(hang is standing in front of the Bish Procurement Officers desk; at attention... eyes locked front)
"Sooooo tell me; bonehead; where in hell are the wings off ...lets see.. (shuffles AC readiness reports) FIFTY SEVEN of MY gawdamn P51's???"
(hang starts to reply; but BPO starts hollering again)
SHADDAP; dammit! I DON'T WANNA HEAR about the cottin picken BBQ'd Mustang parts competition!! Yes! We know the wings are weak; YES! we know you've been makin BBQ's outta the fuselage remanants! What I wanna know MISTER; is where are the WINGS right NOW?
(hang replies) "Sir... ahhh; I suspect the missing components in question are spread fairly evenly between rook and knit land; repectively. Sir. "
"... and just WHAT in hell are they doing there; may I ask MISTER??"
(hang looks around; looks back at spot on wall above BPO's head) Sir; I left em there... I, unnnh, well I figured I'd use 'em like bread crumbs...""
WHAAAAT! BREADCRUMBS??? You freakin moron... yah GOT a COMPASS; dickhead! Cantcha find yer way back here with a COMPASS???"
"...well; nosir; um, I mean yessir; I could use the compass; but well, see, it's like this; the damn joystick wuz spiking; and every time it would twitch above 450 IAS the bleedin wings would peel right off.... and since I wuz usually on the way home with half the damn OPFOR fighter cap chasin my tired bellybutton home.. well; ya see sir??" (hang looks imploringly at the BPO)
"NO; DAMMIT, I DON'T see! Whats the new 4.3 control system have to do with BREADCRUMBS?"
"Well; sir, it's like this.. I figure whoever bolted the wings on the damn 4.3 Mustang was half crocked or utterly mindless.. the frakin things just fall off at the MOST inopportune moments. I figure if I loose enuff of the damn things; well; pretty soon, when the dolts at the factory decide ta come see for themselves whats wrong with 'em; well; they can just WALK to rookland on an uniterupted string of high quality North American Avaition Aircraft aluminum. And Sir; once there, I'm SURE the rooks will be glad ta pin medals on them fer bein so damn cooperative in THEIR war effort; all without even gettin their feet messed up with HT's precious sheep sh_t. Sir."
"DISMISSED!" (hang about-faces, starts for the door) "...and incedentally; that reconstituted Mustang BBQ you sent over to my ex-wifes quarters yesterday??.. well; the legs fell off. Trashed her dates uniform. See that its fixed. Properly. Before the weekend. Clear?"
"Yessir. Would third degree burns next time be acceptable??"
(the BPO smiles) "I see we understand each other. Carry on"
"Sir!" (hang whips up a crisp salute and heads back to the war)
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PALE HORSES
"I looked, and behold; a Pale Horse, and it's riders name was Death, and Hell followed with him" Rev 6.8
