Aces High Bulletin Board
General Forums => Aces High General Discussion => Topic started by: Citabria on July 29, 2012, 03:21:57 PM
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Thow shalt readith the Book of Dweeb and when thow hast, thow wilt know Dweebishness and forthwith endeavor to escapith Dweebdom forever. How not to be a Dweeb.
The Book of Dweeb is an historical document. It is part of the history of online simulators. And it shows how little has yet changed during all the past years. Be it a Dweeb, Dweebfire, Altmonkey, whatever - they all remain still. This is not just about WarBirds history, but it related fully to all the online pilots out there - IL-2, Forgotten Battles, Aces High, World War II Online, Fighter Ace, European Air War - it has something for everyone. And is soddin' fun reading. Enjoy it all - this is piece of the history of our hobby.
link to all chapters here: http://www.virtualpilots.fi/feature/articles/bookofdweeb/
What is The Book of Dweeb?
Expnalation quoted from "WarBirds - The Story so far..." book, published by Burbank Books 1999.
By Mark "Jedi" Taub
The original Chapter 1 of The Book of Dweeb came about after reading a thread on Argo's about "What is a Dweeb?" Docdoom posted the first reply and is was a reasonable denitition, but I felt it didn't go far enough, and missed the essential Dweebishness in all Warbirders. So I thought of all the different sorts of Dweebs I had encountered, and all the Dweebish things (well, maybe not ALL) that I myself had done. I felt that Dweebishness is an almost mythical, legendary phenomenon in online air combat, so I thought I'd frame the post in a sort of Biblican, ancient style.
The original post was well-received, so I followed up with Chapter 2, which focused on specific types of "uberplane dweebs." This chapter spawned a number of submissions by other players, tagging on to the post with their own "chapters". At that point there were enough parts to create a collection, so I started saving them. In general, the rest of the chapters I wrote were in response to a thread in Argo's newsgroup which generated significant Dweebish controversy, or demonstrated a lesson applicable to all Dweebs.
DX5 was written in response to a thread where someone had trashed his sstem by installing an early version of DirectX 5.0. I had some instructions for eradicating DX5 and restoring DX3 given to me by Spinny, so I posted it up, Book-style. Appendix F was written in response ot the "Great P-38 Flipturn Debate", when some Dweeb, rather than learn real ACM, wanted to know just how to perform the magic trick. I posted a sort of scolding expnalation, suggesting that, while possible in WarBirds, a real plane would not be well-served by the maneuver. Revelations was written when Microsoft Fighter Ace came out, in response to the discussion of its relative "merits" and the, er, good intentions of Billgatezebub.
The Dweebs of Christmas was written a day or two before Christmas 1997 and coincided with a number of discussions and whines regarding hoped-for improvements to be seen in future versions. It was a "Christmas present" to the newsgroup... Sorta. University of Dweeb was written in response to a thread on the different "new" kinds of Dweeb, like those cretins who would dare to use altitude to their advantage, instead of being manly and getting killed in the endless furball.
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The BOOK of DWEEB
The Mythic Flipturn of Antioch
(sigh)
Verse One
For many art they who wouldst be Vets...
Verse Two
And like all who are dweebish, questeth they for the forbidden tricks of the aces. Nontheless wilt I pass unto thee the knowledge of the "Gods," knowing full well that thou art too dweebish to fully understandeth.
Verse Three
First wilt thou flyest that most foul sorceress, the P-38L. Take thou if thou wilst thy J-model or G-model, but perisheth wilt thou in fiery conflagration.
Verse Four
Useth thou thy WEP to climbest to untold heights. Thou shouldst use thy "little +" in thy attitude ladder to determine thy "straight up" direction. Much rudder wilst thou requireth, and yea, verrily even a modicum of skill, if thou wouldst master the vile flip-turn. Fear not, o dweebs, thy Lightning rudder shalt functioneth even at zero airspeed, for thy Godsteed is anointeth with yon holy "blown flight surfaces" and becometh a whirling dervish below stall speed, yet will it not plummeteth, neither shall it departeth from controlled flight.
Verse Five
Zero shall be the number of thine airspeed, and the number of thine airspeed shall be zero. Fly thou not 20 knots; neither fly thou 50, excepting that thou then proceedeth to zero. 100 knots is right out.
Verse Six
When thou reachest zero, if skill thou havest, straight up shalt thou yet pointeth. Thence heavest thou upon thine holy control column with all of thy feeble dweebish strength, and cryest thou out thy magic word "Shazam!"
Verse Seven
Fearest thou not, thy mythical beast Lightning shalt stalleth not; neither wilt it spin, like yon base Corsair or hapless Dweebfire, or all manner of real aircraft. Verrily wilt thy magic Godsteed flippeth instantly and pointeth back upon thy unsuspecting attacker. Then wilt thee rend yon unbelievers asunder and streweth the Rolling TerrainTM with base aircraft parts and pulpy dweeb matter.
