[Ed. note: These AMST stories have been written to be at least partly dependent on each other, so here are the prior posts to save you the clicking around if you want the full context – AMST 1, AMST 2, AMST 3, AMST 4, and AMST 5.]
I met a traveller from an antique land,
“Ozymandias” – Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1818
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
August 11, 1994, at Camp Wilson Expeditionary Airfield (EAF) dawned hot as two rats f***ing in a wool sock. Actually – that’s not a very good simile… I take that back. That phrase inspires thoughts that include the possibility of moisture – of sweaty rats engaged in coitus – and there was zero sweat or moisture in the high desert that morning. Think more like Arrakis from the recent “Dune” movies.1 On the walk out to our aircraft, I caught a few of our mechs standing off to the side watching an egg cook on the metal panels (“matting” they call it) with some bets on how long it would take to fully cook, which I guess is dependent upon how runny you like your eggs.2
I checked the OAT – the Outside Air Temperature gauge – on our bird, aircraft “06”, BUNO. 160815. The gauge read a little shy of 60 degrees… Celsius. I did the Fahrenheit conversion in my head and double-checked: it was an absurd 137 degrees. I was staring at it in disbelief when Bill “Schlep” Dunn, one of HML/A-269’s Weapons and Tactics Instructors (WTI) came up with his gear to help me pre-flight. When I told him the temperature, he raised his eyes.
“Oooh! Well, You know what that means…?” I wrinkled my face in response. “We’ll have to prime the engines because of fuel vaporization in the lines. Don’t get to do that very often.”
A seemingly unimportant “Note” in the AH-1W NATOPS manual popped into my head: over 135º F can possibly result in fuel vaporization in the lines, so we would have to use a slightly different pre-start and start procedure.3 We pre-flighted with our gloves on because almost everything was hot to the touch. Strapping in required careful placement of the shoulder straps because of the metal buckles; it was common to see pilots walking around with burn marks and scabs on their necks from inattention to this detail.
This flight was a graded “X” for both me and a friend, Mike “Hairball” Harris, who was flying with a pilot who wasn’t a member of our squadron, but was there for a few weeks to help as an instructor. I only remember his call-sign: Psycho.4 Because it was a live shoot, we would fly from the EAF together to a separate arming area, arm up, then pre-cock the helicopters and sit on “strip alert.” This was to simulate real combat where we would wait for a radio call for air support and then pick up the mission and go. Mike and I would also each be calling in live artillery rounds on static targets in a place called Quackenbush Lake. Note – there is no water there; it’s a dry lake bed in between two mountain ranges.
The start went fine, with Schlep taking a moment to mock our Huey brethren on the flightline next to us who did not, unfortunately for them, have air-conditioning. They turned-up with the doors open, sweating before they could even get the rotors moving to generate some wind, while we luxuriated in ice-chunk spitting A/C once we got the blades spinning. Taxi, take-off, over to the arming area, loading the aircraft up rack-to-rack, all went by the numbers. We sat around, sweated, and had a soda pop while we waited for the air support call to come in over the radios.
The call came in, we hopped into our birds, spun-up, and the ordies pulled the pins on our rocket pods and flipped the levers on the flare buckets. We were armed and airborne within 5 minutes after the call. The next hour was one of utter tedium as we struggled to get communications with the artillery battery. For this exercise, we were using genuine crypto-fills in our radios, meaning everything was being done via encrypted comms, which can be a bit tedious if everyone doesn’t have their shit together. Which is to say, there is almost never a time when everyone and their gear are all properly configured, using the right fill from the Air Tasking Order (ATO), at the right time, etc. Right at the moment Schlep was about to call it quits, the radios finally came to life with the artillery battery for whom we’re supposed to be calling and adjusting fire. YAY!
The artillery tubes are pointed into Quackenbush Lake from somewhere south of the area. We take up a position in “hover holds” where the circle with the X is. Because we have to be able to “peekaboo” over the ridgeline to look down into Quackenbush Lake to spot the artillery rounds as they land and then call in adjustments, we’re hovering at about 150’. (More on that in a bit).
Hairball goes first to adjust artillery onto some tank hulks in the distance. Using the Cobra’s 23X telescopic sight unit (TSU), he’ll zoom in to see the impacts, then pull his head back up, look at his map, then make the necessary call to the arty battery to adjust their fire onto the targets. A spotting round that hits the target on the first shot is a wonderful stroke of luck. A single call adjustment onto target is impressive – for both the arty and the person calling in the adjustments. Three rounds is what professionals should aim for, then it’s “fire for effect” and rain holy hell down on the poor bastards on the business end of it.
