maybe some noobs should read the book of the Dweeb
just on part written by jedi
The University of Dweeb
Many were they who milleth around in yon crowded Warbird skies, and vile was the heav'nly conflagration and great was the destruction and name-calling which layeth upon the Rolling (but not so Rolling as it once was) TerrainTM.
And in the fullness of time did yon newbie pilot Dweebly venture upon the scene, and readeth he yon holy Helpfile, and marketh he well the mystical newsgroup and yon sacred Scroll of Argo, and thus didst he yon Godsteed chooseth, and calleth he it by its legendary name Lightning.
And spinneth upon the runway didst he, and trumpeteth didst yon stallhorn, but yea, verrily didst he finally ariseth and taketh wing. But knoweth not of Flaps didst young Dweebly, and crasheth he to earth in fiery death, and picketh he many cannon shells from lo his very buttocks, and screecheth he, "A pox on thee, vile Zeke dweebs, for two canst that foul stallfight game playeth!"
And ariseth again didst he, in yon whirling dervish Oscar, and many Zekes didst he reapeth and send flaming to earth. But soon learneth he that tho yon flying matchbox was the ambrosia of his mighty Oscar, little else couldst he dent with his Holy Popguns of Antioch, and lo didst he return once again to the Godsteed.
And learneth he many magical incantations, and riseth he up on high, and spinneth and flippeth, and sweepeth he down on yon pitiful Hogflesh and Fiery Spit, and rendeth he much dweebish entrail onto the bloody airfields below. And yea, drag worryeth him not, and chaseth he down many a Mustang, and runneth he swiftly from yon vile FM-2 and Hurricane, and learneth he the magic of the nose-mounted convergenceless headon cannon. And soon didst the cries of "P-38 Dweeb!" ringeth in his ears, and though loveth he dearly his mighty Godsteed, yet didst he tire of magic, and yea, more didst he tireth of exploding into pieces with only a fleeting glance of a gray blur in his 90-degree field of view. And thus beginneth his courtship of Dora.
For lo, swift was Dora, and powerful her mighty thunderbolts, and quickly falleth he under the spell of the Wurger of the Apocalypse. And yea didst he WEPpeth back and forth through yon endless furball, and master of headon and collision code didst he becometh, and like wheat from the scythe didst the dweebs falleth. And never couldst they catch him (except for yon occasional elfin Lightning on pixie-dust) and rolleth he endlessly and lureth them onward didst he, even unto their very doom in his mighty fields of ack. And lo didst the calls of "Doradweeb!" and "Ack-runner!" ring in his ears, but heedeth them not didst he, for Dora had beguileth him, as she didst with all those who are dweebish.
But lo, one day didst cannon shells raketh his beloved Dora, and yea didst critical pieces departeth from his holy airframe, and as he looketh up, verrily was the SunglareTM eclipseth by yet another Rising Sun, and though tryeth mightily to follow he didst, yon green phantom couldst he not catcheth, and flyeth up didst St. Frank on his heavenly wings of Nakajima, and swoopeth back down upon young Dweebly it didst, and splattereth him upon yon countryside, and realizeth he, as he transporteth to his tower, than lo, had he been verrily Boometh and Zoometh.
And so didst young Dweebly biddeth fairwell to the temptress Dora, and for a time travelleth he with St Frank. And clever was St Frank, for climbeth he without peer, and speedeth he back down upon yon unsuspecting Mustang dweebs and separateth them from lo their very wings didst he. And verrily didst Dweebly learn of the mystical Dogfight Flaps, and turneth he even with yon Godsteed, and blasteth it from the sky. And lo, climbeth he even up to yon vile hammerhead turn Messerschmidt dweebs, and applyeth he the Holy 20mm Enema of Antioch to their nether regions, and laugheth didst he at their pitiful Walther P-38 fire from beneath their hapless parachutes. But lo, tiny was the ammo load of St Frank, and many were the sorties in which he creepeth cretinously away at high speed, unarmed, with cries of "Ki Dweeb!" ringing in his ears. And lo, on occasion when he didst checketh his back-and-up, seeth he dots high above, and wondereth he what manner of battle couldst there be so far from earth .
So one day, climbeth young Dweebly high above the mongrel carnage of the endless Dance of the Dweebs, yea, high above the magical "10" on his sacred Altimeter, and spyeth he many blue and silver planes, and creepeth he closer, and watcheth he their hunt, as they swoopeth down upon yon floundering Stallfish like mighty eagles of the sea, and feedeth upon yon Spitfire and Zeke. And so, followeth the Blue Planes didst he, and tryeth to catch them and sweep these high altitude scavengers from the sky. But LO! Tho catch them he couldst, flicketh and rolleth away didst they, and never couldst he bring his Holy Cannon to bear at such great speed. So speedeth he UP again, and avoideth he the Blue Planes, and swoopeth he down upon yon hapless Spits....and misseth! And again streaketh he back UP, and swoopeth down upon yon matchbox Zekes...and misseth again! And thinketh he "What manner of sorcery mayest this be? For never hath St Frank forsaken me." But alas, St Frank compresseth, and walloweth like yon Holy Hippo above 400 knots. And lo, verrily didst yon "ping-ping-ping" sound in Dweebly's ears, and explodeth didst he, for forgetteth he didst about yon Blue Scavengers.
And thus resolveth he to fly the Blue Planes, and worryeth not about cannon ammo, for armeth was he with many multitudes of shiny brass Bullets of Antioch, and much couldst he Sprayeth and Prayeth. And lo didst he climb, ... er, hi didst he climb into yon heavens, and even didst he the mythical "20" of sacred heights reacheth. And swoopeth down didst he, and misseth often at first, but grinneth with delight as yon "500" on the Holy Indicator of Haste was surpasseth. And swoopeth he again and again, and speweth he out Holy Hailstorms of 50-caliber, and rendeth he finally the wings of many hapless Zekes and Spits, and lo, even the unwary Dora and St Frank were powerless to avoid the Blue Roller Coaster of Death. And as his aim improveth, and he learneth to set his Holy Convergence not to 200, as the Wisedweebs of the Stallfight counseleth, nay, but to 400 or yea verrily, even 500, lo didst his score and killstreaks grow. For learneth he the secret: thou mayest kill at 450 kts, or thou mayest run at 450 kts, but thou mayest only die at 150 kts.
And yea, though the tiny voices of the dweebish herd below proclaimeth that he was indeed an "alt monkey" and an "alt dweeb," verrily was he a LIVE dweeb, and verrily were they about to be dead ones. And Dweebly smileth, for he knew it was good to be a dweeb. And it WAS good.
:-) jedi
