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The Lighter Side


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As the passengers were boarding the aircraft, one skeptical elderly lady asked the captain "Is this helicopter safe?" the captain immediately replied "OF COARSE ! all the un-safe one have crashed"

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>> Air Traffic Control Conversations

>>

>> Here are some conversations that airline passengers normally will

>> never hear.

>>

>> The following are accounts of actual exchanges between airline pilots

>> and control towers around the world, even thought some stories are

>> quite old there are still cute...

>>

>> Tower: "Delta 351, you have traffic at 10 o'clock, 6 miles!"

>> Delta 351: "Give us another hint! We have digital watches!"

>> -------------------

>> "TWA 2341, for noise abatement turn right 45 Degrees."

>> "Centre, we are at 35,000 feet. How much noise can we make up here?"

>> "Sir, have you ever heard the noise a 747 makes when it hits a 727?"

>> -----------------------

>> From an unknown aircraft waiting in a very long takeoff queue:

>> "I'm f... ing bored!"

>> Ground Traffic Control: "Last aircraft transmitting, identify

>> yourself immediately!"

>> Unknown aircraft: "I said I was f ... ing bored, not f ... ing stupid!"

>> ---------------------

>> O'Hare Approach Control to a 747: "United 329 heavy, your traffic is

>> a Fokker, one o'clock, three miles, Eastbound."

>> United 239: "Approach, I've always wanted to say this ... I've got

>> the Little Fokker in sight."

>> -------------------

>> A student became lost during a solo cross-country flight.

>> While attempting to locate the aircraft on radar, ATC asked, "What

>> was your last known position?"

>> Student: "When I was number one for take-off."

>> -----------------

>> A DC-10 had come in a little hot and thus had an exceedingly long

>> roll out after touching down.

>> San Jose Tower Noted: "American 751, make a hard right turn at the

>> end of the runway, if, you are able. If you are not able. take the

>> Guadalupe exit off Highway 101, make a right at the lights and return

>> to the airport."

>> -----------------

>> There's a story about the military pilot calling for a priority

>> landing because his single-engine jet fighter was running "a bit peaked."

>> Air Traffic Control told the fighter jock that he was number two

>> behind a

>> B~52 that had one engine shut down.

>> "Ah," the fighter pilot remarked, "The dreaded seven-engine approach."

>> ---------------------

>> Taxiing down the Tarmac, a DC-10 abruptly stopped, turned and

>> returned to the gate. After an hour-long wait, it took off. A

>> concerned passenger asked the flight attendant, "What exactly, was the problem?"

>> "The pilot was bothered by a noise he heard in the engine," explained

>> the flight attendant. "It took us a while to find a new pilot."

>> ---------------------------

>> A Pan Am 727 flight waiting for start clearance in Munich overheard

>> the

>> following:

>> Lufthansa (in German): "Ground, what is our start clearance time?"

>> Ground (in English): "If you want an answer you must speak in English."

>> Lufthansa (in English): "I am a German, flying a German airplane, in

>> Germany. Why must I speak English?"

>> Unknown voice from another plane (in a beautiful British accent):

>> "Because you lost the bloody war."

>> -------------------

>> Tower: "Eastern 702, cleared for take-off, contact Departure on

>> frequency 124.7"

>> Eastern 702: "Tower, Eastern 702 switching to Departure. By the way,

>> after we lifted off we saw some kind of dead animal on the far end of

>> the runway."

>> Tower: "Continental 635, cleared for take-off behind Eastern 702.

>> Contact Departure on frequency 124.7. Did you copy that report from

>> Eastern 702?"

>> Continental 635: "Continental 635, cleared for take-off, roger; and

>> yes, we copied Eastern ... we've already notified our caterers."

>> ----------------

>> One day the pilot of a Cherokee 180 was told by the tower to hold

>> short of the active runway while a DC-8 landed. The DC8 landed,

>> rolled out, turned around, and taxied back past the Cherokee.

>> Some quick-witted comedian in the DC~8 crew got on the radio and

>> said, "What a cute little plane. Did you make it all by yourself?"

>> The Cherokee pilot, not about to let the insult go by, came back with

>> a real zinger: "I made it out of DC-8 parts. Another landing like

>> yours and I'll have enough parts for another one."

>> --------

>> The German air controllers at Frankfurt Airport are renowned as a

>> short-tempered lot. They not only expect one to know one's gate

>> parking location, but how to get there without any assistance from them.

>> So it was with some amusement that we (a Pan Am 747) listened to the

>> following exchange between Frankfurt ground control and a British

>> Airways 747, call sign Speedbird 206.

>> Speedbird 206. "Frankfurt, Speedbird 206 clear of active runway."

>> Ground: "Speedbird 206. Taxi to gate Alpha One~Seven."

>> The BA 747 pulled onto the main taxiway and slowed to a stop.

>> Ground: "Speedbird, do you not know where you are going?"

>> Speedbird 206: "Stand by, Ground, I'm looking up our gate location now."

>> Ground (with quite arrogant impatience): "Speedbird 206, have you not

>> been to Frankfurt before?"

>> Speedbird 206 (coolly): "Yes, twice in 1944, but it was dark, and I

>> didn't land."

>> --------------

>> While taxiing at London's Gatwick Airport, the crew of a US Air

>> flight departing for Ft. Lauderdale made a wrong turn and came nose

>> to nose with a United 727. An irate female ground controller lashed

>> out at the US Air crew,

>> screaming:

>> "US Air 2771, where the hell are you going?! I told you to turn

>> right onto Charlie taxiway! You turned right on Delta! Stop right

>> there. I know it's difficult for you to tell the difference between

>> C and D, but get it right!"

>> Continuing her rage to the embarrassed crew, she was now shouting

>> hysterically: "God! Now you've screwed everything up! It'll take

>> forever to sort this out! You stay right there and don't move till I

>> tell you to! You can expect progressive taxi instructions in about

>> half an hour and I want you to go exactly where I tell you, when I

>> tell you, and how I tell you! You got that, US Air 2771?"

>> "Yes, ma'am, l' the humbled crew responded.

>> Naturally, the ground control communications frequency fell terribly

>> silent after the verbal bashing of US Air 2771. Nobody wanted to

>> chance engaging the irate ground controller in her current state of mind.

>> Tension in every cockpit out around Gatwick was definitely running high.

>> Just then an unknown pilot broke the silence and keyed his

>> microphone,

>> asking: "Wasn't I married to you once?"

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some of those are great 67november !! i wish i could remember more of these pilot/ mechanic "squak lists" anyone else ? :

 

#4 engine runs rough & missing,,,, after brief search, located missing engine on right wing

 

left main tire tread getting thin & almost needs replacing,,,,,, almost replaced left main tire

 

radio sounds like it has mouse inside,,,,,,,installed cat in cockpit

 

autopilot wont hold altitude,,,,,,,cannot re-produce said problem on ground

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While practicing autorotations during a military night training exercise a Huey screwed-up the landing and landed on the tail rotor. The landing was so hard that it broke off the tail-boom. However, the a/c fortunately remained upright on its skids, sliding down he runway doing 360's.