It’s training, so we’re helping both the artillery and us get used to our calls and adjustments. After a couple of calls, it’s clear that Mike is about to “shack” the targets, so Schlep – who is flying from the back seat – tells me to get my own call for fire ready. I acknowledge with two quick taps of my right foot on the footswitch on the floor. This is there to allow us to talk without me having to put my hands on the ICS switch on the cyclic, so I don’t interfere with Schlep flying and so I can keep my hands on the TSU.
Bogie and Bacall May Have Paris, But We’ll Always Have “the Crash” and Camp Wilson, Schlep
A second later Schlep gives me a standard status report of the aircraft.
“Gauges look good, temps are in the green, 1000 pounds of gas left.” I key the switch again…
“ROTOR RPM! ROTOR RPM! ROTOR RPM!” Bitching Betty, the female voice that only comes on in one of five instances – if something really bad is happening – is telling us that our rotor RPM has just passed through 96% or lower, and is going in the wrong direction.
We’re “drooping turns” and as I look over the TSU to see the triple-tach gauge, I see that our #1 and #2 engine needles have “split” apart. We’ve lost an engine and I can feel us start to sink.
“We’ve lost #1.” Bill says – with urgency, but no panic in his voice. It’s hot, we’re heavy with full rocket pods and flare buckets, but one Cobra engine can – under good conditions – Hover a fully-loaded aircraft out of Ground Effect. Bitching betty continues to tell us “Rotor RPM! Rotor RPM!”. Bill hasn’t “cleared” it, by taking a hand off of the cyclic or collective to slap the button in front of him.
I key the footswitch and say something to the effect of “I got it” and while I’m watching, the #2 engine needle starts chasing the #1. There’s a moment, a microinstant, where the Rotor Rpm paused at 94%, like it had one last gasp, but then died. We are now out of engines, power, ideas, and rapidly running out of altitude.
We drop like a greased safe, as they say, toward the ground below.
I sit up straight, feel the ground rushing up to grab us, and I brace for impact. As we pass through 50 feet, Tom “Q” Stone pops into my head and a prayer emerges unbidden: “Please, God, don’t let me be paralyzed.” The front seat of the Cobra is hard mounted, steel-on-steel, to the frame of the aircraft; the backseat is on rails and can “stroke” down to dissipate energy. I’m going to get the ground right up my ass. I sit back into the seat, my spine straight, head back and eyes forward.
Bill is flying, but my hands go to the controls. I wait until the last possible moment as we’re about to hit and I grab the collective and pull up at the same rate that we’re falling and hope we have enough turns left to cushion the impact. The aircraft bucks as the blades go to full-pitch, every last bit of lift bleeding out of the rotor-head… there is an instant right before impact when I realize OhmyGodwedonthaveenough
WHAM!
My head snaps forward and hits the TSU, right where the night vision goggle mount is on my helmet. My head comes up and out of the corner of my eye I see the blades flex down impossibly far, and then spring back up! And the aircraft gets picked up by the weight and pivots and holy shit we’re about to roll!
“GET OUT! GET OUT, BARNEY!” Bill yells from the back seat. I pop my harness with my right hand and open the canopy with my left, throwing myself out the door as the aircraft slides down the hill. We’ve impacted on the side of a slope and the upslope skid has snapped off. I am kneeling on the same level with Schlep, but his door open to right and on the downslope side. He’s trapped inside as the aircraft slides. I grab my doorframe and dig my heels in, trying to stop the aircraft as it continues to slip down the hill. It is a stupid and pointless act because my 175 pounds is not going to stop the 6 tons of aircraft. I drag along with it, my heels kicking up the gritty sand and some rocks, and then… miraculously, the aircraft stops.
Total time from first engine coughing until impact: 6 seconds.
The blades are barely turning, and coast to a stop. I’m looking at Bill’s eyes over the top of his visor, which has slid down from the impact. His seat has bottomed out and we’re eye-to-eye.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He shakes his head up and down and his visor wiggles over his face comically. I look right and realize that I am staring at a loaded 7-shot rocket pod filled with live, 2.75” HE rockets. I look back at Bill, my eyes wide:
“Well…Get the fuck out!” I yell, as I scamper and roll down the hill and out from the direct line of the rocket pods and 20mm chain gun. I hear Bill trying to climb out of the cockpit, his kneeboard catching on the cyclic, and then I hear him hit the ground on the other side of the aircraft.