Verse Eight
Of course, thou must also "mastereth" thy foul headon attack technique. Fear not, for as with all things dweebish, who better to attempt it than dweebs.
Verse Nine
Mark well these words, and forsaketh them not: try not yon foul manuever if thou spyest the Messerschmidt of the Apocalypse upon thy tail. For large planform wilt thou exposeth whenst thou flippeth, and huge cannon hath he, and few are the Messerschmidt visigoths who wilst not feed on newby flipturn harp seals.
Verse Ten
And thus were MORE 38L Flipturn Dweebs begat. And it was good.
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The BOOK of DWEEB
The Book of Jedisis
Verse One
In the beginning, there was Air Warrior, and it was good, And many partook thereof, and became Dweebs, and were smiteth repeatedly from on high by the Gods, and were vulcheth by other Dweebs, and were feared by the C-lander Runstangs. But after a time, the Dweebs learned to take flight from the uncapped field, and to ignoreth the false books of wisdom which sayeth "Thou shouldst fly the P-38, thou newbies," for all who have tried knoweth that the Air Warrior Godsteed named Lightning is not the province of the mere Dweeb. So the Dweebs learned the mythic Spitfire, and went round and round, and thus was born Loop Warrior, andthere was much killing and rejoicing, for the Dweebs believed that now they were not Dweebish any longer, but were now Vets. But yet the voice of DoK was heard from on high...and it sayeth, "Nay, Dweebs art thou still." And thus was the Dweebfire born.
Verse Two
So the Dweebs toiled on, and many learneth the mysteries of the treacherous Hog, and the dreaded Wurger, and verrily did they Boometh and Zoometh, and vulcheth many Dweebs from lo their very takeoff fields, and driveth they their vaunted K/D into the heavenly realms above 1.0. "And now," they said. "Now art we not vets? Art we Dweebs no longer?" But yet the voice of the most wretched vulched newby Dweebs rang forth from the ashes of their burning Zekes below. "Nay!" they cried. "Thou art but Dweebs with cannon!" And thus was born the Vulch Dweeb.
Verse Three
And then did the Air Warrior Gods become enraged, and in their endless quest for tribute and fresh multitudes of sheeplike Dweebs and harp seals to smite did they embrace the vile Windows 95. And the heavens were swept into turmoil. And yea the Air Warrior Dweebs did magically become Vets! At least in their own minds. For there were many base Dweebs to be vulched. And there was much bubble gum, and killing, and rejoicing, and crying "Mommy!" And from the ashes of the great civilization now plunged into the eternal gloom of Relaxed Realism emerged the Golden Child. And it was Warbirds. And it was good.
Verse Four
And yea many Air Warrior Gods, and Vets, and Dweebs were reborn in the conflagration that was version 0.99. And lo, though they cried out for respect and tribute, they learned that alas, their beloved Holy Hit Bubble had been smiteth verrily, and behold, they were all Dweebs again. And the Dweebs believeth the Holy Online Helpfile and "mastereth" they the dreaded Fork-Tailed Devil which had so beguiled them in Air Warrior, and with this flying Ark of the Covenant swept they all before them into fiery death, and driveth they their Econ Ratios to untold heights. "And NOW," proclaimeth they. "NOW art we Vets! Indeed, Demigods we may be!" But their voices were drowned out by laughter. And all the other Dweebs did proclaim, "Nay! Thou art STILL Dweebs. For as all know, the Godsteed named Lightning is but a sorceress, and it doth fly only by magic! Thou art inconsequential to its trail of death." And thus was born the 38L Dweeb.
Verse Five
So they hung their heads in shame, and learneth they to fly the most vile defiler of the Consecrated Air Combat ... Dora the Beguiler. And quickly did they fly, and many did they slay. And never did they turn from their paths, but kill didst they from in front at many leagues distance, and sneaketh from behind at great velocity did they, and delivereth their 20mm enemas and showereth the countryside with airplane parts. And when in their ignorance they were pounceth upon from on high by yon circling blue Hogs, runneth did they at great speed to their own fields and impaleth they their offenders on the great Spike of Otto, and then gleefully didst they turneth and feast on the entrails of now wounded and pitiful Hog-flesh.