 

As the Huey slid past the tower, trailing a brilliant shower of sparks, this was the radio exchange that took place.

 

Tower: "Sir, do you need any assistance?"

 

Huey: "I don't know Tower.....we ain't done crashin' yet."

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These little tidbits actually occurred during IFR flights I've had this year...

 

On a flight from Menomonee, WI (Enstrom country) to Pontiac, MI..

A private pilot flying an A36 (Beech Bonanza) with a deep voice overran our transmissions several times during my handover and subsequent clearance modification.

Finally, the controller says, "Will the guy hogging the freq, and trying to sound like Lou Rawls please shut up, so I can read this guy's clearance!"

 

On a flight from Muskeegan, MI to DuPage, IL, there were icing conditions overhead, with moderate rime icing reported. I overheard a controller talking to a flight of two F-16 fighters. Their callsigns were Satan 1 and Satan 2. It wasn't busy on the radio, since it was around midnight. They were on a "uniform" freq, so I asked the controller, Chicago ARTCC, for a request. When the controller asked for my request I replied, "Yeah, ask Satan if he ever has a problem with inflight icing in these conditions"...

 

On a flight from Rockford, IL to Detroit, MI a week or so ago..

When departing Rockford, the Chicago departure controller was talking to a United flight. He asked the United flight to disregard the last heading change he was issued, to which the United guy responded, "Disregard, yeah, I can do that. Matter of fact... ....it's one of my favorite things to do! Sometimes I even disregard instructions when I'm not supposed to." :P

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I found this on Rotorheads. Its a spoof of a Military Pilots "arrival into Baghdad story", read the original to see the difference. Well done this man! :D

 

 

 

There I was at twenty feet over northern BC, 100kts TAS and we're dropping faster than an R22 at full collective and 60% RRPM. It's a typical July evening in the Oil Patch -- hotter than a FHM centerfold in a sauna and I'm sweating like a man who just realized the engine quit.

 

But that's neither here nor there. The night is short thanks to the endless sun over the Canadian hinterland and brighter than my stomach after 6 months of winter. But its 2004, folks, and I'm sporting the latest in night-enhancement technology. Namely my Ray bans.

 

Additionally, my R22 is equipped with air conditioning. Both doors are removed and the sideslip just blew my map out the hole. Fortunately, the map has never been needed thanks to the smart bro's who invented the GPS.

 

At any rate, the midnight sum is illuminating the muskeg like it will tomorrow and these windows are covered in the carcasses of all manner of insect…..But I've digressed.

 

The preferred method of approach tonight is the 'Aim At The Ground' arrival. Basically you just close your eyes and see what happens. This tactical maneuver allows the pilot to ingress the landing zone in an uncontrolled manner, thus exploiting the surprise factor in an attempt to impress the hell out of the ground crew.

 

Or, in Canadian; landing without bending anything.

 

Personally, I wouldn't bet my licence on that theory but the approach is unpredictable and wild as hell and that's the only way I can fly. That and the fact that the young pilots dig it and I think it makes me look red hot.

 

I get a visual on the confined area at about a quarter mile, 15ft AGL still descending and maintaining a healthy 80kt. Now the fun starts. Lying to ATC, I turn the radio off and switch to the FM and the wannabe pilot ground crew in the truck.

 

Its air to truck comms now: all calls in a Newfie accent – word of the day is "eh!"

 

“G-FARK, inbound for landing, info forgotten”

“that’s not an arrival – you kiwi wanker. And it’s info French cappuccino..”

“Alright then, how about the Hortens double double, via the beaver 4U transition to the "what the hell is a 'hoose', arrival then?” I enquire.

“Just land you farken' immigrant”.

 

Checking my frequency selector was in the area VHF position, I confirm that I just inadvertently broadcast this to the entire province…..

 

It's self appreciation time as I descend the mighty R22 to six feet, open my mouth to belch, spit out the bugs I didn’t swallow and look down at my rugged handsome reflection in the passing muskeg puddles. I always love this. Turning the aircraft ninety degrees offset from the easy way into the area, the ground crew finally wakes from his slumber.

 

As soon as we roll out of the turn, I reverse turn to the right a full two hundred seventy degrees in order to try and find the missing landing area. Some aeronautical genius coined this maneuver “a non-standard confined area circut" IE: I goofed up….

 

Chopping the power during the turn, I pull back on the cyclic to avoid the refueling truck, bleeding off energy in order to avoid impacting the trees.

 

"What a pilot” says the ground crew, considering the speed... “Okay you can land now….eh”

 

BLARRRRRRRR – screams the Low RRPM horn.

 

“Whoops!” thinks my brain, swiftly followed by “Holy smoke….the planet!”

 

Managing to get a thought in edgeways, I remember the carb heat. Dammit, so Frank was right….long live the Raven II.

 

Can’t find checklist but the gear is welded. I look over at the skidbiter and he's shaking like an English winger staring down Jonah at full throttle. He was smoking pot last night and still hasn’t recovered.

 

Looking further back, I can see the rest of the ground crew grinning at the impending doom spreading across my mug. They bloody love antipodean pilots these Canuks.

 

Finally, I glance at my steely-eyed loader. His eyebrows rise in unison as a grin forms on his face. I can tell he's thinking the same thing I am.

"Fark I'm GOOD"

 

"Where do I find some RRPM?......Roll on some throttle" I bark at nobody in particular. Ground crew double-takes as the Robbie gyrates like a Hughes 300 in full ground resonance. "How the f**k did he pull that off!" they exclaim.

 

Now it's all about aimpoint and lack of airspeed. Or 'HOVERING' as we like to call it. With the exception that there is loads of space, it's Canada, black flies are circling and I am wondering whether I will ever see a Tim Hortons again….

 

Naturally, and not at all surprisingly, I slam the skids halfway up to the belly in the muskeg, spilling coffee everywhere and deeply unimpressing my pilot ground crew.

 

That’s my ego out the window then. Bloody R22….. I bring the throttle to ground idle and slap off the clutch. Sweeeeeeeet! Tonight, the sound of squealing belts signals the end of another 16hrs of duty day. The comparatively small, featherweight blades come to a lurching stop in less than two seconds. Let's see a huey do that!

 

I exit the semi submerged helo, ducking to avoid the blades into a rousing welcome from a horde of hungry mossies.

 

It's time to unload the bladder, find the doors and head to the nearest pub to regale the local ladies of my exploits today.

 

Walking to the truck with my bear spray safetied and secured in my rear pocket. I look around and thank God, not Buddha, that I'm not Australian.

 

Knowing that once again I've cheated death-by-incompetence, I ask myself, "When the fark am I going to get a turbine job? This is too easy for me……"

 

Is it diligence, hardwork and clever decisions? No, I’m a pilot…..

