Island Of Misfits

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Good morning misfit girls and boys. I do not have a way with words as some on here do, wish I did. My life has not been easy as I got a letter from the President that said " "Greetings, from the President of the United States. You are hearby ordered to report for induction on 11/21/1967". 3 days after I turned 20. I was incountry Vietnam for 2 years and 8 days as a Crewchief on a Cobra helicopter gunship. After coming home, I spent 27 years and 9 months as a Firefighter in Flint, Michigan. Part of my life story.
 
Good morning misfit girls and boys. I do not have a way with words as some on here do, wish I did. My life has not been easy as I got a letter from the President that said " "Greetings, from the President of the United States. You are hearby ordered to report for induction on 11/21/1967". 3 days after I turned 20. I was incountry Vietnam for 2 years and 8 days as a Crewchief on a Cobra helicopter gunship. After coming home, I spent 27 years and 9 months as a Firefighter in Flint, Michigan. Part of my life story.

Unk flew heuys day and night. Shot down three times. Pulled his *** out and had a bird fueled and running waiting on him.

He went back every time.

Stubborn sonofa ***** wanted to get back in on the fourth round and head ops said hell no.... kid will kill himself.

Left with honors and still to this day is pissed he didn’t Get to go back out to get his men.


He still ain’t right.


Much respect!!!!!
 
Good morning misfit girls and boys. I do not have a way with words as some on here do, wish I did. My life has not been easy as I got a letter from the President that said " "Greetings, from the President of the United States. You are hearby ordered to report for induction on 11/21/1967". 3 days after I turned 20. I was incountry Vietnam for 2 years and 8 days as a Crewchief on a Cobra helicopter gunship. After coming home, I spent 27 years and 9 months as a Firefighter in Flint, Michigan. Part of my life story.


Salute!

Thanks for taking the Oath.

I got that letter too , my lottery number was 68 in 1969

7 years USAF/ANG 138th TAC Fighter Group , Operation Red Horse

today , I admire men like the late General Smeadly Butler



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One mo' thang, Hips: The piloting of the passenger plane? No article written about that for obvious reasons, but I will take the time to 'splain to you how that could possibly have happened.

A LOOONG time ago, when I still had hair, I got my Private Pilot's License. I went further and got my IFR rating. <-- That means they can paint the windows, and you can still fly the plane to its destination by instruments alone.

My Beautiful Scottish Witch and Your Humble Obdn't &tc were going to Jamaica from Floriduh. Forty-some years ago. I won't tell you the airline. But as we were boarding, I saw the door to the cockpit was open. This was before all the bullshiet of today.

I pulled out my brand-new, shiny IFR Pilot's License and handed it to the pretty flight attendant and asked her if it would be OK for me to go "drool on the instruments". My actual quote.

She said, "I'll check and see."

Ten seconds later, Brian, the pilot (no last name) waves me in. We talked for several minutes while I gaped in amazement: The instruments could have been removed from a Cessna 152 and put in this monster plane! They were identical. TINS. I gawped while he grinned.

Of course, there were other, truly unknown thingies -- radar alt -- yada.

The plane was near filled when Brian says: "Hey, Walt, would you like to fly up here with us?"
I spun around so fast and told my Precious Darling she was on her own and I'd meet her in Jamaica, that Brian and my Witch busted out laughing.

So the pretty flight attendant lowered the jump seat. I thought they were just sorta small folding chairs. Nope. Quite comfy.

Anyway, we took off and headed for Cuba. After about ten miles, Brian says: "Would you like to get some multi-engine jet time?"

I woulda given my left nut and a year in he_ll for that! So Brian got up, and I sat down.

Here is the next sequence: There were love-bugs all over the window. Brian told me to do an airliner turn (that is a real thing all pilots learn no matter what planes they fly) to "that there rain cloud". I did, and it was an instant car wash. Fargin kewl.

He let me pilot the plane all the way to base-leg in Jamaica.