Verse Six
"And NOW!" they shrieked. "FINALLY art we Vets! Scourges of the Sky are WE!" Yet again, from the smoldering blue wreckage came the icy cry, "Nay, foul ack-runner. Thou art but headon Dweebs." And thus was born the Headon Dweeb, the Dora Dweeb, and the Ack-running Dweebs. And as the pitiful Dweebs began their long quest through the Promised Land of Rolling TerrainTM, and were blinded by the Sun GlareTM in search of their Holy Hurricane and the Zerstorer, did the voice of Doc rain down from on high and sweepeth them in a sandstorm of despair: "For all who play at Warbirds shalt always be Dweebish. Dweebs wert thou born. Dweebs thou art. Dweebs shalt thou be." And it was good.
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Gods of War
Verse One
Long wandereth the Dweebs in the wilderness, searching in despair for the lost runway of HTField. Many were the souls which droppeth as dust when first the visigoth Pentium and then the kraken of Windows 95 were made manifest and mandatory. There was much wringing of hands and gnashing of serial cables, for lo though they were masters of the headon and denizens of the dragless flip-turn, yet were they Dweebs.
Verse Two
"Doc!" they cried. "Hast thou forsaken us in our Dweebishness? We will fly Warhawks, but please, givest us thine Sharkmouth artwork." Yet still Doc speaketh not. But yay, as they gathered wood with which to burn their craven Doras, speaketh another from on high, and it was Flet. And Flet sayeth, "Let there be scenarios." And they were good.
Verse Three
And there was much rejoicing as the Dweebs clambered aboard their hapless Zeros and went forth to smite the Pagan Wildcats. And there was much furballing and torpedoing and accusations of cheating, and DoK in his hate-heaven squealed with glee, for this was The Vision. And it was evil. Yet it was also good.
Verse Four
And though the Dweebs were defeated by the blue hordes, yet were they unbowed, for appeareth on the horizon more scenarios, and again taketh they to the air on the wings of Saint Frank, and bindeth they their joysticks in the fully aft position, and lowereth they their flaps, and outturneth they all who came before them, and slayeth they the blue host with their pitifully few yet fearsome cannon shells. And though they were again vanquished by the vile blue Whistling Death which swept over them and carved off their origami wings with 50-caliber spears of cold steel, yet did they arise again and again, never forsaking Saint Frank, and remaining faithful to him to this day. And thus was born the Ki-dweeb.
Verse Five
And though many now believed that they were Dweebs no longer, none wouldst thus speak, for remembereth they the wrath of Doc. And the Gods were pleased, and spake they all as in one voice, and sayeth, "Let there be Weekend Warrior." And it was good. And the Dweebs clambered into their Dweebfires, knowing full well that none would call the name of Dweeb to the only British plane enableth by the Gods, and smote they mightily the slothful Messerschmidts, and drove they the Luftwaffe Dweebs from the sky. And though they knew that humility was rewardeth by the Gods, yet was their joy so great that as one they proclaimed "Dweebs are we no longer, for we are scenario Vets!" But they were wrong, for the scenario was not over, and the Gods were angered. For yay did the sky darken, and split open and spew forth fire, and through the smoke rode the Four Wurgers of the Apocalypse. And on their canopies was tattooed the number of the Beast, and the number was 190.
Verse Six
And lo were the Spit-dweebs swept from the sky, and raineth British aircraft parts onto the Euro terrain for forty days and forty nights, and long could the vile scream of BMW engines be heard over the still flat and lifeless scenario terrain. And as the Spit-dweebs floateth silently to earth, yearning yet again for their .45s, did Doc finally speaketh.
Verse Seven
"Do not despair, oh Dweebs, for no scenario can there be, without targets. Soon willst thou true Vets be. Perhaps in two weeks." And the Dweebs looked skyward, and dreameth they of Sun GlareTM, and smileth, for flyeth again would they. And it was good.
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dweeb thread :old:
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Still fun to read! :cheers:
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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.
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Did bustr brainwash you? :huh
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The book of dweeb should be sticky on this forum.
:old:
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The Epistle of Kergan
The Tale of the Short-Lived Wonder Hawg
And in the elder days of 2.0, there were may that partook of Warbirds, and many who vultched and were vultched, and didst accuse others of dweebery and ackstarr-edness, and it was good - for the great rift that had divided The Disciples of The Fruit and The (Unwilling) Followers of Billgatezebub had been healed, and all were again united in glorious dweebery. Yet the dweebs were unsatisfied with that which they had (as all dweebs are), and they cried out to the heavens,
"Oh iMOL, we seek MORE planes, and MORE terrains, and BETTER graphics, and 3D!" And the old God Pyro, who had forseen this omened in the entrails of a rabbit, didst say unto them: "Behold! I give unto thee......2.01! And it hast 3D support, and Russian planes! and new variants of elder planes so that you mayest know all parts of WWII, and not just 1945!"
And the dweebs, emboldened by the success of their demands, did continue unabated...."and controllable cvs, and mannable acks, and roads, and bridges, and tanks, and ground troops, and dams, and...."