Is because I you have no choice? You bet your sweet ass.

Or could it possibly be for the glory, the swag and doona, and not to mention; chicks dig the thought? (sorry KaPau, you may have done 50 landings in a B206 but you know chicks want the S76 captain…).

I think you know the answer to that one too....

 

There's probably some truth out there. But now is not the time to deprive the local Inuit ladies of a foreign accent attached to a human loving machine. It's time to get out of this ####-hole.

 

"Hey skidbiter, where's the cold beer? And when you finish refueling, clean off the bubble…..I'll be in the bar."

 

“Piss off! You farking job stealing immigrant.

 

God, I love this job!

 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Here's the original, for those of you that don't have the patience for Pprune...

 

There I Was, Nothing on The Clock...

There was thread on the Mil Pilots a while back, HERE, of "approaches" into Baghdad. An example is shown below.

 

I'm sure some Rotorheads can come up with their own versions. Mine is at the end.

 

 

There I was at sixteen thousand feet over central Iraq, 350 kts TAS and we're dropping faster than a wraf’s pants on det. It's a typical May evening in the Persian Gulf -- hotter than a K flightdeck on a warm day and I'm sweating like a man who never sweats.

 

But that's neither here nor there. The night is moonless over Baghdad today and blacker than the loadies last attempt at bacon. But it's 2004, folks, and I'm sporting the latest in night-combat technology. Namely a window.

 

Additionally, my 1998 Lockheed C-130J Hercules is equipped with an effective missile warning system (MWS). The MWS conveniently makes lost of noise when nasty men shoot at the you.

 

At any rate, the lights are illuminating Baghdad International Airport like Wootton Bassett on giro night. These windows need a wash. But I've digressed.

 

The preferred method of approach tonight is the Pitch Up One Arrival. Basically you just pitch up and see what happens. This tactical manoeuvre allows the pilot to ingress the landing zone in an unpredictable manner, thus exploiting the supposedly secured perimeter of the airfield in an attempt to avoid enemy surface-to-air-missiles and small arms fire.

Or, in English, land without getting shot down.

Personally, I wouldn't bet my white spotty ass on that theory but the approach is fun as hell and that's the real reason we fly it. That and the fact that chicks dig it and we think it makes us look cool.

 

We get a visual on the runway at thirteen miles out still descending and maintaining two hundred eighty knots. Now the fun starts. Lying to ATC, we ditch the fruitcake yank controllers and chop to the ozzies in the tower.

It’s tactical comms now: all calls in an Australian accent – word of the day is Convict.

“XXXX 24, inbound for the Convict arrival, information Wilkinson copied”

“that’s not an arrival – you pommie bastards. And it’s info Whiskey..”

“Alright then, how about the didgerdoo, billabong, chuck-another-shrimp-on-the-barbie arrival then?” we enquire

“Just land you a**eholes”. Checking our comm card, we confirm that we have won this exchange.

 

It's pilot appreciation time as I descend the mighty Herc to six hundred feet, take a sip of my out of date Orange Juice, sniff the two year old long life sausage roll and look back at the surprisingly attractive army bird in the centre seat. They always love this. Turning the aircraft ninety degrees offset from runway heading, the co-pilot finally wakes from his slumber. As soon as we roll out of the turn, I reverse turn to the right a full two hundred seventy degrees in order to roll out aligned with the runway. Some aeronautical genius coined this manoeuvre “Landing a plane."

Chopping the power during the turn, I pull back on the yoke just to the point my sunglasses slip down my nose, bleeding off energy in order to configure the ‘plane for landing and see how supportive army bird’s bra really is.

 

"Flaps Fifty” . “What, now?” says the co, checking the speed... “Okay how about now?” “yeah”.

Bing Bing – CNI MSG. UNABLE NEXT ALT

“Landing Gear, Landing Gear” chirps Bitching Betty, swiftly followed by “Bank Angle Bank Angle!”

“Terrain Terrain”

“Whoop whoop! Pull up pull up!”

“Minimums minimums”.

Managing to get a word in edgeways we get the gear down. Pre-landers. Can’t find checklist but take a stab gear, flaps, clearance. I look over at the copilot and he's shaking like a cat shitting on a sheet of ice. He was minced last night and still hasn’t recovered. Looking further back at the army bird in the centre seat I can clearly see the wet spot spreading around her crotch. They bloody love pilots these birds! Finally, I glance at my steely-eyed GE. His eyebrows rise in unison as a grin forms on his face. I can tell he's thinking the same thing I am. Except he’s knows he’ll get lucky

 

"Where do we find such fine clacker?" "Flaps One Hundred!" I bark at the shaking cat. Crew double-takes startled cat that then runs off down the back and hides under a pallet. How the f**k did that get on board? Now it's all aimpoint and airspeed. Or flying as we like to call it. With the exception that there loads of lights, it's Baghdad, tracers are starting to crisscross the black sky and I’m wondering if I can still get that good deal on DVD players at the BX.

 

Naturally, and not at all surprisingly, I slam the Goodyear's halfway down runway 33 left, spilling orange juice everywhere and deeply unimpressing army bird. That’s my chances out the window then. Bloody GEs….. I bring the throttles to ground idle and stand on the brakes and force the bird forward in her straps. Sweeeeeeeet! Tonight, the sound of freedom is the Beach Boys: Surfin’ Safari..... The comparatively small, 50 ton, lumbering vibratatron comes to a lurching stop in less than two feet. Let's see a C5 do that! We exit the runway to a welcoming committee of Movers and replacement fanny. It's time to unload the pallets of bubble wrap, sacks of Dear Johns from home, look for BX deals, and of course, take a waz down the back.

 

Walking down the crew entry steps with my lowest-bidder, Browning, 9 mm stowed safely in a metal box somewhere, I look around and thank God, not Allah, I'm a not American. Then I curse God that I'm not living in Dubai, flying for Emirates.

 

Knowing that once again I've cheated death-by-boredom, I ask myself, "What in the hell am I doing in this mess? This is the Junior Ranks……"

Is it Duty, Honor, and Country? No, I’m British.

Is because I was told to? You bet your ass.

Or could it possibly be for the glory, the swag, and not to mention, chicks dig the Iraq Medal (sorry sir, you may have done 50 landings in Baghdad but you only did 28 days – you need to do 30). I think you know the answer to that one too....

There's probably some truth there too. But now is not the time to derive the complexities of the superior, cerebral properties of the human portion of the aviator-man-machine model.

It is however, time to get out of this ####-hole.

 

"Hey co, did you eat the last D-State pasty?! And how's 'bout the 'Before Starting Engines Checklist?”

 

“Piss off! I’m having a slash and they’re still loading. You twat!”

 

God, I love this job!

 

Now, back to reality!

 

There I was at twelve hundred feet over Liverpool, mach 0.196, and we're dropping like a stone to one thousand. It's a typical May night in Merseyside – not cold enough for the cabin heat, nor hot enough for the aircon – which I don’t have anyway.

