good joke. He noted the isolation of the place encouraged him to take every opportunity to break the monotony and boredom....and would I go along with a harmless prank upon my Missus.
In a very weak moment I agreed.
As the path to the Dunny was fairly lengthy....there was lots of time for the old Coot to walk into the station house and take up a strategic position whereby he could observe the Dunny. A minute or two after my Missus entered the Dunny....the fellow picked up a microphone and said quite firmly...."Hey Lady, would you move over a bit....we're painting down here and you're blocking our light!"
In a flash...my wife bolted out the door of the Dunny doing up her shorts and quick marched back to the car and slammed the door. Me and the old Coot had a great laugh....I paid the guy for the petrol and got into the car and drove away.
Not being able to leave well enough alone....I asked my Missus what was going on....and in a complete fit of Dumbass allowed I had been part of the prank. The Honey Moon ended immediately....and the rest of the trip could have been just another old retired couple traveling about the country.
Join Date: Feb 2005
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I THINK YOU'RE THE FATHER OF ONE OF MY KIDS
A guy goes to the supermarket and notices an
attractive woman waving at him. She says
hello. He's rather taken aback because he
can't place where he knows her from.
So he says, 'Do you know me?'
To which she replies, 'I think you're the
father of one of my kids.'
Now his mind travels back to the only time
he has ever been unfaithful to his wife and
says, 'Are you the stripper from the
bachelor party that I made love to on the
pool table with all my buddies watching
while your partner whipped my butt with wet celery???'
She looks into his eyes and says calmly,
'No, I'm your son's teacher.'
A guy goes to the supermarket and notices an
attractive woman waving at him. She says
hello. He's rather taken aback because he
can't place where he knows her from.
So he says, 'Do you know me?'
To which she replies, 'I think you're the
father of one of my kids.'
Now his mind travels back to the only time
he has ever been unfaithful to his wife and
says, 'Are you the stripper from the
bachelor party that I made love to on the
pool table with all my buddies watching
while your partner whipped my butt with wet celery???'
She looks into his eyes and says calmly,
'No, I'm your son's teacher.'
Two aliens landed in the Arizona desert near a gas station
that was closed for the night.
They approached one of the gas pumps and the younger alien
addressed it saying, "Greetings, Earthling. We come in peace. Take
us to your leader."
The gas pump, of course, didn't respond.
The younger alien became angry at the lack of response.
The older alien said, "I'd calm down if I were you."
The younger alien ignored the warning and repeated his greeting.
Again, there was no response.
Annoyed by what he perceived to be the pump's haughty attitude, he drew
his ray gun and said impatiently, "Greetings, Earthling. We come in peace. Do not ignore us this way! Take us to your leader or I will fire!'"
The older alien again warned his comrade saying,"'You probably don't want to do that! I really don't think you should make him mad."
"Rubbish," replied the cocky, young alien. He aimed his weapon at the pump and opened fire.
There was a huge explosion. A massive fireball roared towards them and blew the younger alien off his feet and deposited him in a
burnt, smoking mess about 200 yards away in a cactus patch.
Half an hour passed until he finally regained consciousness.
Refocusing his three eyes, he straightened his bent antenna, and looked dazedly at the older, wiser alien who was standing over him shaking his big, green head.
"What a ferocious creature!' exclaimed the young, fried alien. "He damn
near killed me! How did you know he was so dangerous?'"
The older alien leaned over, placed a friendly feeler on his crispy friend and replied, "If there's one thing I've learned during my intergalactic travels, you don't want to mess with a guy who can loop his Willy over his shoulder and stick it in his ear."
that was closed for the night.
They approached one of the gas pumps and the younger alien
addressed it saying, "Greetings, Earthling. We come in peace. Take
us to your leader."
The gas pump, of course, didn't respond.
The younger alien became angry at the lack of response.
The older alien said, "I'd calm down if I were you."
