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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.

Sweet, being totally judged by one post. Look, I don't even have photoshop on my computer, so if it's a fake, I apologize, I screwed up. My bad. There are plenty of people on both sides I'm not exactly happy with. I still don't appreciate Murtha being judge and jury on Marines in combat before an investigation was being completed, nor do I appreciate him associating with Code Pink. 'Nuff said, let's try and get this back on topic.

Who gives two shits about which wife knows more about which plane? Are you a better person/wife/woman/cook/maid/American because you know that the F-15 has more than one model? The only reason my wife can tell the difference between an XC-130X and an MC-130H is because the Talon II has an absurd looking nose and is horendously fugly. Other than that, she couldn't tell you what a B-52 looks like compared to an F-16. Who cares? She's still cool, smart, hot, etc. Seriously, are you having a pussy measuring contest because you think you know 2% about the Air Force?

If you can know a man by the company he keeps... Murtha with Code Pink Code Pink at protest I always respected him for his service, but in the last six years or so.... Yup.

How in the fuck did a thread with the last post dated 31 October 2005 suddenly become a huge pissing contest again? Also, there are posts quoted that no longer exist, so I suspect either a mod or the poster deleted them. Regardless, the discussion may continue on spouses talking shop (yeah, usually it's the wives; but we'll be PC and say "spouses") and the problems it causes; but knock off the personal attacks. This will be the one and only warning, keep this civil as Toro intended when he started this thread nearly five years ago, or the shit will hit the fan.

There is a distinct difference between nudie threads on an internet forum and addressing a military wife, directly, in a disrespectful manner. If you can't figure the difference out on your own, ask someone in your squadron. Just because you can be a cyber-tough-guy doesn't give you license to be an ass to someone's wife. If you wouldn't say it to her in the club with her husband standing there, then don't bring it here.