 

But that's neither here nor there. The night is moonless over the city tonight, but who cares. The reflections from all the street lights make it like day. And they call this night flying!

 

Additionally, my less than two year old, state of the art, bells and whistles equipped Eurocopter has no need for any missile warning system. The scrotes round here haven’t progressed that far…yet.

 

As usual, Liverpool (or rather, John Lennon)International is illuminated. Those floodlights are the dog’s gonads. Unfortunately, we’re approaching our base, which is as black as a witch’s tit, where I can see only one or two lights. Obviously the day shift never checked the glims before they put them out!

 

The preferred approach is the “try not to annoy the locals” method. This is a highly co-ordinated approach and allows the pilot to ingress the landing zone in an unpredictable manner, thereby avoiding the incoming ‘phone calls. Personally, I wouldn't bother, if they choose to live next to an airfield…but it keeps the Inspector happy.

 

I can’t get a visual on the runway, so mentally calculate the intersection of the lights from the local BP garage and the searchlights over Blackpool tower to find the centre of the airfield. Now it's time to show the observers some serious pilot stuff, as I decide to go for the “360 auto to the hover option”. I drop the lever and rack on 90 degrees of bank, at the same time hauling back on the cyclic to get somewhere near the best auto speed. Shouting to make myself heard over the rotor overspeed warning, I get the observers to carry out their pre-landers, having, of course, already done mine.

 

Halfway round the turn I notice that an unforeseen crosswind has sprung up, so rapidly reverse to stay within the confines of the field. By 100 agl I’m within 45 degrees of the wind, and the bobbies are strapped and secure. Airspeed and aimpoint? Well I’ve got the speed, but I still can’t see the ground. I switch on the landing lamp and then it’s time for a quick “Jesus!!”, flare! flare!, level and run on. Hover autos are for pussys. My nether regions relax and the observers quickly open the windows.

 

I glance across at the front observer, sitting there with a grin on his face. Well I think it was a grin, but it was dark. “Little does he know” I think. But then again perhaps he does.

 

“God, I could do with a coffee” says the GIB. I hover taxi over to the pad and shutdown.

 

At the third attempt, our lowest bidder bowser coughs into life, and we put some more go juice into the bird, watched by an audience of the local security patrol on his pushbike. “Why, oh why did I ever leave the military?” I ask myself. “So that I can go home everyday and not have to do this in some godforsaken country getting shot at” I reply, as I walk into the office and welcome the delivery man bringing the evening’s curry.

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HOW TO OPERATE A HELICOPTER MECHANIC

 

By William C. Dykes

 

A long, long time ago, back in the days of iron men and wooden rotor blades, a ritual began. It takes place when a helicopter pilot approaches a mechanic to report some difficulty with his aircraft. All mechanics seem to be aware of it, which leads to the conclusion that it's included somewhere in their training, and most are diligent in practicing it.

 

New pilots are largely ignorant of the ritual because it's neither included in their training, nor handed down to them by older drivers. Older drivers feel that the pain of learning everything the hard way was so exquisite, that they shouldn't deny anyone the pleasure.

 

There are pilots who refuse to recognize it as a serious professional amenity, no matter how many times they perform it, and are driven to distraction by it. Some take it personally. They get red in the face, fume and boil, and do foolish dances. Some try to take it as a joke, but it's always dead serious. Most pilots find they can't change it, and so accept it and try to practice it with some grace.

 

The ritual is accomplished before any work is actually done on the aircraft. It has four parts, and goes something like this:

 

1. The pilot reports the problem. The mechanic says, There's nothing wrong with it."

2. The pilot repeats the complaint. The mechanic replies, "It's the gauge."

3. The pilot persists, plaintively. The mechanic Maintains, "They're all like that."

4.The pilot, heatedly now, explains the problem carefully, enunciating carefully. The mechanic states, "I can't fix it."

 

After the ritual has been played through in it's entirety, serious discussion begins, and the problem is usually solved forthwith.

 

Like most rituals, this one has it's roots in antiquity and a basis in experience and common sense. It started back when mechanics first learned to operate pilots, and still serves a number of purposes. It's most important function is that it is a good basic diagnostic technique. Causing the pilot to explain the symptoms of the problem several times in increasing detail not only saves troubleshooting time, but gives the mechanic insight into the pilot's knowledge of how the machine works, and his state of mind.

 

Every mechanic knows that if the if the last flight was performed at night or in bad weather, some of the problems reported are imagined, some exaggerated, and some are real. Likewise, a personal problem, especially romantic or financial, but including simple fatigue, affects a pilot's perception of every little rattle and thump. There are also chronic whiners complainers to be weeded out and dealt with. While performing the ritual, an unscrupulous mechanic can find out if the pilot can be easily intimidated. If the driver has an obvious personality disorder like prejudices, pet peeves, tender spots, or other manias, they will stick out like handles, with which he can be steered around.

 

There is a proper way to operate a mechanic as well. Don't confuse "operating" a mechanic with "putting one in his place." The worst and most often repeated mistake is to try to establish an "I'm the pilot and you're just the mechanic" hierarchy. Although a lot of mechanics can and do fly recreationally, they give a damn about doing it for a living. Their satisfaction comes from working on complex and expensive machinery. As a pilot, you are neither feared nor envied, but merely tolerated, for until they actually train monkeys to fly those things, he needs a pilot to put the parts in motion so he can tell if everything is working properly. The driver who tries to put a mech in his "place" is headed for a fall. Sooner or later, he'll try to crank with the blade tied down. After he has snatched the tailboom around to the cabin door and completely burnt out the engine, he'll see the mech there sporting a funny little smirk. Helicopter mechanics are indifferent to attempts at discipline or regimentation other than the discipline of their craft. It's accepted that a good mechanic's personality should contain unpredictable mixtures of irascibility and nonchalance, and should exhibit at least some bizarre behavior.

 

The basic operation of a mechanic involves four steps:

1. Clean an aircraft. Get out a hose or bucket, a broom, and some rags, and at some strange time of day, like early morning, or when you would normally take your afternoon nap) start cleaning that bird from top to bottom, inside and out. This is guaranteed to knock even the sourest old wrench off balance. He'll be suspicious, but he'll be attracted to this strange behavior like a passing motorist to a roadside accident. He may even join in to make sure you don't break anything. Before you know it , you'll be talking to each other about the aircraft while you're getting a more intimate knowledge of it. Maybe while you're mucking out the pilot's station, you'll see how rude it is to leave coffee cups, candy wrappers, cigarette butts, and other trash behind to be cleaned up.

2. Do a thorough pre-flight. Most mechanics are willing to admit to themselves that they might make a mistake, and since a lot of his work must be done at night or in a hurry, a good one likes to have his work checked. Of course he'd rather have another mech do the checking, but a driver is better than nothing. Although they cultivate a deadpan, don't-give-a-damn attitude, mechanics have nightmares about forgetting to torque a nut or leaving tools in inlets and drive shaft tunnels. A mech will let little gigs slide on a machine that is never pre-flighted, not because they won't be noticed, but because he figures the driver will overlook something big someday, and the whole thing will end up in a smoking pile of rubble anyway.