We meet up on another hillock, slightly to the front and side of the aircraft and we start hugging.
“We did it! We’re alive!” Bill yells. I start cackling maniacally. I can’t believe it either. I become aware of the sound of our wingman, Hairball and Psycho, orbiting overhead. We start jumping up and down and waving to them and we get a slight wing waggle in response. Good. Help’s coming.
Bill decides that we should probably safe up the aircraft as best we can. We put the pins back in the rocket pods and safe the flare buckets. We do a walk-around of the aircraft and it’s clear why the aircraft didn’t go down the hill. We’ve impacted so hard that in addition to the upslope (left) skid breaking completely off, and the right bending, and then catching on a small rock outcropping, the tail stinger is buried into the rocky dirt completely up to the tail boom, which has also bent away from the center axis of the aircraft.
“You still have that disposable camera you got at the PX?” Bill turns to me. “No one’s ever gonna believe we saved this fuckin thing, Barn.” I reach into my flight suit’s right leg pocket and produce a cheap plastic, disposable camera that I’ve been trotting around to take pictures of all of the newness of my first ever CAX.
Within 10 minutes we hear the sounds of Huey rotor blades and shortly after an aircraft comes ripping around the rock outcropping on the right in the above picture. There’s nowhere close to us to land, so it finally settles on top of a small hill about 100 yards away. We see someone jump out of the back and he starts yelling and waving his arms.
“Is that Doc Thompson?” I ask Schlep. LT Thompson, U.S. Navy, is our squadron flight surgeon, whom we all love.
“What’s he saying?” I shrug. I can’t hear him.
“I think he wants us to come over there to them,” I speculate. So we grab all of our gear and start the up-and-down the hill trot, over the jagged and rocky slopes to get to the Huey. When we’re finally within earshot, Doc Thompson shouts: “I was telling you to stay where you are in case you’re hurt, but I guess, fuck it. C’mon, hop in. Lemme take a look at ya.”
We start laughing again and we’re all smiles as the Huey aircraft commander, Rick Lyman, throttles up and the Huey launches into the air. Suddenly, the shock begins to wear off and I’m terrified. Being in the air now feels insane. I’m shaking and want to cry, so I hide it by lying on my back. We’re ripping along at 300 feet over the desert floor on our way to the Naval hospital at Mainside and I’m doing everything I can not to piss myself from fear.
How is this thing flying? Will it give out at any moment and we’ll be one of the worst tragedies ever?
After the longest 10 minute flight in human history, we land at the hospital helipad. Bill and I thank our squadronmates while the Doc tells us that we’re likely still running on adrenaline and could be injured, so let’s just wait for the ambulance to come get us. We’re standing there waiting, and waiting, and because of where the hospital is situated on the side of a mountain, the ambulance has to come from the other side of the hospital, drive down the hill to the main road at the bottom, and then along the road, and then labor back up the twisting road to the helipad.
“Oh, fuck this, c’mon, Barn.” Bill and I grab our gear and scamper over some rock the 30-40 yards down to the Emergency Room entrance with Doc Thompson shaking his head behind us. Doc ushers right into some beds after a brief word with the intake staff. We act like rockstars because we feel that way.
Perhaps 30 minutes later, we’re lying in our beds when the squadron CO, LtCol Richard E. St. Pierre – “Saint” – comes in. I start to jump to attention, but he waves both Bill and I back to our beds. Doc Thompson stands by nervously.
“You want me to go, CO?” Doc asks.
“Nah.” Saint is, as always, chewing on a small piece of gum. “I’ve been out to the crash site-” I see Bill stiffen. This is the moment he’s been dreading; he’s signed for the aircraft. I’m just a First Lieutenant and have given exactly zero moments of thought to the fact that one of the CO’s $15 million dollar Cobras is lying busted up on a hill near Quackenbush Lake. That reality comes rushing in at me instantly. Uh-oh.
“-I just wanted to come here personally and tell you I’m proud of you both.” He sticks out his hand and shakes Bill’s, then mine. I’m not sure what to say or do. “You’re lucky to be alive, but that’s a damn good job of flying.” He turns to Doc Thompson. “I want them up and flying as soon as you can clear them, Doc.” He nods his head and he’s gone through the curtains.