The younger alien ignored the warning and repeated his greeting.
Again, there was no response.
Annoyed by what he perceived to be the pump's haughty attitude, he drew
his ray gun and said impatiently, "Greetings, Earthling. We come in peace. Do not ignore us this way! Take us to your leader or I will fire!'"
The older alien again warned his comrade saying,"'You probably don't want to do that! I really don't think you should make him mad."
"Rubbish," replied the cocky, young alien. He aimed his weapon at the pump and opened fire.
There was a huge explosion. A massive fireball roared towards them and blew the younger alien off his feet and deposited him in a
burnt, smoking mess about 200 yards away in a cactus patch.
Half an hour passed until he finally regained consciousness.
Refocusing his three eyes, he straightened his bent antenna, and looked dazedly at the older, wiser alien who was standing over him shaking his big, green head.
"What a ferocious creature!' exclaimed the young, fried alien. "He damn
near killed me! How did you know he was so dangerous?'"
The older alien leaned over, placed a friendly feeler on his crispy friend and replied, "If there's one thing I've learned during my intergalactic travels, you don't want to mess with a guy who can loop his Willy over his shoulder and stick it in his ear."
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timberline
Oldie but goodie...A former Army helicopter pilot who was, unlike most of us, adept at tact & diplomacy became employed by an Alaskan operator. After a few days on his first assignment at a remote site he called the operations manager to report that the helicopter wouldn't start. The ops manager asked the pilot if he had any ideas as to why it wouldn't start. The tactful pilot replied "Well I think it's because it's upside down ... but the mechanic thinks it's because it's under water."
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Douglas was being evaluated for mental problems and was asked by the doctor, "If a train was coming down the hallway toward you, what would you do?"
Douglas replied, "I would get in my helicopter and fly away!"
The doctor then asked, "Where did you get a helicopter from?"
Douglas replied, "The same place you got that f***ing train!"
Douglas replied, "I would get in my helicopter and fly away!"
The doctor then asked, "Where did you get a helicopter from?"
Douglas replied, "The same place you got that f***ing train!"
There once was a helicopter pilot who lived his whole life without ever taking advantage of any of the people he worked for. In fact, he made sure that every job he did resulted in a win-win situation for somone. One day while walking down the street he was tragically hit by a bus and he died.
His soul arrived up in heaven where he was met at the Pearly Gates by St. Peter himself. "Welcome to Heaven," said St.Peter. "Before you get settled in though it seems we have a problem. You see, strangely enough, we've never once had a helicopter pilot make it this far and we're not really sure what to do with you."
"No problem, just let me in." said the master of all things with a rotorhead.
"Well, I'd like to, but I have higher orders. What we're going to do is let you have a day in Hell and a day in Heaven and then you can choose whichever one you want to spend an eternity in."
"Actually, I think I've made up my mind...I prefer to stay in Heaven" said the pilot in fine smart-ass tradition. "Sorry, we have rules..." And with that St. Peter put our hero in an elevator and it went down-down-down to hell. The doors opened and our aviator friend found himself stepping out onto the putting green of a beautiful golf course. In the distance was a country club and standing in front of him were all his friends - guys, that he had worked with and they were all dressed in party suits, and blue jeans, wearing cowboy hats, and looking like a very non-standard, but happy group, and cheering for him. They ran up and shook his hand, and they talked about old times. They played an excellent round of golf and at night went to the country club where he enjoyed an excellent steak and lobster dinner. Our wizzard of rotorwinged flight met the Devil who was actually a really nice guy, and not at all like a senior officer. He had a great time drinking, telling jokes, drinking, and telling war stories, drinking, and dancing. Oh, and there was some drinking.