3. Don't abuse the machinery. Mechanics see drivers come and go, so you won't impress one in a thousand with what you can make the aircraft do. They all know she'll lift more than max gross, and will do a hammerhead with half roll. While the driver is confident that the blades and engine and massive frame members will take it, the mech knows that it's the seals and bearings and rivets deep in the guts of the machine that fail from abuse. In a driver mechanics aren't looking for fancy expensive clothes, flashy girlfriends, tricky maneuvers, and lots of juicy stories about Viet Nam. They're looking for one who'll fly the thing so that all the components make their full service life. They also know that high maintenance costs are a good excuse to keep salaries low.

4. Do a post-flight inspection. Nothing feels more deliciously dashing than to end the day by stepping down from the bird and walking off into the sunset while the blade slowly turns down. It's the stuff that beer commercials are made of. The trouble is, it leaves the pilot ignorant of how the aircraft has fared after a hard days work, and leaves the wrench doing a slow burn. The mechanic is an engineer, not a groom, and needs some fresh, first hand information on the aircraft's performance if he is to have it ready to go the next day. A little end-of-the-day conference also gives you one more chance to get him in the short ribs. Tell him the thing flew good. It's been known to make them faint dead away.

 

As you can see, operating a helicopter mechanic is simple, but it is not easy. What it boils down to is that if a pilot performs his pilot rituals religiously in no time at all he will find the mechanic operating smoothly. ( I have not attempted to explain how to make friends with a mechanic, for that is not known.) Helicopter pilots and mechanics have a strange relationship. It's a symbiotic partnership because one's job depends on the other, but it's an adversary situation too, since one's job is to provide the helicopter with loving care, and the other's is to provide wear and tear. Pilots will probably always regard mechanics as lazy, lecherous, intemperate swine who couldn't make it through flight school, and mechanics will always be convinced that pilots are petulant children with pathological ego problems, a big watch, and a little whatchamacallit. Both points of view are viciously slanderous, of course, and only partly true.

 

helipilot.gif

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In his book, Sled Driver, SR-71 Blackbird pilot Brian Shul writes: I'll always remember a certain radio exchange that occurred one day as Walt(my back-seater) and I were screaming cross Southern California 13 miles high. We were monitoring various radio transmissions from other aircraft as we entered Los Angeles airspace. Though they didn't really control us, they did monitor our movement across their scope:

 

"I heard a Cessna ask for a readout of its ground speed."90 knots" Center replied. Moments later, a Twin Beech required the same. "120 knots, "Center answered. We weren't the only ones proud of our ground speed that day as almost instantly an F-18 smugly transmitted, "Ah, Center, Dusty 52 requests ground speed readout." There was a slight pause, then the response, "525 knots on the ground, Dusty." Another silent pause. "As I was thinking to myself how ripe a situation this was, I heard a familiar click of a radio transmission coming from my back-seater. It was at that precise moment I realized Walt and I had become a real crew, for we were both thinking in unison. "Center, Aspen 20, you got a ground speed readout for us?" There was a longer than normal pause...."Aspen, I show 1,742 knots" (That's about 2004.658 mph for them what don't know). "No further inquiries were heard on that frequency."

 

In another famous SR-71 story, Los Angeles Center reported receiving a request for clearance to FL 600 (60,000ft). The incredulous controller, with some disdain in his voice, asked, "How do you plan to get up to 60,000 feet? The pilot (obviously a sled driver), responded, "We don't plan to go up to it; we plan to go down to it." He was cleared.

 

The pilot was sitting in his seat and pulled out a .38 revolver. He placed it on top of the instrument panel, and then asked the navigator, "Do you know what I use this for?" The navigator replied timidly, "No, what's it for?" The pilot responded, "I use this on navigators who get me lost!" The navigator proceeded to pull out a .45 and place it on his chart table. The pilot asked, "What's that for?" "To be honest sir," the navigator replied, "I'll know we're lost before you will."

 

When Hillary Clinton visited Iraq last month the Army Blackhawk helicopter

used to transport the Senator was given the call sign "broomstick one".

And they say the Army has no sense of humor.

 

One day the pilot of a Cherokee 180 was told by the tower to hold short of

the runway while an MD80 landed. The MD80 landed, rolled out, turned around, and taxied back past the Cherokee. Some quick-witted comedian in the MD80 crew got on the radio and said, "What a cute little plane. Did you make it all by yourself?" Our hero the Cherokee pilot, not about to let the insult go by, came back with: "I made it out of MD80 parts. Another landing like that and I'll have enough parts for another one."

 

My own experience:

2 weeks ago, I was listening to ATC. A plane pilot asked for a vector to Cable airport from So Cal Approach.

 

ATC "Are you going to land there?".

Airplane "Ya, were gonna set'r down there, and wait out the storm in the east. Looks pretty CRAPPY out there"

ATC(hard laughing in the background, and ATC trying not laugh himself) "Uh Roger N#'s......WE can't talk like that, but you can"

 

A long time ago, I was just learning, and I went flying with my instructor. As we were almost cleared to the east, we heard a helicotper call "Sikorsky blah, blah, blah....Blue whale inbound for landing Supermarine" (which was an S-76). Once my CFI saw that it was an S-76, he called the tower, and said "Robinson 378 clear to the east, frequency change, have inbound traffic insight" :)

 

And my favorite from my CFI......"helicotper 378 say altitude" "378...Altitude"....long pause......"1 point 7" little sarcasm!!

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You May Be A Redneck Pilot If...

 

... your stall warning plays "Dixie."

 

... your cross-country flight plan uses flea markets as check points.

 

... you think sectionals charts should show trailer parks.

 

... you've ever used moonshine as avgas.

 

... you have mud flaps on your wheel pants.

 

... you think GPS stands for going perfectly straight.

 

... your toothpick keeps poking your mike.

 

... you constantly confuse Beechcraft with Beechnut.

 

... just before impact, you are heard saying, "Hey y'all, watch this!"

 

... you have a black airplane with a big #3 on the side.

 

... you've ever just taxied around the airport drinking beer.

 

... you use a Purina feed bag for a windsock.

 

... you fuel your wizzbang 140 from a Mason jar.

 

... you wouldn't be caught dead flyin' a Grumman "Yankee."

 

... you refer to flying in formation as "We got ourselves a convoy!"

 

... there is a sign on the side of your aircraft advertising your septic tank service.

 

... when you are the owner of Red Neck Airlines and pilot of Redneck One.

 

... you subscribe to The Southern Aviator because of the soft paper!

 

... you have ever incorporated sheetrock into the repair of your aircraft.

 

... you have ever responded to ATC with the phrase "That's a big 10-4!"