And the old God Pyro didst say, "erm, in 2 weeks wilst thou have these things." and retreateth he to Grapevine, content that he hadst survived another announcement with no greater number of orifices that he had begun with.
And the dweebs turned to this new Warbirds 2.01 that had been given unto them, and those that had the power to see 3D didst see it, and call it good. And those that didst not have the power wailed and knashed their teeth, and didst plot for ways to obtain the necessary sacrifices to that pagan god, Hardware.
And as the RPS allowed them, they tooketh up their new rides and didst see that they were fell in the hands of a dweeb that didst respect them.
The pilots who didst use the backwards-R in their spelling were at last in a small way content, for they could at last fly the planes that had the Red Star upon them, rather than flying the planes of their (then) allies.
And the drinkers of warm beer wert given a plane with which to catch the speedy Dora at times, and even the craven Runstangs wert not safe from this, the fastest of the Dweebfires.
And the buffs wert given new drones......oops, ummm, planes... with which to haul their mighty loads of Gellatinite above the furballing masses, so that they might rain destruction upon the baby milk factories and orphanages of their enemies.
But there was one group that wert truly blessed by the new planes. And they didst gather in the towers of the cvs, and hearken unto the elders of their tribe. And they didst hear of the newest Hawg, the late war version that didst have the speed of the Dora and (wonder of wonders) the mighty Cannons of Antioch that had been solely the province of the Not-Too-Big-A-Hurri. And (liken unto its elder brother) this Hawg had the proverbial "Truckload o' Ammo" (tm). And the elders of the tribe didst stay unto them:
"Go forth, jarheads, and slay all who doth stand before you. But turnest not in yon Wonder Hawg, for thou shalt spin out like a small toy boat flushed down the loo by a curious 2 year old."
And with a mighty cry of "My bellybutton Rides In Navy Equipment, Sir!!" they didst troop out onto the decks of the cvs, and climb into their new rides. And they didst fly out unto the furballs of waterworld, and unto the furballs of the med., and there didst the mighty Cannons of Antioch snap-shots propel their K/Ds to soar up to the neither regions above 1.0, and they didst learn to watch for the 262, and superior E 'Stangs, Doras and XIV's, and they didst cry out "It is Good!! No longer can the speedy Dora out run me, and no longer do we need to climb for 20 minutes to reach altitude from which we mayest swoop down to feed amongst the furballing krill."
But as they didst so, they looked unto their countrymen and saw others flying the Wonder Hawg. Names that they knew from the JG and RAF squads, or worse, names that they knew not at all. And some amongst these unknown others did try to turneth the Mighty Hawg, and they didst tumble and fall and cry out "Mommy!" on channel 100. And with a frown-caused crease upon their sloped foreheads, didst they fly their Wonder Hawgs back to whence they had come, and upon 2-wire trapping, they didst return to the towers of the cvs to consult their elders. And they didst say unto them,
"Sir, we hath seen others flying the Wonder Hawg and we are uncertain, but we do believe them to be dweebs!"
And the elders didst stub out their cigars, and they didst climb into their own Wonder Hawgs, and they didst fly out to espy this themselves. And they didst see a sky thick with Wonder Hawgs that smelt of bubble gum, and Wonder Hawgs that were like unto feed for the waiting Doras, Stangs and Spits, and they didst return to the cvs and say unto their men,
"It is as we had feared, the Wonder Hawg is TOO good, it hath become the chosen ride of the Newbie Dweebs of the Apocalypse. Hie the hence to the Scroll of Argo, and prepare thee thy defenses. For soon shall all who do not fly the Wonder Hawg shall call all who DO fly the Blesséd Hawg dweebs."
And with many grumbles, frowns, and punched walls didst the troops goeth unto the venerable Scroll of Argo, with their defenses ready for the calls of "Dweeb" that would soon ring forth, for they were unused to this, having long flown planes that wert good in all things, but best in none.
And there at the Scroll of Argo, they didst find a thing that hadst not been forseen. They saw cries unto iMOL and the old Gods Pyro and HiTech that the Wonder Hawg be made less, for the criers didst say that the Wonder Hawg wast unhistoric, but none amongst the jarheads were fooled - they saw that these Whining Dweebs didst FEAR the Wonder Hawg. And scarce had the begun their defense of this, their newest ride, that the sky boiled (in a most improbable way) and the voice of Pyro rolled forth over the Rolling Terrain (tm).
"Thou speakest truth, the cannon armed Hawg wast little seen in Real Life War. In 2 weeks it shall be given .50 cal spears of lead to replace the Cannon of Antioch that we hath wrongfully given unto it." And the sky didst return to it's 3D rendered stillness, as the dweebs did digest this latest curve-ball that the Old Gods had chucked down the pipe.