Our aviator was having such a good time that before he knew it, it was time to leave. Everybody shook his hand and waved good-bye as he got on the elevator. The elevator went up-up-up and opened back up at the Pearly Gates and found St. Peter waiting for him. "Now it's time to spend a day in heaven." So our faithful pilot spent the next 24 hours lounging around on clouds and playing the harp and singing. He had a great time and before he knew it his 24 hours were up and St.Peter came and got him. "So, you've spent a day in hell and you've spent a day in heaven. Now you must choose your eternity. "The master of all that has rotorblades paused for a second and then replied, "Well, I never thought I'd say this, I mean, Heaven has been really great and all, but I think I had a better time in Hell." So St. Peter escorted him to the elevator and again the pilot went down-down-down back to Hell. When the doors of the elevator opened he found himself standing in a desolate wasteland covered in garbage and filth. He saw his friends were dressed in rags and were picking up the garbage and putting it in sacks. The Devil came up to her and put his arm around him. "I don't understand," stammered the (seldom) confused helicopter pilot , "yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and a country club and we ate lobster And we danced and had a great time. Now all there is a wasteland of garbage and all my friends look miserable."
The Devil looked at him and smiled, "That's because yesterday we were recruiting you, but today you're staff."
His soul arrived up in heaven where he was met at the Pearly Gates by St. Peter himself. "Welcome to Heaven," said St.Peter. "Before you get settled in though it seems we have a problem. You see, strangely enough, we've never once had a helicopter pilot make it this far and we're not really sure what to do with you."
"No problem, just let me in." said the master of all things with a rotorhead.
"Well, I'd like to, but I have higher orders. What we're going to do is let you have a day in Hell and a day in Heaven and then you can choose whichever one you want to spend an eternity in."
"Actually, I think I've made up my mind...I prefer to stay in Heaven" said the pilot in fine smart-ass tradition. "Sorry, we have rules..." And with that St. Peter put our hero in an elevator and it went down-down-down to hell. The doors opened and our aviator friend found himself stepping out onto the putting green of a beautiful golf course. In the distance was a country club and standing in front of him were all his friends - guys, that he had worked with and they were all dressed in party suits, and blue jeans, wearing cowboy hats, and looking like a very non-standard, but happy group, and cheering for him. They ran up and shook his hand, and they talked about old times. They played an excellent round of golf and at night went to the country club where he enjoyed an excellent steak and lobster dinner. Our wizzard of rotorwinged flight met the Devil who was actually a really nice guy, and not at all like a senior officer. He had a great time drinking, telling jokes, drinking, and telling war stories, drinking, and dancing. Oh, and there was some drinking.
Our aviator was having such a good time that before he knew it, it was time to leave. Everybody shook his hand and waved good-bye as he got on the elevator. The elevator went up-up-up and opened back up at the Pearly Gates and found St. Peter waiting for him. "Now it's time to spend a day in heaven." So our faithful pilot spent the next 24 hours lounging around on clouds and playing the harp and singing. He had a great time and before he knew it his 24 hours were up and St.Peter came and got him. "So, you've spent a day in hell and you've spent a day in heaven. Now you must choose your eternity. "The master of all that has rotorblades paused for a second and then replied, "Well, I never thought I'd say this, I mean, Heaven has been really great and all, but I think I had a better time in Hell." So St. Peter escorted him to the elevator and again the pilot went down-down-down back to Hell. When the doors of the elevator opened he found himself standing in a desolate wasteland covered in garbage and filth. He saw his friends were dressed in rags and were picking up the garbage and putting it in sacks. The Devil came up to her and put his arm around him. "I don't understand," stammered the (seldom) confused helicopter pilot , "yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and a country club and we ate lobster And we danced and had a great time. Now all there is a wasteland of garbage and all my friends look miserable."
The Devil looked at him and smiled, "That's because yesterday we were recruiting you, but today you're staff."
A FEW GOOD HELICOPTER PILOTS..............
Helicopter Pilot: "You want answers?"
Boss: "I think I’m entitled."
Helicopter Pilot: "You want answers?!"
Boss: "I want the truth!"