 

... you typically answer female controllers with titles like "sugar" or "little darlin'."

 

... she responds with the words "Honey" or "Big guy" then she may be a redneck.

 

... you have ever used a relief tube as a spittoon.

 

... you glance down at your belt buckle to help you remember your N-number.

 

... you have ever tried to impress your girlfriend by buzzing her doublewide.

 

... the preprinted portion of your weight and balance sheet contains "Case of Bud."

 

... your go/no-go checklist includes the words "Skoal" or "Redman."

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THE AVIATOR'S NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS..

 

'Twas the night before Christmas, and out on the ramp,

Not an airplane was stirring, not even a Champ.

The aircraft were fastened to tie downs with care,

In hopes that come morning, they all would be there.

 

The fuel trucks were nestled, all snug in their spots,

With gusts from two-forty at 39 knots.

I slumped at the fuel desk, now finally caught up,

And settled down comfortably, resting my butt.

 

When the radio lit up with noise and with chatter,

I turned up the scanner to see what was the matter.

A voice clearly heard over static and snow,

Called for clearance to land at the airport below.

 

He barked his transmission so lively and quick,

I'd have sworn that the call sign he used was "St. Nick".

I ran to the panel to turn up the lights,

The better to welcome this magical flight.

 

He called his position, no room for denial,

"St. Nicholas One, turnin' left onto final."

And what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a Rutan-built sleigh, with eight Rotax Reindeer!

 

With vectors to final, down the glideslope he came,

As he passed all fixes, he called them by name:

"Now Ringo! Now Tolga! Now Trini and Bacun!

On Comet! On Cupid!" What pills was he takin'?

 

While controllers were sittin', and scratchin' their head,

They phoned to my office, and I heard it with dread,

The message they left was both urgent and dour:

"When Santa pulls in, have him please call the tower."

 

He landed like silk, with the sled runners sparking,

Then I heard "Left at Charlie," and "Taxi to parking."

He slowed to a taxi, turned off of three-oh

And stopped on the ramp with a "Ho, ho-ho-ho..."

 

He stepped out of the sleigh, but before he could talk,

I ran out to meet him with my best set of chocks.

His red helmet and goggles were covered with frost

And his beard was all blackened from Reindeer exhaust.

 

His breath smelled like peppermint, gone slightly stale,

And he puffed on a pipe, but he didn't inhale.

His cheeks were all rosy and jiggled like jelly,

His boots were as black as a crop duster’s belly.

 

He was chubby and plump, in his suit of bright red,

And he asked me to "fill it, with hundred low-lead."

He came dashing in from the snow-covered pump,

I knew he was anxious for drainin' the sump.

I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,

And I filled up the sleigh, but I spilled like a jerk.

He came out of the restroom, and sighed in relief,

Then he picked up a phone for a Flight Service brief.

 

And I thought as he silently scribed in his log,

These reindeer could land in an eighth-mile fog.

He completed his pre-flight, from the front to the rear,

Then he put on his headset, and I heard him yell, "Clear!"

 

And laying a finger on his push-to-talk,

He called up the tower for clearance and squawk.

"Take taxiway Charlie, the southbound direction,

Turn right three-two-zero at pilot's discretion"

 

He sped down the runway, the best of the best,

"Your traffic's a Grumman, inbound from the west."

Then I heard him proclaim, as he climbed thru the night,

"Merry Christmas to all! I have traffic in sight."

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Aircraft Squaks

 

"Squawks" are problem listings that pilots generally leave for maintenance crews to fix before the next flight. Here are some squawks submitted by US Air Force pilots and the replies from the maintenance crews.

 

(P)=PROBLEM (squawk) (S)=SOLUTION

 

(P) Left inside main tire almost needs replacement

(S) Almost replaced left inside main tire

 

(P) Test flight OK, except autoland very rough

(S) Autoland not installed on this aircraft

 

(P) #2 Propeller seeping prop fluid

(S) #2 Propeller seepage normal - #1 #3 and #4 propellers lack normal seepage

 

(P) Something loose in cockpit

(S) Something tightened in cockpit

 

(P) Evidence of leak on right main landing gear

(S) Evidence removed

 

(P) DME volume unbelievably loud

(S) Volume set to more believable level

 

(P) Dead bugs on windshield

(S) Live bugs on order

 

(P) Autopilot in altitude hold mode produces a 200 fpm descent

(S) Cannot reproduce problem on ground

 

(P) IFF inoperative

(S) IFF always inoperative in OFF mode (IFF-Identification Friend or Foe)

 

(P) Friction locks cause throttle levers to stick

(S) That's what they're there for

 

(P) Number three engine missing

(S) Engine found on right wing after brief search

 

(P) Aircraft handles funny

(S) Aircraft warned to straighten up, "fly right" and be serious

 

(P) Target Radar hums

(S) Reprogrammed Target Radar with the lyrics

 

 

 

 

Aviations Misunderstood Alphabet

 

 

Tower - Do you have Charlie? - Negative, we left him back at the hanger!

 

Tower - Do you have Echo? - Negative, receiving you loud and clear!

 

Tower - Do you have Hotel? - Negative, We are staying with friends!

 

Tower - Do you have Juliet? - Negative, and please don't say anything to my wife!

 

Tower - Do you have Kilo? - Negative, but there are a couple roaches in the ashtray!

 

Tower - Do you have Mike? - Negative, I have a push-to-talk button and a headset!

 

Tower - Do you have Oscar? - Negative, but I'm expecting a nomination this year!

 

Tower - Do you have Papa? - Negative, but I wrote him a letter last week!

 

Tower - Do you have Romeo? - Negative, Negative! Wherefore art thou Romeo?

 

Tower - Do you have Uniform? - Negative, just jeans and sweatshirt!

 

Tower - Do you have Victor? - Negative, Who is Victor?

 

Tower - Do you have X-ray? - Negative, my doctor wants a CAT Scan!

 

Tower - Do you have Whiskey? - Negative, not in last 8 hours, Am I not on assigned heading?

 

 

 

 

Classic Tower Conversations

 

 

"Air Force '45, it appears your engine has...oh, disregard...I see you've already ejected."

 

 

"Citation 123, if you quit calling me Center, I'll quit calling you twin Cessna."

 

 

"About three miles ahead, you've got traffic 12 o'clock, five miles."

 

 

"If you hear me, traffic no longer a factor."

 

 

"I am way too busy for anybody to cancel on me."

 

 

"You're gonna have to key the mic. I can't see you when you nod your head."

 

 

"It's too late for Louisville. We're going back to O'Hare."

 

 

"Put your compass on 'E' and get out of my airspace."

 

 

"Don't anybody maintain anything."

 

 

"Climb like your life depends on it...because it does."

 

 

"If you want more room, captain, push your seat back."

 

 

"For radar identification, throw your jumpseat rider out the window."

 

 

"Hello flight 56, if you hear me rock your wings.." "OK TOWER, IF YOU HEAR ME ROCK THE TOWER!!"