And the jarheads didst sigh, and with faces of stone didst they return to the towers of the cvs and say unto their elders,
"Sirs, we hath failed. The old god Pyro hath said that the Wonder Hawg will be made less, the Newbie Dweebs of the Apocalypse hath taken our golden child from us."
And their higher ranking offices (for none amongst this proud tribe wouldst call them SUPERIOR officers), didst mull this latest tidbit, and drawing deeply upon their cigars they looked upon their charges. And they didst say unto them,
"Semper Fi, knowest not what this meaneth? Canst thou handle the truth? The -4 Hawg will be made LESS dweebish, and the Newbies shalt return to their Dweebfires, 'Stangs, and Doras - or perhaps a new plane that wilst come in 2 weeks. But they shall no longer fly amongst us in our Hawgs. Perhaps the Old God Pyro wilst even look upon the FM of the -4 and giveth it a better turn rate now that it doth carry less weight in its wings."
And the pilots did look to each the other, and they didst smile upon one another. And they didst walk out onto the deck of the cvs and turn their gaze South (or East, or West, or even North) in the direction of Grapevine, waiting for the new version to come forth from iMOL.
And it was good.
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:O :lol :aok
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I could swear there was a mention of .shanghai dot command in the book of dweeb.
Once, when it was accidently enabled, we organized a group shanghai.
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how many read it in the voice of the dweeb on robot chicken?
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someone break out the AW one.... 'mo nanas....
Stab
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When I first started working for Kesmai back in 1996, and the folks there introduced me to this awesome game called Air Warrior, the following was required reading on Day One:
The Tao of DoK (http://www.gonzoville.com/FILEZ/Tao_of_Dok.pdf)
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Art we not now Vets?
Nay. Thou art dweebs.
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:huh :huh :huh quit typing and go fly you freaking BBS warriors :) :rofl :rofl :rofl :rofl
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Great post Fester, and DMF, thanks for dragging out the Tao of Dok!
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DoK reminds me of how I treated people while I was playing WarBirds, except I wasn't funny........................ ..
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I searched the bbs for years seeking salvation from dweebery. Drifted aimlessly through the help forums but only glimpsed rumor of the exalted ones. Finally hope was in sight when I caught site of this thread.
But alas, Eagerly peering through pages I realized salvation could not be found here and perfection is only sought and never achieved.
Thus with new found understanding I answer the sirens song and climb into My Dora for I am a Dora dweeb. :airplane:
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If ya want something done right.....get yer wife to do it.
Here ya go
Stab
This was written by "Holmes" about AW flyers, though I think it crosses over quite well into any arena sim. Enjoy.
Air Warrior is like the Empire State building. And Air Warriors are like monkeys.
When ya first start you're a little, organ-grinder size monkey standing on the street outside. Looking up you see a building swarming with hostile monkeys of all different shapes and sizes. Monkeys are born to climb, and there ain't no Fay Wrays standing on the street, so instinct takes over and soon you're jousting for a handhold and making yer way up the wall.
Some are Fast Monkeys. A bit of natural ability combined with an in depth knowledge of climbing. They become familiar with the cracks and crevices of the particular building and begin to apply their knowledge within those parameters. Soon they are climbing, dodging, or scrambling right over some of the bigger monkeys and snatching bananas from the slower ones, growing bigger.
Others are Scrappy Monkeys. These monkeys spend extra time practicing. They ask lots of questions and live for the chance to go toe to toe with the bigger monkeys. They punch, kick, bite, claw, and spit at the monkeys above them. Scarred, bloody, and with big ol'chunks of fur ripped out they monkey butts they keep hammering. Occasionally they land a good blow, right in the monkey 'nards, and topple a bigger monkey. This inspires them to fight even harder. Soon they learn where to hit and when to duck. They begin to take their share of bananas.
Then there's the Hungry Monkeys. "Mo'nanas!, mo'nanas!" they chant as they cling to the wall from 6:01pm til 7:59 am. Calculating that mo'nanas go to the monkeys with mo hangtime they know that if they hang long enough they will get mo then their share of the 'nanas. Of course they need deep pockets to sustain this frenzy, can't eat all them 'nanas at once, and are prone to the dreaded "Banana Split". They must be very careful, lest they wind up another furry puddle of monkey guts in some alley off 34th street.
Also, ya got yer Techno Monkeys. Bumpy FrankenSchwanz in each paw, electrode catheters up their tails, anti-lock stainless steel vine swingers attached to their feet, gold plated groin clamps feeding g-inducing jugular valves hooked into the fastest system available, with the biggest monitor, tuned to peak performance and cranking out thru a megagigawatt, 3D, multi-usual Krakatoa Banana Blaster, these monkeys spend alot of time diddlin with their gadgets and tweaking their way up the wall.
