A Good Weekend in Warsaw

To this great Remotely Piloted combination, simply add a pound of Beluga caviar and some water crackers, a carton of fresh American Marlboros, East African coffee and plenty of Euros and U.S. Dollars, and you've got the makings of a decent weekend away from the malignant Red Menace still festering in Washington, D.C.
     Buzz one of the many beautiful women of Poland in a park and strike up a conversation on Geopolitics. Talk to the children about the American air superiority that freed their oppressed land from the fascists and then, over time, the communists--who have now weaseled their way into the American Democrat Party. The old fight against Evil still wages on....
     I'm sure they'll be able to relate with a proper historical perspective.
The combo:
ParkZone Ultra Micro P-51 with Thunder Power 160mah 25C battery, and the workhorse Spektrum DX6i transmitter.

Redfish Fly, Too

Look at this bronze muscled beast of American Liberty!

Now, what does a redfish have to do with Remote Control flying?
If you look closely (click on the image), you can see the tiny remote control unit this fine fish has tucked up lovingly underneath his pectoral (chest) fin. Yes, this redfish flies R/C, too!
While this ten pound specimen was tailing over seagrass digging up shrimp and crabs with his school mates, creating a huge muddy streak on the surface of the water, there were seagulls not far away, looking to join in on the shrimp fest. I posit that this redfish, here, was remotely piloting one of the birds--his "Eyes in the Sky", if you will, flying above looking out for troublesome dolphin and sharks, the adult redfish's most prolific predators.
Who said redfish weren't up to speed in the so-called New Age?
***This noble Red-backed, White-bellied and Blue-tip-tailed American beauty was revived and released to swim and fly again!

Saint Nick Blazes the Fascists

     He flies a heavily armed Parkzone P-51, Saint Nicholas the giver of gifts. A fully paid for and licensed Mustang, yet certain federal officials wished to deny his annual jaunt of joy, and confiscate his gifts and his favorite mode of transportation "for the disenfranchised you oppressed in past generations"--which is their cowardly, politically correct (corrupt) way of saying, "for our envious and petty selves".
     It happened last year, too, when the sanctioned thieves approached him on the tarmac prior to take off with the bright, shiny wrapped booty for the children loaded up on his Mustang of Freedom. They hit him with phony new taxes and processing charges for the new bureaucracies that were created simply to be funded thusly. He wrote a big personal check and took off for his delivery.
     But what they had taken from him before they released him that Eve was abominable: they confiscated the homemade Divinity candy and Chocolate Chip cookies he was going to give to the children of the world. "You cannot give this to kids," they said, "It's bad for them and the First Lady won't have any of it on her watch."
     It had been ugly. But Santa kept heart. "Never again," he swore to himself. And he, and his Elves Works engineers and attorneys, were ready for them this year.
     This Christmas Eve skies over the Pole were bright and clear with a big moon and Santa noticed a black MiG-15 (NATO code name, "faggot") behind him, out of the corner of his eye. He turned into the jet slightly and got a better look at it, the moonlight glinting off its gloss blackness. There was what looked to be a funky, altered Pepsi (tm) swirly logo on its fuselage and on alternate wing surfaces. Hmm... then the MiG turned into him and he saw white blazes of fire emmenating from its nose mounted 20 and 37 mm. cannon. He, Santa, on his way to drop off a load of gifts over Darfur, was under fire..... Everything happened quickly from this point on.....
     But it was not Santa's first time to be attacked by the fascists:
     On December 24th, 1940, Santa was flying over western France to deliver a load of toys for the occupied French children when he, flying in his highly modified Spitfire Mk V with 20 mm. cannon, was jumped by a brace of Luftwaffe Bf 109s. They hadn't seen his wingman, Donner, who was lurking up higher above and behind Santa, just for a situation like this. Donner swept down behind the Messerschmitts and, kicking his rudder gently left and right while firing his cannon, blazed both German tormenters. They bailed out and parachuted into France. Later, Santa heard that an angry, oppressed farmer with a hoe and shotgun met them down on his French field when they hit the ground.....
     But tonight, Christmas Eve Two Thousand and Ten, the fascist was in a fast jet.....

My Trainer for Fighter Pilots

http://www.horizonhobby.com/Products/Default.aspx?ProdID=PKZ3480

The Ember 2 at this price, $75,  is so tempting I got another one, as fighter pilots can run on the impulsive side. Do you wish to join the fight against world fascism? Get an Ember and wait for calm days and, at the very best--a calm evening when the enemy's getting drowzy and his defenses are down. Hit him hard with he Ember 2 at this point!
This is a great trainer. Calm conditions are a must, but even here on the coast where wind rules there are many very calm evenings for flying.
Take no Prisoners!

Look at the tiny motors!  Note: operational Micro Machine Guns (tm) are extra.

You can "click" the image and magnify it to see what the Elves have done!