Helicopter Pilot: "You can't handle the truth!!!"
"We live in a world that requires revenue. That revenue is generated by flying helicopters, and must be flown by people with elite skills. Who's going to do it? You, Mr. President? You Mr. Finance? You, Ms. Human Resources? We have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You scoff at the Line Pilots and you curse our mediocre incentives. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what we know. And my very existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, drives REVENUE!
You don't want to know the truth because deep down in places you don't talk about at the coffee pot and staff meetings, you want me in that helicopter. You NEED me in that helicopter!! We use words like RH, backing fire, ping pong balls, long line, buckets, load calcs, airworthiness, medium-rare, and on-the-rocks. We use these words as the backbone of all Professional Helicopter Fire Aviation. You use them as a punch line! I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to people who rise and sleep under the very blanket of service I provide and then question the manner in which I provide it. I would rather you just said "thank you" and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a flight helmet. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you're entitled to!"
Boss: "Did you expense the lap dancers?"
Helicopter Pilot: "I did the job I was hired to do."
Boss: "Did you expense the lap dancers?!"
Helicopter Pilot: "You're goddamn right I did!”
Helicopter Pilot: "You want answers?"
Boss: "I think I’m entitled."
Helicopter Pilot: "You want answers?!"
Boss: "I want the truth!"
Helicopter Pilot: "You can't handle the truth!!!"
"We live in a world that requires revenue. That revenue is generated by flying helicopters, and must be flown by people with elite skills. Who's going to do it? You, Mr. President? You Mr. Finance? You, Ms. Human Resources? We have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You scoff at the Line Pilots and you curse our mediocre incentives. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what we know. And my very existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, drives REVENUE!
You don't want to know the truth because deep down in places you don't talk about at the coffee pot and staff meetings, you want me in that helicopter. You NEED me in that helicopter!! We use words like RH, backing fire, ping pong balls, long line, buckets, load calcs, airworthiness, medium-rare, and on-the-rocks. We use these words as the backbone of all Professional Helicopter Fire Aviation. You use them as a punch line! I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to people who rise and sleep under the very blanket of service I provide and then question the manner in which I provide it. I would rather you just said "thank you" and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a flight helmet. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you're entitled to!"
Boss: "Did you expense the lap dancers?"
Helicopter Pilot: "I did the job I was hired to do."
Boss: "Did you expense the lap dancers?!"
Helicopter Pilot: "You're goddamn right I did!”
Our humble beginings:
Phuh Khen (pronounced Foo Ken) 1169-???? is considered by some to be the most under recognized military officer in history. Many have never heard of his contributions to modern military warfare. The mission of this secret society is to bring honor to the name of Phuh Khen.
A 'Khen' was a subordinate to a 'Khan' (pronounced Konn) in the military structure of the Mongol Hoards. Khan is Turkish for Leader. Most know of the great Genghis Khan, but little has been written of his chain of command. Khen is also of Turkish origin. Although there is not a word in English that adequately conveys the meaning. Roughly translated, it means, 'One who will do the impossible, while appearing unprepared, and complaining constantly.'
Phuh Khen was one of ten Khens that headed the divisions, or group of Hoards, as they were known, of the Mongol Army serving under Genghis Khan. His abilities came to light during the Mongol's raids on the Turkestan city of Turkestanis. Bohicans were fierce warriors and the city was well fortified. The entire city was protected by huge walls and the hoards were at a standoff with the Bohicans. Bohicaroo was well stocked and it would be difficult to wait them out. Genghis Khan assembled his Khens and ordered each of them to develop a plan for penetrating the defenses of Bohicaroo. Operation Achieve Victory (AV) was born. All 10 divisions of Khens submitted their plan.