And, we got MacGyver Monkeys. Riding systems that time forgot with nothing more than a handful of Froot Loops and a pile of bat guano they use every trick in the book, and plenty that ain't, to squirm their way heavenward. Always heavy, uncovering obscure and hidden bananas, they invent their way along using every micro-ounce of every banana that they managed to ensnare, even to the point of using the peels for clothing and shelter.
Advancing their altitudinous aspirations, AW Monkeys invariably encounter the various denizens of the virtual Jungle. Most encounter the Hurler Monkeys first. Kinda like chimps, these sociable chaps gather in large communal halls, spending their time practicing monkey yells and poking each other in the navel. Once in awhile they venture out for a climb but are much happier chillin' with their mates on the middle floors, flingin' monkey turds and grinnin' at all what pass by.
Out on the wall a common first encounter is with a Sumo Monkey. These are the veteran Hungry Monkeys. They've been there twice, done that backwards. All the nonessential flotsam has been skimmed and the essence of the climb congealed to a Zen like "See monkey, knock monkey down" philosophy. When ya hear "Monkey X took my 'nanas 16 times in a row one day", Monkey X is most likely a Sumo.
No avoiding it, eventually every climber crosses ledges with Tribal monkeys. Wearing the skins of dead monkeys, gathering in private branches painted in various warlike colors, they belch, fart, thump 'n headbutt their way around looking for others to belch, fart, thump 'n headbutt with. An astute climber can get a good belly full a slightly bruised 'nanas by finding an area where 2 or more groups of tribal monkeys have been thump 'n headbuttin'.
Look way up there, see that fuzzy li'l dot? That there's a Vulcher Monkey. High above the crowd, with a 10k alt advantage on next week, they float. Looking for the unsuspecting or hurtin climber, sporting k/ds over 8000 and k/ss round .0125, their motto is, "where there's smoke...we fire! (but only after the monkey what caused the smoke has been kilt first.)"
Legend has it that in the penthouses are the Wrinkled Monkeys. Rarely climbing, (hey yer in the penthouse, why climb more?) they only venture out under dark glasses. They have the rare and exotic 'nanas. Highly sought but useless to but a few climbers that are twisted enough to understand their full meaning, the Wrinks are content to live on past glory. They enjoy tossing an occasional 'nana out the window just to see how many climbers fall off trying to grab it.
AND, of course, The Kong Monkeys. At the peak of prosperity, clinging to the radio tower, chest pounding, Fay grabbin', teeth gnashing, flicking planes away as tho they were insects, we find the Kings. Keelin', scorin', the anchors of their respective tribal units, when a climber sees a Kong Monkey on the wall he heads for another country. Whole tribal units have been de-'nana-ed by single Kong Monkeys.
Just when Joe Average Monkey thinks he's seen everything, along comes a Kong Monkey and gives that girl a twirl and makes her whole wurl swirl. Clashes between Kongs can sometimes alter the entire shape of the wall, cause the climb to take a whole nuther direction, provide lotsa ammo for the Hurlers...
Now fight like apes!
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AW was full of PP's and LPB's.
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If ya want something done right.....get yer wife to do it.
Here ya go
Stab
This was written by "Holmes" about AW flyers, though I think it crosses over quite well into any arena sim. Enjoy.
Air Warrior is like the Empire State building. And Air Warriors are like monkeys.
When ya first start you're a little, organ-grinder size monkey standing on the street outside. Looking up you see a building swarming with hostile monkeys of all different shapes and sizes. Monkeys are born to climb, and there ain't no Fay Wrays standing on the street, so instinct takes over and soon you're jousting for a handhold and making yer way up the wall.
Some are Fast Monkeys. A bit of natural ability combined with an in depth knowledge of climbing. They become familiar with the cracks and crevices of the particular building and begin to apply their knowledge within those parameters. Soon they are climbing, dodging, or scrambling right over some of the bigger monkeys and snatching bananas from the slower ones, growing bigger.
Others are Scrappy Monkeys. These monkeys spend extra time practicing. They ask lots of questions and live for the chance to go toe to toe with the bigger monkeys. They punch, kick, bite, claw, and spit at the monkeys above them. Scarred, bloody, and with big ol'chunks of fur ripped out they monkey butts they keep hammering. Occasionally they land a good blow, right in the monkey 'nards, and topple a bigger monkey. This inspires them to fight even harder. Soon they learn where to hit and when to duck. They begin to take their share of bananas.