We both let out a sigh of relief. In 2 days we’re back on the schedule, despite the fact that we a are now both facing an Aircraft Mishap Board/Investigation and a JAG Manual investigation.
- For what it’s worth, the movie was filmed in Wadi Rum, Jordan, as a stand-in for the deserts of Arrakis. Joshua Tree National Park is not that far away. Look at both and judge for yourself. ↩︎
- This is not a hyperbolic turn of phrase. i.e. a No-shitter. We only had to be there for our flights. The troops got bored and it was unbearably hot: betting on how long it would take an egg to cook on a particular panel of matting helps pass the time. ↩︎
- I don’t recall the exact number anymore from the “Whiskey” NATOPS manual, and I can’t find it after too much searching online, so I’m using 135º F as a stand-in for whatever the actual number is. Maybe a reader can chime in, but it seems about right from the context. ↩︎
- Ed. note: one day, well after I originally wrote this, unbidden, his name came back to me: Larry “Psycho” Belanger, of HMLA-167, the “Warriors,” IIRC. ↩︎
I was born First, raised First, and will always be…FIRST.
My name is Brochettaward, First Of All Firsters:
Look on my works, Ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
Firsters, firsters, Everywhere,
Nor any stop to think.
Oooosh! Well-done, Zwak.
I like the description of that six seconds of J#*& iamgonnadie.
From my own minor experiences, yeah, when shit happens, it happens fast. And then the adrenaline kicks in.
Thanks for for the stories.
Amazing story. Thanks
+1
+2
+3.14
Where is Pie?
Absolutely. I’ve been enjoying this series as well.
https://www.nbcnews.com/tech/tech-news/trump-says-elon-musk-will-lead-department-government-efficiency-vivek-rcna179
President-elect Donald Trump named tech billionaire Elon Musk and conservative activist Vivek Ramaswamy on Tuesday to head up a new Department of Government Efficiency, fulfilling a campaign pledge to give Musk sweeping oversight of government spending.
.
.
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Trump said the department would exist “outside of Government,” giving advice to those in the White House on overhauling federal agencies. The arrangement would also likely allow Musk and Ramaswamy to continue working in the private sector and serve without Senate approval.
So, no authority to actually fire anyone.
Da fuq? My URL is the same as your link, but I get served an article from 2020 about a spacewalk.
I blame NBC.
https://www.nbcnews.com/tech/tech-news/trump-says-elon-musk-will-lead-department-government-efficiency-vivek-rcna179899
Cut and paste error in the first link. Second one works.
I’ll add this here. Trump is making the same mistakes he made the first go around. Marco fucking Rubio will be his Secretary of State.
“Expected.”
God I hope it doesn’t happen. There’s worse than Little Marco out there but there are plenty better than him too. He’s basically neocon light.
A little ray of sunshine in Michigan.
https://www.foxnews.com/media/catholic-woman-fired-refusing-covid-vaccine-wins-over-12m-michigan-court.amp
Prefer the red sands.
I just watched both parts back-to-back and was well impressed. And in agreement with those who said it helps to have read the book.
First, excellent piece Ozy. The only thing even remotely comparable in my life is totaling a car, and I only remember the first six seconds.
Now, as a college lad, I suffered through that poem mightily, and did despair of it. Mostly as it was adjacent to my beloved Coleridge, being of the other school of English Romantic Poetry, the Demonic School, as opposed to the Lake School, which I, oddly enough, vastly preferred.
Oh, and I always loved the expression “she had an ass like two hogs in a sack.”
Mattel’s ‘Wicked’ Movie Dolls Mistakenly List Porn Site on Packaging.
Hopefully someone at Mattel caught the error and just decided to say nothing. Also, ironic because they cast the ugliest black woman they could find for the lead.
Whoopi Goldberg and Maxine Waters wave hi.
I think I would be hesitant to work with someone whose callsign is “Psycho”. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Sure thing, Maverick.
That’s gonna put this thread on ice, man.
Talk to me, Goose!
Your Top Gun references are wasted on me as I have never watched that.
It takes my breath away to think there are people that have not seen Top Gun.
Christ, they couldn’t even get that right.
*Raises hand*
Never seen it. Which kinda sucks, cuz the new one/ remake/ whatever was apparently dope. Missin’ out on both generations ’round me, born in ’87. Was into many 80s movies, but I s’pose only the ones bro liked. We’d bike to Movies To Go (far closer than the Blockbusters) and they had plenty of shit we could get. Hrm.