After reviewing AV plans 1 thru 7 and finding them all unworkable or ridiculous, Genghis Khan was understandably upset. It was with much perspiration that Phuh Khen submitted his idea, which came to be known as AV 8. Upon seeing AV 8, Genghis was convinced this was the perfect plan and gave his immediate approval. The plan was beautifully simple. Phuh Khen would arm his Hoards to the teeth, load them into catapults, and hurl them over the wall. The losses were expected to be high, but hey, Hoards were cheap. Those that survived the flight would engage the enemy in combat. Those that did not? Well, surely their flailing bodies would cause some damage. The plan worked and the Bohicans were defeated. From that day on, whenever the Mongol Army encountered an insurmountable enemy, Genghis Khan would give the order, "Send some of Phuh Khen's AV 8ers". This is believed, though not by anyone outside our secret society, to be the true origin of the term Aviator (AV 8er). Phu Khen's AV 8ers were understandably an unruly mob, not likely to be socially acceptable. Many were heavy drinkers and insomniacs. But when nothing else would do, you could always count on an AV 8er. A Phu Khen, aviator, denied, perhaps rightfully so, his place in history, Phu Khen has been, nonetheless, immortalized in prose. As the great poet Norman Lear never once said:
"There once was a man named Phuh Khen
Whose breakfast was whiskey and gin
When e'er he'd fly
He'd give a mighty war cry
Bend over, here it comes again."
Consider it an honor to be a Phu Khen Aviator. Wear the mantle proudly, but speak of it cautiously. It is not always popular to be one of us. You hear mystical references, often hushed whispers, to 'those Phuh Khen Aviators'. Do not let these things bother you. As with any secret society, we go largely misunderstood, prohibited by our apathy, from explaining ourselves.
You are expected to always live down to the reputation of the Phuh Khen Aviator. A reputation cultivated for centuries, undaunted by scorn or ridicule, unhindered by progress. So drink up, be crude, sleep late, urinate in public, and get the job done. When others are offended, you can revel in the knowledge that you are a:
PHUH KHEN AVIATOR
Phuh Khen (pronounced Foo Ken) 1169-???? is considered by some to be the most under recognized military officer in history. Many have never heard of his contributions to modern military warfare. The mission of this secret society is to bring honor to the name of Phuh Khen.
A 'Khen' was a subordinate to a 'Khan' (pronounced Konn) in the military structure of the Mongol Hoards. Khan is Turkish for Leader. Most know of the great Genghis Khan, but little has been written of his chain of command. Khen is also of Turkish origin. Although there is not a word in English that adequately conveys the meaning. Roughly translated, it means, 'One who will do the impossible, while appearing unprepared, and complaining constantly.'
Phuh Khen was one of ten Khens that headed the divisions, or group of Hoards, as they were known, of the Mongol Army serving under Genghis Khan. His abilities came to light during the Mongol's raids on the Turkestan city of Turkestanis. Bohicans were fierce warriors and the city was well fortified. The entire city was protected by huge walls and the hoards were at a standoff with the Bohicans. Bohicaroo was well stocked and it would be difficult to wait them out. Genghis Khan assembled his Khens and ordered each of them to develop a plan for penetrating the defenses of Bohicaroo. Operation Achieve Victory (AV) was born. All 10 divisions of Khens submitted their plan.
After reviewing AV plans 1 thru 7 and finding them all unworkable or ridiculous, Genghis Khan was understandably upset. It was with much perspiration that Phuh Khen submitted his idea, which came to be known as AV 8. Upon seeing AV 8, Genghis was convinced this was the perfect plan and gave his immediate approval. The plan was beautifully simple. Phuh Khen would arm his Hoards to the teeth, load them into catapults, and hurl them over the wall. The losses were expected to be high, but hey, Hoards were cheap. Those that survived the flight would engage the enemy in combat. Those that did not? Well, surely their flailing bodies would cause some damage. The plan worked and the Bohicans were defeated. From that day on, whenever the Mongol Army encountered an insurmountable enemy, Genghis Khan would give the order, "Send some of Phuh Khen's AV 8ers". This is believed, though not by anyone outside our secret society, to be the true origin of the term Aviator (AV 8er). Phu Khen's AV 8ers were understandably an unruly mob, not likely to be socially acceptable. Many were heavy drinkers and insomniacs. But when nothing else would do, you could always count on an AV 8er. A Phu Khen, aviator, denied, perhaps rightfully so, his place in history, Phu Khen has been, nonetheless, immortalized in prose. As the great poet Norman Lear never once said:
"There once was a man named Phuh Khen
Whose breakfast was whiskey and gin
When e'er he'd fly
He'd give a mighty war cry
Bend over, here it comes again."