 

 

The controller working a busy pattern told the 727 on downwind to make a three-sixty. The pilot of the 727 complained, "Do you know it costs us two thousand dollars to make a three-sixty in this airplane?" Without missing a beat the controller replied, "Roger, give me four thousand dollars worth!"

 

 

 

Airport Laws

 

 

THE FOLLOWING ARE ACTUAL LAWS FROM A VARIETY OF PLACES IN THE UNITED STATES:

 

IT IS AGAINST THE LAW FOR A PILOT TO TICKLE A FEMALE FLYING STUDENT UNDER HER CHIN WITH A FEATHER DUSTER IN ORDER TO GET HER ATTENTION. -COLUMBIA, PA

 

IT IS A VIOLATION FOR A WOMAN OVER 200 POUNDS AND ATTIRED IN SHORTS TO PILOT OR RIDE IN AN AIRPLANE. - POCATALIGO, GA

 

LINGERIE CAN'T BE HUNG ON A CLOTHESLINE AT THE AIRPORT UNLESS THE UNDIES ARE CAREFULLY HIDDEN FROM PRYING EYES BY A "SUITABLE SCREEN". - KIDDERVILLE, NH

 

NO FEMALE SHALL APPEAR IN A BATHING SUIT AT ANY AIRPORT IN THIS STATE UNLESS SHE IS ESCORTED BY TWO OFFICERS OR UNLESS SHE IS ARMED WITH A CLUB. THE PROVISIONS OF THIS STATUTE SHALL

 

NOT APPLY TO FEMALES WEIGHING LESS THAN 90 POUNDS OR EXCEEDING 200 POUNDS, NOR SHALL IT APPLY TO FEMALE HORSES. - KENTUCKY

 

IT IS A VIOLATION OF LOCAL LAW FOR ANY PILOT OR PASSENGER TO CARRY AN ICE CREAM CONE IN THEIR POCKET WHILE EITHER FLYING OR WAITING TO BOARD A PLANE. - LOWES CROSSROADS, DELAWARE

 

PILOTS AND PASSENGERS ARE PROHIBITED FROM EATING ONIONS BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 7 A.M. AND 7 P.M. - BLUFF, UT

 

CITIZENS ARE NOT ALLOWED TO ENTER AN AIRPLANE WITHIN FOUR HOURS OF EATING GARLIC. - WAKEFIELD, R.I.

 

NO FEMALE WEARING A NIGHTGOWN CAN BE TAKEN FOR A FLIGHT ON A PRIVATE PLANE. - HEADLAND, AL

 

IT IS AGAINST THE LAW TO EAT ICE CREAM IN THE LOCAL AIRPORT WITH A FORK. - BICKNELL, IN

 

NO MARRIED MAN CAN GO FLYING ON SUNDAY. - BURDOVILLE, VT

 

NO MARRIED MAN CAN GO FLYING WITHOUT HIS SPOUSE ALONG AT ANY TIME, UNLESS HE HAS BEEN MARRIED FOR MORE THAN 12 MONTHS. - WEST UNION, OH

 

NO ONE CAN PLAY CARDS ON THE AIRPORT GROUNDS WITH A WOMAN, A CHILD, OR AN INDIAN. - WHITE HORSE, NM

 

NO ONE - MAN, WOMAN, OR CHILD - CAN BE SEEN FLYING WHILE

 

BAREFOOT. - FAIRPLAY, CO

 

DON'T LET YOUR HORSE FALL ASLEEP IN THE AIRPORT. - PEEWEE, WEST VIRGINIA

 

WOMEN WHO ARE SINGLE, WIDOWED, OR DIVORCED ARE BANNED FROM PARACHUTING ON SUNDAY. - CRAWFORD, NEBRASKA

 

NO TURTLE RACES SHALL BE HELD AT THE AIRPORT. BOURBON, MISSISSIPPI

 

PEOPLE CANNOT PLAY CHECKERS AT THE AIRPORT, "LEST THEY ACQUIRE A TASTE FOR GAMBLING". - CLEARBROOK, MINNESOTA

 

CITIZENS CANNOT CARRY A SLINGSHOT ON AN AIRPLANE WITHOUT SPECIAL PERMISSION. - OKANOGAN, WA

 

NO PILOT CAN EAT UNSHELLED ROASTED PEANUTS OR WATERMELON WHILE FLYING. - LEADWOOD, MISSOURI

 

NO PERSON IS ALLOWED TO READ THE SUNDAY PAPER WHILE SITTING IN A CHAIR AT THE AIRPORT WHILE CHURCH SERVICES ARE GOING ON. - UPPERVILLE, VA

 

NO FLYER MAY WEAR A PAIR OF PANTS WITH HIP POCKETS WHILE FLYING. - GUYMAN, OK

 

GARGLING IS PROHIBITED WHILE FLYING. - HACKBERRY, ARIZONA

 

LOUD BURPING WHILE WALKING AROUND THE AIRPORT IS PROHIBITED. - HALSTEAD, KANSAS

 

IT IS AGAINST THE LAW TO SNEEZE IN AN AIRPLANE. - LYNCH HEIGHTS, DELAWARE

 

NO FLYING INSTRUCTOR "CAN PLACE HIS ARM AROUND A WOMAN WITHOUT A GOOD AND LAWFUL REASON" (WHILE FLYING). - ROCK SPRINGS, WY

 

JUGGLING IN FRONT OF AN AIRPLANE IS ILLEGAL. - WELLSBORO, PA

Edited by 67november
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...with all the greatest respect to our fellow lady pilots. :D

 

Why Helicopters Are Better Than Women

· Helicopters don’t object to a pre-flight inspection.

· Helicopters can be turned on at any time, just by the flick of a switch.

· Helicopters come with manuals, which fully explain their operation.

· Helicopters have strict weight and balance limits.

· Helicopters can be flown at any time to suit you, both day and night.

· Helicopters don’t care how many helicopters you’ve flown before.

· Helicopters and their pilots always arrive at the same time.

· Helicopters operate better when flown as much as possible.

· Helicopters don’t mind if you test fly another helicopter.

· Helicopters expect to be properly tied down every night.

· Helicopters don’t mind if you buy magazines about other helicopters.

· Helicopters need to be regularly serviced.

· Helicopters don’t comment about your piloting skills to other helicopters.

· Helicopters kill you quickly; women take a long, long time.

· Helicopters don’t whine unless something is really wrong.

However,

When helicopters do go quiet, just like women, it’s a very, very bad

thing !!