By pilot name would be ShortFry. Why change the childhood nickname I embrace? One of Evan’s Iron Rules: Never underestimate the Power of being underestimated.
I was the right age, just not interested.
Unless someone is dragging me somewhere, I mostly watch genre stuff – sci fi, fantasy, horror, thriller.
*Vows to refer to Evan as “ShortFry” from now on.
Um…
I know 😛
I just meant that the Aussie song always comes to mind first. I bought that album when I lived in Germany in 1985 and listened to it endlessly which wasn’t a surprise as I owned maybe five albums at that point.
Yanno, I KNEW I was missing a joke.
Nah, that just means my delivery wasn’t right. 🥴
@PON: Ooooh, *twiddles* An Evan is also now 37 years old.
Still trying to lure Munchkin here. She’s now a legal clerk at Todd County Courthouse, MN. She’s on our page. She’s started to work with me writing responses to the inane political conversations she gets into with her colleagues. She’s…uh. Got a far dirtier, and more barbed, writing tone that I do. When speaking, two horses in (relative) harness.
We’re trying to get her stories about the social services folk who legit NEED such –compared to the moochers who nastily milk the system — written down and shared. She just started, so we shall see. (IIRC a week before I started this current phlebotomy gig. We shall see. *twiddles*)
I feel the need for
speedcultural literacy.This was a close call.
Thanks for sharing Ozy!
I was waiting for root cause. Why did your engines die? Or is that classified!
I’m generally good in times of crisis.
It’s afterwards that fucks me up.
Same. When a crisis is going on, I’m cool and can think clearly. Once it’s over, I start freaking out over what could have happened. Weird, but I’ll take it over freaking out during a crisis.
A friend of mine shot through his thigh with a crossbow arrow while hunting deer 18 feet up in a tree this past weekend. He said he didn’t feel any pain and was very lucid (talking calmly to the fire department dudes he knew from the community) up until the emergency room personnel took the tourniquet off. Then he passed out from the pain.
He’s home now and will have an awesome scar. And awesome stories to tell his grandkids.
/always check your safety!
Another crucial reality: Chicks dig scars.
THAT was EXACTLY what we told him.
His wife was not amused.
Yikes!
Yeah, I broke my upper arm (compound fracture I think it’s called?) and wrist in college horsing around and felt no pain until I got situated in a bed at the ER at least an hour later. The pain rapidly grew during the next eight hours I had to wait to see a doctor.
Semi-upset with myself during times of sudden crisis. I do great in some respects, certainly no ‘panic’ response, and I’m frightfully lacking anything that naturally resembles “risk-aversion.” The two legit fights I’ve been in, both ended in (my) broken bones, I’m more confused, as in “Huh. Why the fuck is THIS happening? Odd!” I’ don’t get “angry.” It must take an awful lot to cause it in me, cuz befuddled mockery is usually what comes out. I don’t recall the last time I was, legit, “angry.” *shrug* ?
(I don’t remember The Incident, and several months prior and post. Much better that way. (For me, only.) I imagine many think such about Serious Injuries.)
Crisis management a la Mojo:
I am good in stressful situations, as I am a very low-key person and pretty unflappable. But, that is only if they come with no warning and need to be delt with quickly. Give me a long enough timeline, and then i am pretty useless, as I will over think, stress out over something, and so on.
Helps I had a long career in logistics, were everything is a now type situation.
A few of my friends were chopper pilots in VN. They had a monopoly on Purple Hearts. I didn’t have an urge to go to flight school.
Thanks, Ozy, good reminder.
I worked with a grizzled electrical engineer who remembered trying to solder avionics wires back together after they had been shot while they were being shot at in VN. He had LOTS of wild stories.
Mike Hegseth is going to be SecDef.
It appears that Donnie is looking toward some youth in his advisors and cabinet. Kristi Noem, Vivik, Mike, others.
My guess is that the new DOGE is going to end up permanently and useless.
This was fantastic. Started by reminding me I should check my socks. Pesticide folk are snoopin’ by tomorrow. Moving on! That’s a crazy story, remarkably told. Damn, that was engaging. I didn’t expect that to go quite where it did, and especially wasn’t expecting a full-fledged OH FUCK! moment.
