THE BOOK OF DWEEB
Written by Jedi
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 Lighting 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, and there 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.
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.
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.
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 Ration 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.
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.
"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 Terrain (tm), and were blinded by the Sun Glare (tm) 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.