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Guest pokey

I was debating where to put this story: safety?-maybe. stories?-maybe. BUT?-since no one was hurt & it is kinda funny it wound up here. ( i forget exactly where i found this one---on the 'net somewhere tho, dont know if its true OR not)

 

 

"The pilot was flying a Hughes 300 herding game somewhere in South Africa. They were moving from one area to another and the pilot apparently being bored began doing low passes over the recovery vehicle trying to frighten the occupants. On one of these passes from the back of the pickup he got to low and the one skid entered through the back window of the pickup and did the can opener trick. What happened next is not clear but the pilot ended up sitting in his seat with nothing left around him a hundred yards or so down the road with parts of the 300 all over the place. He loosened his safety belt got off the seat and walked to the instrument panel lying a few yards away and switched off the master!!!!!! "

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Pilot: "Jones tower, Cessna 12345, student pilot, I am out of fuel."

 

Tower: "Roger Cessna 12345, reduce airspeed to best glide!! Do you have the airfield in sight?!?!!"

 

Pilot: "Uh...tower, I am on the south ramp; I just want to know where the fuel truck is."

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A pompous minister was seated next to a hillbilly on a cross country flight. After the plane was airborne, drink orders were taken. The hillbilly asked for a whiskey and soda, which was brought and placed in front of him. The flight attendant then asked the minister if he would like a drink. He replied in disgust, “I’d rather be savagely raped by brazen whores than let liquor touch these lips.” The hillbilly then handed his drink back to the flight attendant and said, “Sh*t, me too. I didn’t know we had a choice.”

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Commandments of Helicopter Flying.

 

1. He who inspecteth not his aircraft giveth his angels cause to

concern him.

 

2. Hallowed is thy airflow across thy disc restoring thine

Translational Lift.

 

3. Let infinite discretion govern thy movement near the ground,

for vast is the area of destruction.

 

4. Blessed is he who strives to retain his standards, for

without them he shall surely perish.

 

5. Thou shalt maintain thy speed whilst between ten and four hundred

feet lest the earth rise and smite thee.

 

6. Thou shall not make trial of thy centre of gravity lest thou

dash thy foot against a stone.

 

7. Thou shalt not let thy confidence exceed thy ability, for broad

is the way to destruction.

 

8. He that doeth his approach and alloweth the wind to turn behind

him shall surely make restitution.

 

9. He who alloweth his tail rotor to catch in the thorns curseth

his childrens children.

 

10. Observe thou this parable lest on the morrow thy friends mourn thee.

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A bit off topic (fixed wing) but still a goodey.

I cant find the story and I dont remember it verbatim but it goes something like this:

 

I Cessna calls up LA Center and requests his ground speed. "LA Center replies "95 knots".

 

Soon after the reply a twin Baron, in one-upmanship, requests his ground speed: LA Center replies "150 knots"

 

To belittle both planes a Lear jet chimes and requests his ground speed: LA Center replies "450 knots"

 

Soon after... this is heard: "LA Center this is Blackbird flight, can you tell me what my ground speed is"....LA Center Replies : " Blackbird flight your ground speed is 1,200 knots"

:blink:

 

 

SR-71?

:lol:

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A bit off topic (fixed wing) but still a goodey.

I cant find the story and I dont remember it verbatim but it goes something like this:

 

I Cessna calls up LA Center and requests his ground speed. "LA Center replies "95 knots".

 

Soon after the reply a twin Baron, in one-upmanship, requests his ground speed: LA Center replies "150 knots"

 

To belittle both planes a Lear jet chimes and requests his ground speed: LA Center replies "450 knots"

 

Soon after... this is heard: "LA Center this is Blackbird flight, can you tell me what my ground speed is"....LA Center Replies : " Blackbird flight your ground speed is 1,200 knots"

:blink:

SR-71?

:lol:

 

Another SR-71 story is the blackbird pilot requests clearance to flight level 70. The controller asks how he plans on climbing to FL70 and the Pilot replied. "We don't plan on climbing to it. We want to descend DOWN to it!" ;)

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Novice Pilot

 

A young and foolish pilot wanted to sound cool and show who was boss

on the aviation frequencies. On his first time approaching a field in

rural Iowa during the nighttime, instead of making any official

requests to the tower, he said:

 

"Guess who?"

 

The controller quickly switched the field lights off and replied:

 

"Guess where!"

 

:P

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Guest pokey

Occasionally, airline attendants make an effort to make the "in-flight safety lecture" and their other announcements a bit more entertaining. Here are some real examples that have been heard or reported:

 

"There may be 50 ways to leave your lover, but there are only 4 ways out of this airplane..."

 

Pilot - "Folks, we have reached our cruising altitude now, so I am going to switch the seat belt sign off. Feel free to move about as you wish, but please stay inside the plane till we land ... it's a bit cold outside, and if you walk on the wings it affects the flight pattern."

 

And, after landing: "Thank you for flying Delta Business Express. We hope you enjoyed giving us the business as much as we enjoyed taking you for a ride."

 

As the plane landed and was coming to a stop at Washington National, a lone voice comes over the loudspeaker: "Whoa, big fella. WHOA!"

 

After a particularly rough landing during thunderstorms in Memphis, a flight attendant on a Northwest flight announced: "Please take care when opening the overhead compartments because, after a landing like that, sure as Hell everything has shifted."

 

From a Southwest Airlines employee.... "Welcome aboard Southwest Flight XXX to YYY. To operate your seatbelt, insert the metal tab into the buckle, and pull tight. It works just like every other seatbelt, and if you don't know how to operate one, you probably shouldn't be out in public unsupervised. In the event of a sudden loss of cabin pressure, oxygen masks will descend from the ceiling. Stop screaming, grab the mask, and pull it over your face. If you have a small child traveling with you, secure your mask before assisting with theirs. If you are traveling with two small children, decide now which one you love more.

 

Weather at our destination is 50 degrees with some broken clouds, but they'll try to have them fixed before we arrive. Thank you, and remember, nobody loves you, or your money, more than Southwest Airlines."

 

"As you exit the plane, please make sure to gather all of your belongings. Anything left behind will be distributed evenly among the flight attendants. Please do not leave children or spouses."

 

"Last one off the plane must clean it."

 

And from the pilot during his welcome message: "We are pleased to have some of the best flight attendants in the industry ...Unfortunately none of them are on this flight...!

 

Heard on Southwest Airlines just after a very hard landing in Salt Lake City: The flight attendant came on the intercom and said, "That was quite a bump and I know what ya'll are thinking. I'm here to tell you it wasn't the airline's fault, it wasn't the pilot's fault, it wasn't the flight attendants' fault.....it was the asphalt!"

 

Another flight Attendant's comment on a less than perfect landing: "We ask you to please remain seated as Captain Kangaroo bounces us to the terminal."

 

After a real crusher of a landing in Phoenix, the Flight Attendant came on with, "Ladies and Gentlemen, please remain in your seats until Captain Crash and the Crew have brought the aircraft to a screeching halt up against the gate. And, once the tire smoke has cleared and the warning bells are silenced, we'll open the door and you can pick your way through the wreckage to the terminal.

 

Part of a Flight Attendant's arrival announcement: "We'd like to thank you folks for flying with us today. And, the next time you get the insane urge to go blasting through the skies in a pressurized metal tube, we hope you'll think of us here at US Airways."

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