Then there's the Hungry Monkeys. "Mo'nanas!, mo'nanas!" they chant as they cling to the wall from 6:01pm til 7:59 am. Calculating that mo'nanas go to the monkeys with mo hangtime they know that if they hang long enough they will get mo then their share of the 'nanas. Of course they need deep pockets to sustain this frenzy, can't eat all them 'nanas at once, and are prone to the dreaded "Banana Split". They must be very careful, lest they wind up another furry puddle of monkey guts in some alley off 34th street.
Also, ya got yer Techno Monkeys. Bumpy FrankenSchwanz in each paw, electrode catheters up their tails, anti-lock stainless steel vine swingers attached to their feet, gold plated groin clamps feeding g-inducing jugular valves hooked into the fastest system available, with the biggest monitor, tuned to peak performance and cranking out thru a megagigawatt, 3D, multi-usual Krakatoa Banana Blaster, these monkeys spend alot of time diddlin with their gadgets and tweaking their way up the wall.
And, we got MacGyver Monkeys. Riding systems that time forgot with nothing more than a handful of Froot Loops and a pile of bat guano they use every trick in the book, and plenty that ain't, to squirm their way heavenward. Always heavy, uncovering obscure and hidden bananas, they invent their way along using every micro-ounce of every banana that they managed to ensnare, even to the point of using the peels for clothing and shelter.
Advancing their altitudinous aspirations, AW Monkeys invariably encounter the various denizens of the virtual Jungle. Most encounter the Hurler Monkeys first. Kinda like chimps, these sociable chaps gather in large communal halls, spending their time practicing monkey yells and poking each other in the navel. Once in awhile they venture out for a climb but are much happier chillin' with their mates on the middle floors, flingin' monkey turds and grinnin' at all what pass by.
Out on the wall a common first encounter is with a Sumo Monkey. These are the veteran Hungry Monkeys. They've been there twice, done that backwards. All the nonessential flotsam has been skimmed and the essence of the climb congealed to a Zen like "See monkey, knock monkey down" philosophy. When ya hear "Monkey X took my 'nanas 16 times in a row one day", Monkey X is most likely a Sumo.
No avoiding it, eventually every climber crosses ledges with Tribal monkeys. Wearing the skins of dead monkeys, gathering in private branches painted in various warlike colors, they belch, fart, thump 'n headbutt their way around looking for others to belch, fart, thump 'n headbutt with. An astute climber can get a good belly full a slightly bruised 'nanas by finding an area where 2 or more groups of tribal monkeys have been thump 'n headbuttin'.
Look way up there, see that fuzzy li'l dot? That there's a Vulcher Monkey. High above the crowd, with a 10k alt advantage on next week, they float. Looking for the unsuspecting or hurtin climber, sporting k/ds over 8000 and k/ss round .0125, their motto is, "where there's smoke...we fire! (but only after the monkey what caused the smoke has been kilt first.)"
Legend has it that in the penthouses are the Wrinkled Monkeys. Rarely climbing, (hey yer in the penthouse, why climb more?) they only venture out under dark glasses. They have the rare and exotic 'nanas. Highly sought but useless to but a few climbers that are twisted enough to understand their full meaning, the Wrinks are content to live on past glory. They enjoy tossing an occasional 'nana out the window just to see how many climbers fall off trying to grab it.
AND, of course, The Kong Monkeys. At the peak of prosperity, clinging to the radio tower, chest pounding, Fay grabbin', teeth gnashing, flicking planes away as tho they were insects, we find the Kings. Keelin', scorin', the anchors of their respective tribal units, when a climber sees a Kong Monkey on the wall he heads for another country. Whole tribal units have been de-'nana-ed by single Kong Monkeys.
Just when Joe Average Monkey thinks he's seen everything, along comes a Kong Monkey and gives that girl a twirl and makes her whole wurl swirl. Clashes between Kongs can sometimes alter the entire shape of the wall, cause the climb to take a whole nuther direction, provide lotsa ammo for the Hurlers...
Now fight like apes!
LOL great post!
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hiho
must been said that our finish friends packed it all together here in 2003
http://www.virtualpilots.fi/feature/articles/bookofdweeb/
cheers
dhy
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Most glad doth this my heart make, the dweeben scrolls again to see!
-
If ya want something done right.....get yer wife to do it.
Here ya go
Stab
This was written by "Holmes" about AW flyers, though I think it crosses over quite well into any arena sim. Enjoy.
Air Warrior is like the Empire State building. And Air Warriors are like monkeys.
When ya first start you're a little, organ-grinder size monkey standing on the street outside. Looking up you see a building swarming with hostile monkeys of all different shapes and sizes. Monkeys are born to climb, and there ain't no Fay Wrays standing on the street, so instinct takes over and soon you're jousting for a handhold and making yer way up the wall.