So you guys freefalled 50ish feet and ‘landed’ on that?! Um. Both engines out, as in 0 downforce? That’s a remarkably well-designed and built machine. It doesn’t look as injured as I’d have thought. Also rather impressed with the human components! Once the adrenaline wore off, were either of you injured? Cuz… that sounds really painful. To wish for ‘not paralyzed’ is fairly sensible, IMO.
Hopefully ya did make it out with any broken bones or worse, but even if I didn’t get a bit cut or bruised, I’d be tempted to add some. I’d certainly be scuffing up my uni. Players with the most *interesting* game, often the best – tho not always – are the ones with the dirtiest uniforms.
I loved the visual of the blades whomping down then up.
Andrew Jackson’s “kitchen cabinet” presumably had no official authority, but did have the President’s trust.
Having Rubio as Secretary of State removes him from the Senate Intelligence committee, which keeps him from blocking reforms of the intelligence services.
I heard that Mike Huckabee is going to be the IS ambassador to Israel.
FDR didn’t trust his ambassador to the UK before we entered the war (some guy named Kennedy whose family still pesters us) so he appointed William J Donovan as his special representative. FDR listened to him and so did Churchill.
And Donovan’s creation is still pestering us.
Gov. Pie won’t be returning to H&H…
Jesus, Ozy.
“Courage. It couldn’t come at a worse time”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BhGB3vwhxHs&ab_channel=TheTragicallyHip-Topic
Great story. Thanks.
OT – I have a delivery that is currently in Anchorage, Alaska and scheduled to be at my door tomorrow morning. Is that even possible?!
Not going to happen. I’m getting tired of UPS, if it’s UPS. I try to overnight shit, pay the premium for it only to get fucked with no recourse.
It’s UPS. And I’m near the east coast FWIW.
A computer. Free delivery, so who the hell knows. I have a teledoc appointment right around the same time so I hope they don’t try to summon me for a signature on the off chance they’re on time.
So most likely anchorage to Louisville then out to where you are at. Should be day after tomorrow at latest. Technically possible it could arrive tomorrow but I wouldn’t bet on it.
Polar route, bro.
Yup. I remember flying LA to Beijing one time and the lovely views of the Aleutians en route.
It’s in East Syracuse, NY now. 😮
Did you know of the Anchorage-East Syracuse teleporter link?
OOT – sigh, my new home town got its first homicide of the year yesterday. I guess we were due – when I moved here I looked it up and the average is 0 to 1 per year.
The place is so small I know the block immediately from its pic as I pass by there all the time. Nothing here is as sketchy as what I was used to in NYC but I suppose the locals would call it sketchy.
Ugh. Cops with facial hair.
If I had my druthers, there would be grooming standards again.
How can you tell if she has facial hair? Her back is to the camera.
You will never be a man.
Ugh in addition to the comments there… assuming this is real… one of the things that pisses me off is the tricknology. Don’t pass yourself off in hopes of attracting the wrong sex. She should be wearing the Woman T-shirt.
I just think it’s rich that these people (and it’s not just the trans people, but the left) feels that the world MUST change to accommodate their whims, preferences, fetishes, and mental illnesses. That’s what shrinks and drugs are for.
It’s like that SNL cast member Elon made cry because he told her her script wasn’t funny. Well, MAYBE IT WASN’T. Your fucking job rides on you being funny, which means you aren’t doing your job.
It’s reaching the point where I can’t check anyone out anymore because I don’t know what sex they might be. And I’m not referring to body parts – men and women are way different well before you even get that far.
Haven’t you heard? Genital preference is transphobic!
“No matter how much authentic information they have they cannot draw a sensible conclusion. Once they are demoralized they cannot identify problems. If they cannot identify problems they cannot solve problems. If they cannot solve problems they cannot defend themselves, their families or their country.” – Yuri Bezmenov on Soviet demoralization
The left is about power, nothing else. Power is an end in itself. They have been wildly successful at dragging people into a post-reality world.
What were you saying the other night about your view of free will being altered by watching such people?
I think people are very good at lying to themselves as a means of coping with reality. Reality is scary.
Lovecraft and his like have explored the theme that when ultimate reality is revealed to a person the true horror of it drives them insane. Maybe we are all on that scale somewhere.
How’s that for a ‘just woke up’ rambling mess of a comment. Good morning all.
Yes.
I try to be understanding about where someone might have come from, but at some point, their sparse and mangled free will interferes with my sparse and mangled free will.
Sparse and mangled. I like that.