Consider it an honor to be a Phu Khen Aviator. Wear the mantle proudly, but speak of it cautiously. It is not always popular to be one of us. You hear mystical references, often hushed whispers, to 'those Phuh Khen Aviators'. Do not let these things bother you. As with any secret society, we go largely misunderstood, prohibited by our apathy, from explaining ourselves.
You are expected to always live down to the reputation of the Phuh Khen Aviator. A reputation cultivated for centuries, undaunted by scorn or ridicule, unhindered by progress. So drink up, be crude, sleep late, urinate in public, and get the job done. When others are offended, you can revel in the knowledge that you are a:
PHUH KHEN AVIATOR
THE DEAD HORSE THEORY AND THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT:
Tribal wisdom of the Lakota Indians, passed on from generation to
generation, says that, "When you discover that you are riding a dead horse,
the best strategy is to dismount."
However, in Federal government, more advanced strategies are often
employed, such as:
1. Buying a stronger whip.
2. Changing riders.
3. Appointing a committee to study the horse.
4. Visiting other countries to see how other cultures ride dead horses.
5. Lowering standards so that dead horses can be included.
6. Reclassify the dead horse as "living-impaired."
7. Hiring outside contractors to ride the dead horse.
8. Harnessing several dead horses together to increase speed.
9. Providing additional funding and/or training to increase the dead
horse's performance.
10. Doing a productivity study to see if lighter riders would improve the
dead horse's performance.
11. Declaring that as the dead horse does not have to be fed, it is less
costly, carries lower overhead, and therefore contributes substantially
more to the bottom line of the economy than do some other horses.
12. Rewriting the performance requirements for all horses.
Tribal wisdom of the Lakota Indians, passed on from generation to
generation, says that, "When you discover that you are riding a dead horse,
the best strategy is to dismount."
However, in Federal government, more advanced strategies are often
employed, such as:
1. Buying a stronger whip.
2. Changing riders.
3. Appointing a committee to study the horse.
4. Visiting other countries to see how other cultures ride dead horses.
5. Lowering standards so that dead horses can be included.
6. Reclassify the dead horse as "living-impaired."
7. Hiring outside contractors to ride the dead horse.
8. Harnessing several dead horses together to increase speed.
9. Providing additional funding and/or training to increase the dead
horse's performance.
10. Doing a productivity study to see if lighter riders would improve the
dead horse's performance.
11. Declaring that as the dead horse does not have to be fed, it is less
costly, carries lower overhead, and therefore contributes substantially
more to the bottom line of the economy than do some other horses.
12. Rewriting the performance requirements for all horses.
On a roll digging thru the archives tonight..one more:
An old southern country preacher from Georgia had a teenage son named David and it was getting time the boy should give some thought to choosing a profession.
Like many young men, the boy didn't really know what he wanted to do, and he didn't seem too concerned about it.
One day, while the boy was away at school, his father decided to try an experiment. He went into the boy's room and placed on his study table four objects:
- a Bible,
- a silver dollar,
- a bottle of whisky and
- a Playboy magazine
I'll just hide behind the door," the old preacher said to himself, "and when he comes home from school this afternoon, I'll see which object he picks up.
If it's the Bible, he's going to be a preacher like me, and what a blessing that would be!