Micro Apocalyptic Weapon Systems: an Introduction

     The Islamofascists had already blown up all the women and children so they had no one to hide behind anymore and hence were galavanting about in the Afghani poppie field, dancing and singing praises to Allah, praying for more women and children to torment before their scheduled whisking-away to Paradise and their alloted seventy-two alleged virgins.
     Captain Lebenowitz, proud Polish American Army officer, watched from the craggy outcropping with his team of Black Ops. Watching a Taliban pick up a poppy, sniff it and then dance around in a circle, he shook his head. "Okay. That's enough. This would be too easy so call in The Shepherd." Staff Sergeant Jim put in the call.
     The blazing white light of the Messiah's ParkZone Ultra Micro P-51 appeared above the poppie field in an instant and zipped around, over the heads of the muslims. "I am the way, the truth and the life," filled the air in all languages with a startling clarity that undeniably revealed its heavenly origin. "This is your last chance," was the jist.
     The muslim fascists picked up stones from the field and hurled them at the Warrior of Truth in the sky. This was the last act of defiant stupidity these folks would ever commit on the good earth.
     The projectiles from the six Angelic Browning Micro Machine Guns were of heavenly forging, balls of pure unquenchable fire that tracked straight and true to each intended target of denial.
     In an instant each terrorist with innocent blood on his hands was engulfed in pure white flame and reduced to a heap of ashes as their dark spirits were quickly and fairly judged, and driven with Biblical force into the Lake of Fire for all eternity, where they would gnash their teeth in unending trevail..
     The blazing white P-51 did a victory roll over Captain Lebenowitz's team and flew off heavenward.
     "They made that call," the Captain said.
     "Justice is sweet," Segeant Jim said.
     "And swift," Lieutenant Sakai said. "Man, how about those 'Fittys' on that bird?"
     "Yes. Selective reaping," Lebenowitz marveled. "Fifty caliber justice that is harmless to those who believe and know the sound of his voice. Yes. Our Shepherd's 'fittys' kick selective ass."
     "Word," Sakai punctuated. "But what about our new convert?" he asked, pointng to the one remaining Taliban in the field, who was on his knees with his head bowed to his chest, very much alive.
      "Ah," Captain lebenowitz smiled. "That's our new translator."

 

The Shepherd

His Ultra Micro P-51 is pure, blazing white light. He flies over all battlefields where soldiers of Truth and Freedom stand with him, as they fight below him in fields of fire, liberated through him and his truth. He watches over them as they labor and hope for the human spirits that yearn for a liberty they do not yet know and awaits them if only they would turn to him and be healed.. On the transmitter is his Father, and they are one and the same.
     No one shall snatch these soldiers from the Father's hand. He is Christ Jesus, pilot and guide, and Messiah. Truth. Word, my brothers.
     No one provides better ground support, and no one makes a better wingman.
     Thank you, my Lord and King.

Lt. Bush Saves World, Part Deux

     The following takes place during an elapsed fifteen seconds of time:    
As he aproached it at Mach 1.2 the flat green Gulf filled the horizon through Lt. Bush's canopy. The first oddity he noticed was a MiG-21 at a distance flying upside down towards him....
     Fredo Castro wondered why the sky was green with little breaking white caps and the sea was blue with puffy white cloud looking thingies....
     "If this guy releases that bomb this will be interesting," Lt. Bush thought to himself as he began to squeeze the release trigger that would launch one of his craft's missles. "But it ain't coming to that." He knew the bomb, if armed, would go off even though it would bounce along the MiG's fuselage or maybe not even drop if it were released from an upside down position.....
     Fredo saw a fish leaping in the green sky and thought, "That's sure pretty."
     "Pickle," G.W. said as the trigger was engaged and the Aim-4 Falcon radar guided missile rocketed out of the open internal weapons bay and made a perfectly straight track to the MiG, now a scant two miles away.
     "Boom!" Fredo's so-called thoughts ended in an instant in the explosion of jet fuel and high explosive.
     And thus ended the world's deadliest moment.
     The Hydrogen bomb warhead fell benignly down through the sky, and "Plunk," impacted squarely on the Galveston beach a scant fifty yards from a group of young, iconoclastic idealists who paid it no mind, as they were busy smoking a big fat Panamanian doobie and talking about how they would someday run things, really make a difference and give all the oppressed people of the world tax-funded, "free and efficent" government-run healthcare provided by unpaid, resentful doctors and how everybody would drive futuristic electric cars powered by coal burning facilities that they, themselves, would never have to actually look at and thereby contemplate the symbolic irony of their very existence.
     Before the dispatched Air Force bomb disposal team could remove it, the Hydrogen  bomb leaked a little weaponized Uranium 235 which no doubt further stunted the minds of these utopian toking, future communist-scratch that-progressive politicos.
     Which goes far in explaining why Nancy said we should pass the two-thousand page bill so that we could know what's in it and why I caught a redfish with six eyes last week.
    Lieutenant Bush hung a U-turn in his special F-102, hit the afterburner and headed back to Ellington Field. He had saved the world from a nuclear blast wasteland of Meggido unleashed, and yet, alas, no one would ever know but himself. "But you know why we do it," he smiled to himself, "For the Ride!"