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From: Chris Ahlstrom <OFeem1987@teleworm.us>
Newsgroups: alt.folklore.computers,comp.os.linux.misc
Subject: Re: The joy of Democracy
Date: Mon, 4 Nov 2024 06:54:19 -0500
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Charlie Gibbs wrote this post while blinking in Morse code:

> On 2024-11-03, The Natural Philosopher <tnp@invalid.invalid> wrote:
>
>> On 03/11/2024 00:13, rbowman wrote:
>
>>> I'm not sure Christianity ever took completely in Germans where 'never
>>> forget and never forgive' is more likely.
>>
>>   "God may forgive you, but I won't"
>>
>> That was allegedly said by an American pilot, to a novice first officer.
>>
>> "Put your trust in God, and Pratt and Whitney" is another famous quite 
>> from the  same source, uttered on being told that the route involved no 
>> alternates whatsoever...
>
> "Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition."

A Philip Jose Farmer story about lecherous fighter pilot Henry Miller in a
nursing home.

    https://teakdoor.com/jokes-and-funny-stories/175994-henry-miller-dawn-patrol.html

    Whittaker moaned, her 185-horsepower, six-cylinder, in-line, water-cooled
    BMW IIIa purring. Her fingers were playing with her cockpit
    instrumentation. Sacre merde! The hoity-toity Fokker wouldn’t answer his
    challenge, but she wasn’t above a jack-off dogfight, a furtive combat with
    herself.  Under the sheet, in a darkness like the inside of a night cloud,
    the Lone Eagle glided. Her widespread legs guided him like landing-strip
    lights. He was ready for sudden action, and air-raid-siren scream, her
    fists beating at his head like shrapnel from Archie.  He pushed her hand
    away, felt no start, heard no protest. He nose-dived, the wind screaming
    through the wing wires and struts, his motor roaring. Then he was zeroed
    in, firing quick short bursts, what the hell, his tongue was a Vickers
    machine gun, too.  Now, all caution abandoned, he poured a long, slow
    stream of fire into her cockpit. The Fokker shuddered and moaned under his
    blasting. Thank God she wasn’t like so many of the Columbia Huns. They
    weren’t too clean; they smelled like the early World War One rotary-engine
    planes. Castor oil was used then for lubrication, and the poor bastards
    that breathed it got diarrhea.  Her exhaust pipe was clean and her cockpit
    was sprayed with some Frenchy-smelling perfume. Tasted like bootleg alky.
    No time for nostalgia now, though.

The whole story is pretty funny. 

-- 
God was satisfied with his own work, and that is fatal.
		-- Samuel Butler