My view is that our universe is a deterministic one, that everything that ever was, is and will be is already written. However, there are so many factors involved that we cannot possibly know them all and thus events appear to be randomish to us. In other words, free will is an illusion we cannot see through.
That does present some problems for the notion of individual liberty and the notion of inalienable rights.
Maybe more like a “choose your own adventure” story? You get 2 or 3 paths, then you decide which forks to take, but the path is still already laid? Only in real life, you can’t finish the book, then start over again and make different decisions.
Said like a true writer. You choose the path and then follow it. Occasionally you come to a fork in the road…so take it.
I dont think choices exist except as illusions.
Physicists have been desperately searching for randomness forever. Their humanity needs to believe. They are fooling themselves but what difference does it make? Since we can never see the end of the path reality functions, for all intents and purposes, as if chance and choice exist. Without that perspective we would live in a hopeless world where everything we do is pointless. Shelley was correct but who needs that shit?
pilots walking around with burn marks and scabs on their necks
Ouch.
My new hot water bottle warns of low temperature burns occurring as low as 110F when in contact 4-6 hours and 2-3min at 122F. 137F…
I’ve been in multiple accidents/3 totals, thankfully no aviation mishaps. All were over fast enough that there wasn’t enough time to soil my drawers.
Two near misses with deer this week. One was close enough that there were hairs on the bumper (no felt impact, denting, or blood).
In the course of a conversation with my son yesterday he pointed out ” The US government is the biggest business in the world today”.
I had to point out “Remember Econ 101? One of the first things they teach is the difference between government and the private sector, namely that government produces nothing.”
When the biggest business in the world produces nothing you are in big trouble. That is a big problem.
What I see in people is a strong tendency to see an obvious problem with an obvious solution and respond with “Nahhhhh….no…I dont want to do that. That is bothersome, painful, not what I want etc.”
Trump has come along with some others like him and said “There is the solution and we are going to do it whether you like it or not. ”
I am seeing a lot of so called conservatives, republicans, libertarianism people who did not want solutions, who like the way things are who resisted Trump precisely for that reason and endorsed the leftists now realizing the avalanche has begun and they cant stop it. so, they are trying to hop on board pretending they were never part of the problem.
How long before Cheney and co. , maybe even some of the worst of the media, start cheering Trump on?
Morning, Glibs.
☕
Good morning, U, Suthen, Sean, rhy, and Evan!
How goes things?
Well, thanks! Just have to continue getting the five new hires set up in payroll, send our Board members invitations to their holiday dinner, and continue prepping for next week’s Board meeting. How about you?
I made it through my presentation, the upgrade went fine expect for some webex audio shenanigans, and I got laundry done.
But today I’ve got a half-year evaluation and I have to replace some SSL certs because of contract nonsense when they wouldn’t have expired otherwise. (You stop paying the certificate authority, they revoke your certs)
Hope your evaluation goes well! My boss doesn’t always give me a proper one, and now that he’s in the big chair, there’s no one to insist he do so except me. Sometimes I think he reasons (correctly) that if he gives me enough of a raise, I won’t squawk about not getting a formal review. 😁
I’m at top of grade, so my evaluation doesn’t impact my pay (I can’t get raises outside of contract increases unless I get promoted)
Damn Ozy, quite the story.
Good morning to all you mighty fine peoples.
😁🌄👍
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=qgtkPKZ2OPk
🎶🎶
https://www.yahoo.com/news/hackers-stealing-travel-loyalty-points-230400147.html
They’re stealing yer miles!
https://www.thegatewaypundit.com/2024/11/urgent-bucks-county-pa-is-breaking-law-counting/
Shenanigans!
I feel like there is an easy way to avoid this issue.
Mornin’, y’all. I’m not entirely sure I’ve ever worked at a place where the day goes by so quickly. It’s also lovely to have (mostly?) accidentally failed upward, getting dropped from A-Ball, only to be picked up by a Double-A team located in a nicer neighborhood, with more agreeable folk.
Working 8-hour shifts instead of 11hr-ones has a massive effect.
As long as nobody’s shooting at you. 🙂
The staff were never the target.
That might be the typcial career path.
Mornin’ all.
FreedomToons’ dance party.
Off to the gym.
Good morning, DEG! Go get pumped up! 💪
Determinism is a coping mechanism by those who don’t want to admit that choosing to eat an entire Little Caesar’s hot-and-ready pepperoni pizza at lunch was a bad idea.
Oddly specific.