And: TINS.
OK Walt, you can quit now. I'm going to start building my shrine to you as soon as the lumber prices come down.

ALL HAIL UNCA WALT!!!!
 
BigSur51, no lottery numbers were in effect yet, all by birth dates. They lined us up and said count off by 3's. All number 3's take one step forward and follow me.. You are now Marines. I was a number 2.
Geez, yoop! What a weird way to choose Marines! I never knew that. BTW... I am named after my great uncle. It is why I did NOT join the Marines.

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67F @ 70% RH, partially cloudy and predicted to reach 88F.

A guy fires thirty rounds off in an apartment complex over an argument about a barking dog, before being tackled and hospitalized by a neighbor.

I'm scheduled to do a POD cast this morning. I'll share a link when it is up.

Ah yes, the letter from Uncle saying, " You will report to/at..............." I remember it well.
 
no need for a name change , Unca Walt is a famous author/adventurer/IBM Engineer/catches rattlesnakes with his bare hands and decapitates them/mercenary/pilot/Captain/and is married for a 100 years to a magic red headed witch

Unca Walt taught Chuck Norris all he knows about self defense

the alphabet soup spy agencies call Unca frequently to see if his mind is still right or if he needs any help moving his furniture around
Yer rattin' me out, Big!! 🤫

It ain't true! (Well, the magic red-headed witch part is true...)

I used (once) my bare hands to catch a cottonmouth. I used a Swiss Army knife to do for rattlesnakes (a still from a video the guys took) -- Herself said I'd lost a step and could not do this anymore.


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She let me do it one last time so they could video it. New club members would always think the guys were pulling the long bow about the trick. It came about because I noticed that a buzzer will give a frisson down its back about 1/5 sec before it strikes.

I think I might be the only guy that did this... Anyway, what ya do is move your right foot in to juuust about the strike limit. In the position shown above, you begin darting your left hand in and out with a coupla seconds between each "***". Your reaction time is about 1/3 of a second, and the frisson is only 1/5 of a second... so you have 2/15 of a second deficit.

You beat this time deficit with the ***. While the rattler concentrates on your left hand -- and he most ricky-tick will -- you get ready with the little Swiss Army knife.

As soon as the frisson begins, swing the knife to a point about 8 inches in front of the head. It will hit the buzzer in the back of the head, either stunning or killing it. Either way, THAT is when you grab it.
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This is a hand-caught live cottonmouth. I'm holding him about 8" behind his head. If you Duckduck cottonmouths, the perfessers say they never get anywhere near this big.

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For background, I had no choice, it climbed on me in my deer blind to get warm.

And I have a video of a genuine "red touches yellow" coral snake chewing on my sneaker.

The guys called me "Snakebait" and nobody will go in the woods with me because... oh... forgot to mention: Got hit by a 22-pound rattler. Talk about stone lucky. It's fangs stuck in my jeans, just scratched me.

HIM -- I had to grab. Whacked him on a tree. He now resides on three different crossbow straps. That's Fuzzy... giving a sniff-spection.

Late Edit Add: You can determine for yourself the immense size of this snake's head. (North Floriduh has the largest buzzers in the world.) Spread your bent forefinger and middle fingers apart until they are wider apart than a quarter. You are lookin' at the fangs.

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Crazy mofo. I DO NOT LIKE SNAKES.
Snakes are the closest thing I ever had to a real brother. Got about the same attitude, too. All they want to do is eat, sleep, and make little snakes. You don't mess with them and they won't mess with you. Talk ****, get bit. :)
 
Snakes are the closest thing I ever had to a real brother. Got about the same attitude, too. All they want to do is eat, sleep, and make little snakes. You don't mess with them and they won't mess with you. Talk ****, get bit. :)
As the ever-reliable Snopes might say: Mostly True.

But that 8' 22-pounder struck me because he was shedding (it looked like an airport wind sock) and his eyes were cloudy. They get really short-tempered when they have PMS.

I dindu nuffin. Just walking along in the jungle and... WHAM!
 

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