Some are Fast Monkeys. A bit of natural ability combined with an in depth knowledge of climbing. They become familiar with the cracks and crevices of the particular building and begin to apply their knowledge within those parameters. Soon they are climbing, dodging, or scrambling right over some of the bigger monkeys and snatching bananas from the slower ones, growing bigger.
Others are Scrappy Monkeys. These monkeys spend extra time practicing. They ask lots of questions and live for the chance to go toe to toe with the bigger monkeys. They punch, kick, bite, claw, and spit at the monkeys above them. Scarred, bloody, and with big ol'chunks of fur ripped out they monkey butts they keep hammering. Occasionally they land a good blow, right in the monkey 'nards, and topple a bigger monkey. This inspires them to fight even harder. Soon they learn where to hit and when to duck. They begin to take their share of bananas.
Then there's the Hungry Monkeys. "Mo'nanas!, mo'nanas!" they chant as they cling to the wall from 6:01pm til 7:59 am. Calculating that mo'nanas go to the monkeys with mo hangtime they know that if they hang long enough they will get mo then their share of the 'nanas. Of course they need deep pockets to sustain this frenzy, can't eat all them 'nanas at once, and are prone to the dreaded "Banana Split". They must be very careful, lest they wind up another furry puddle of monkey guts in some alley off 34th street.
Also, ya got yer Techno Monkeys. Bumpy FrankenSchwanz in each paw, electrode catheters up their tails, anti-lock stainless steel vine swingers attached to their feet, gold plated groin clamps feeding g-inducing jugular valves hooked into the fastest system available, with the biggest monitor, tuned to peak performance and cranking out thru a megagigawatt, 3D, multi-usual Krakatoa Banana Blaster, these monkeys spend alot of time diddlin with their gadgets and tweaking their way up the wall.
And, we got MacGyver Monkeys. Riding systems that time forgot with nothing more than a handful of Froot Loops and a pile of bat guano they use every trick in the book, and plenty that ain't, to squirm their way heavenward. Always heavy, uncovering obscure and hidden bananas, they invent their way along using every micro-ounce of every banana that they managed to ensnare, even to the point of using the peels for clothing and shelter.
Advancing their altitudinous aspirations, AW Monkeys invariably encounter the various denizens of the virtual Jungle. Most encounter the Hurler Monkeys first. Kinda like chimps, these sociable chaps gather in large communal halls, spending their time practicing monkey yells and poking each other in the navel. Once in awhile they venture out for a climb but are much happier chillin' with their mates on the middle floors, flingin' monkey turds and grinnin' at all what pass by.
Out on the wall a common first encounter is with a Sumo Monkey. These are the veteran Hungry Monkeys. They've been there twice, done that backwards. All the nonessential flotsam has been skimmed and the essence of the climb congealed to a Zen like "See monkey, knock monkey down" philosophy. When ya hear "Monkey X took my 'nanas 16 times in a row one day", Monkey X is most likely a Sumo.
No avoiding it, eventually every climber crosses ledges with Tribal monkeys. Wearing the skins of dead monkeys, gathering in private branches painted in various warlike colors, they belch, fart, thump 'n headbutt their way around looking for others to belch, fart, thump 'n headbutt with. An astute climber can get a good belly full a slightly bruised 'nanas by finding an area where 2 or more groups of tribal monkeys have been thump 'n headbuttin'.
Look way up there, see that fuzzy li'l dot? That there's a Vulcher Monkey. High above the crowd, with a 10k alt advantage on next week, they float. Looking for the unsuspecting or hurtin climber, sporting k/ds over 8000 and k/ss round .0125, their motto is, "where there's smoke...we fire! (but only after the monkey what caused the smoke has been kilt first.)"
Legend has it that in the penthouses are the Wrinkled Monkeys. Rarely climbing, (hey yer in the penthouse, why climb more?) they only venture out under dark glasses. They have the rare and exotic 'nanas. Highly sought but useless to but a few climbers that are twisted enough to understand their full meaning, the Wrinks are content to live on past glory. They enjoy tossing an occasional 'nana out the window just to see how many climbers fall off trying to grab it.
AND, of course, The Kong Monkeys. At the peak of prosperity, clinging to the radio tower, chest pounding, Fay grabbin', teeth gnashing, flicking planes away as tho they were insects, we find the Kings. Keelin', scorin', the anchors of their respective tribal units, when a climber sees a Kong Monkey on the wall he heads for another country. Whole tribal units have been de-'nana-ed by single Kong Monkeys.
Just when Joe Average Monkey thinks he's seen everything, along comes a Kong Monkey and gives that girl a twirl and makes her whole wurl swirl. Clashes between Kongs can sometimes alter the entire shape of the wall, cause the climb to take a whole nuther direction, provide lotsa ammo for the Hurlers...
Now fight like apes!
one of the best if not the best :aok