If he picks up the dollar, he's going to be a businessman, and that would be OK.
But if picks up the bottle, he's going to be a no-good drunkard, and, Lord, that a shame that would be.
And worst of all, if he picks up that magazine he's gonna be a skirt-chasin' bum."
The old man waited anxiously, and soon heard his son's footsteps as he entered the house whistling and headed for his room. The boy tossed his books on the bed, and as he turned to leave the room he spotted the objects on the table. With curiosity in his eye, he walked over to inspect them.
Finally, he picked up the Bible and placed it under his arm. He picked up the silver dollar and dropped it into his pocket. He uncorked the bottle and took a big drink while he admired this month's Centerfold.
"Lord have mercy," the old preacher disgustedly whispered, "he's gonna be a helicopter pilot!"
An old southern country preacher from Georgia had a teenage son named David and it was getting time the boy should give some thought to choosing a profession.
Like many young men, the boy didn't really know what he wanted to do, and he didn't seem too concerned about it.
One day, while the boy was away at school, his father decided to try an experiment. He went into the boy's room and placed on his study table four objects:
- a Bible,
- a silver dollar,
- a bottle of whisky and
- a Playboy magazine
I'll just hide behind the door," the old preacher said to himself, "and when he comes home from school this afternoon, I'll see which object he picks up.
If it's the Bible, he's going to be a preacher like me, and what a blessing that would be!
If he picks up the dollar, he's going to be a businessman, and that would be OK.
But if picks up the bottle, he's going to be a no-good drunkard, and, Lord, that a shame that would be.
And worst of all, if he picks up that magazine he's gonna be a skirt-chasin' bum."
The old man waited anxiously, and soon heard his son's footsteps as he entered the house whistling and headed for his room. The boy tossed his books on the bed, and as he turned to leave the room he spotted the objects on the table. With curiosity in his eye, he walked over to inspect them.
Finally, he picked up the Bible and placed it under his arm. He picked up the silver dollar and dropped it into his pocket. He uncorked the bottle and took a big drink while he admired this month's Centerfold.
"Lord have mercy," the old preacher disgustedly whispered, "he's gonna be a helicopter pilot!"
Join Date: Jan 2006
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How's that?!
This recently resurfaced out of an elementary school stateside so I thought a little entertainment would help for those unfamiliar with this situation:
An overloaded, fully enclosed lorry, carrying a million humming birds eased onto the government scales and a red flashing light and siren suddenly went off announcing an overloaded vehicle. The quick-thinking driver immediately banged on the side of the trailer putting every humming bird in flight within the trailer. Did this action cause the scale to now read a lighter truck and therefore not overloaded?
An overloaded, fully enclosed lorry, carrying a million humming birds eased onto the government scales and a red flashing light and siren suddenly went off announcing an overloaded vehicle. The quick-thinking driver immediately banged on the side of the trailer putting every humming bird in flight within the trailer. Did this action cause the scale to now read a lighter truck and therefore not overloaded?
Our Fair Whirls walking along a country road comes across a farmer droving a huge mob of sheep. She stops and chats for a while and then says, "Tell you what, I'll bet you $100 against one of your sheep that I can tell you the exact number in that flock." The farmer thinks for a moment, it is a big mob and he can't see how anyone could guess correctly so he says, "OK. You're on." "Nine hundred and thirty two," says Fair Whirls. The farmer takes off his hat and scratches his head. "I don't know how you did it but that's exactly right. A bet's a bet. Take any sheep." Whirls picks up an animal and is about to walk off when the farmer says, "Hang on. Bet you double or nothing that I can guess your occupation." Whirls thinks, "How would he know, he's never met me before" and says "Righto. You're on". The farmer says, "You're an auditor with a government organization." That shocks Fair Whirls... "How the heck did you know that?"
"Well," says the farmer, "put my dog down and I'll tell you."
"Well," says the farmer, "put my dog down and I'll tell you."