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That naughty Time! In this day and age he could get charged with harassment for doing that.


"Take the cylinder out of my kidneys,
The connecting rod out of my brain, my brain,
From out of my arse take the camshaft,
And assemble the engine again."
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Mfair: I Agree with U on the fact that " Time can be hard on a Woman ". I met 2 females that I knew in H.S. and they had changed so that I hardly could recognized them. Additionally, The passing of time shows up in Pic's.

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Wow, so many amazing posts! I haven't had time to read in detail. I saw Raine's man bagged a third Zeppelin (insane) and some fab screenies from Lou. I'll try to catch up on the details this weekend. For now I was keen to get Lazlo caught up, and he's had some excitemet! Things seem to be hotting up all round smile

Feldwebel Lazlo Halász,

Jasta 1, Bertincourt, France
September 24th 1916

Lazlo's back ached, especially around the areas where his charred flesh had been treated and bandaged. His dressings had to be changed by the field doctor each evening and sleeping had been a painful affair since the engine fire had forced him to crash land his machine ten days ago. Since being declared fit to return to flying, Lazlo had felt differently about the whole business. With Breuer dead, and a new wingman assigned to him, Lazlo was feeling bitter. His fellow pilots were restless also. There had been reports of losses from other nearby units at the hands of a new enemy 2-seater. It was more nimble than the old lumbering BE2s and FE2s and it had a forward mounted machine gun which some of its pilots were using to extremely good effect by some accounts. Lazlo pondered the possibility of meeting one of these things in battle. Meantime the Jasta's Halberstadts were suffering engine failures at an alarming rate. Lazlo had overheard Von Mulzer complaining to Offizierstellvertreter Martin Zander only a few days ago.

"Sir, we have to have new machines as soon as possible! We cannot be expected to assist with the defensive effort here effectively. The enemy are winning on the ground and we are defeating ourselves in the skies above them. Look at Lazlo! Six engine failures in three weeks and the last one nearly killed him, #%&*$#!"

"I understand your frustrations Max. Be patient", the officer had replied calmly. "You won't have to wait too much longer, if my information is correct."

Lazlo wondered what that had meant, but didn't dwell on it for too long. They had a balloon to knock down this morning and so he headed off to the field. His Kette, led by Vizefeldwebel Bethge, had just crossed the lines into enemy territory north of Albert when suddenly Bethge broke right, clearly after something. Lazlo's new wingman, Horst Kremer, followed, as did Lazlo. Soon he saw their quarry. His heart leapt inside his massive frame. It was one of the new Strutters, and with three predators on it's tail it was beating a hasty retreat to the field at Bellevue. Normally the Jasta wouldn't venture too close to enemy fields, but Belleveue was close to the lines and Bethge seemed intent on taking the fight to his foes on this day. The Strutter had some ground on them but as it prepared to try to land, all three pursuers leaped upon it. It was Lazlo who finally was able to line up and deliver the telling blows, as Bethge flashed past, giving him the thumbs up sign. Lazlo turned to climb, checking his six. After a short while he noticed that Bethge and Kremer were still circling the enemy field, so Lazlo turned back to see what was going on. Meantime, the other Kette, led by Wintgens, had gone off to attack the balloon target they had been assigned. No matter, Lazlo spotted a second Strutter below and dove upon him, his blood rising. Once more Lazlo was able to deliver the fatal blow, after dancing around above the Bellevue field for almost five minutes with his prey trying everything to escape. Lazlo had taken some fire from the rear gunner but he had thrown caution to the wind and finally caught the Strutter at close quarters. Remembering the Halberstadt's propensity for failure, he then turned his machine eastwards. He notice that Kremer and Bethge were nowhere to be seen.

Finally Lazlo made it back to Bertincourt and dismounted. He had destroyed two enemy machines but he felt no elation, just pain from his wounded back and anger at the loss of his former room mate, Breuer. Later the others trooped in, looking tired and irritable.

"What's happened?", asked Lazlo.

"We lost Wintgens".


Strutter #1 https://youtu.be/KCmr-QPYaW0

Strutter #2 https://youtu.be/xiUI73X2UVo



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Fullofit: German Nurses ? mmmmmmmmmmmmmm,

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Carrick, you and I both know she's not German, besides she sleeps with her brother.

Harry, that's some hunting! I cringe when I see Lazlo shooting down those Strutters. Good thing there are no Halbs around this part of the woods. Me thinks your pitch is too sensitive and crikey! that's some fierce archie!

26 September, 1916 05:50 morning mission
Luxeuil, Alsace Sector
3 Wing RNAS
SC Tobias Chester Mulberry
22 confirmed kills
Awaiting 1 claim confirmation

Toby’s wingman, Flight Sub-Lieutenant Rick Knight was listed as missing. The Canadians were speculating as to his demise. The odds were he’d come down behind enemy lines shot down or wounded. Some hoped he survived and was taken prisoner. Toby wished they were all wrong and Rick was safe and sound in Switzerland.
Draper and Colburn were assigned to arty spotting duties north of St. Dié. Mulberry was to accompany and keep an eye on the two-seaters. The buses were approaching the lines and just further ahead a pair of Fokkers down below was making a run for the lines. Toby dove and picked up speed to catch the pair before they get to the relative safety of their trenches. One of the Huns decided to slow Toby down and engaged. “- It may save your wingman’s life but not yours.” Toby felt confident of his odds against that Eindecker. The Hun fired first and bullet holes appeared in the Strutter’s canvas. This only made Mulberry angrier. He was on the monoplane faster than Whiskey on ground beef. There was no contest and the German pilot finished his career somewhere near a farmer’s field just north of St. Dié.

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Wulfe, another outstanding chapter. And Fullard is sipping Yukon Gold! Good man. Lou, I'm looking forward to seeing Swany a bit safer for a few weeks! 70 Squadron has been roughly handled. Congratulations on Swany's well-deserved VC. MFair, thanks for the nice thought and I hope Herr Dorn manages to avoid all those rounds that are affecting his squadron mates. Carrick, the term is socialized medicine, not social medicine. Fullofit, wonderful videos. Congrats on number 23. HarryH - Please watch out for those Strutters -- Albatri are on the horizon.

And now for Collins...

An Airman’s Odyssey – by Capt James Arthur Collins, VC, MC

Part Sixty-Six: In which the Huns return


I made my way across the sodden field to the macadamised apron in front of the large hangars, stepping from tuft of grass to tuft of grass in a vain attempt to spare my batman the chore of scraping the clay from my boots tonight. Since I downed the third Zeppelin on the night of 23/24 September, it had rained without pause. The press has clamoured for stories. Aitken had called twice. Yet for some reason I’d been ordered to refrain from all contact with journalists. And I wanted to see Alex again.

The Ack Emmas in No. 6 hangar were playing cards. Someone shouted “Room!” and they jumped to attention. There were two BE12s in the hangar.

“Aircraft status?” I asked.

The sergeant answered. “2692 has a new motor and was re-rigged yesterday, sir. It was run up this morning and checked out fully. 2734 has new plugs and leads, sir. Also run up and tested.”

A good officer would have dreamed up some horrid but beneficial task, but I could not. “Then cards are the order of the day, I suppose, provided your personal administration is in order.” They all visibly relaxed. Just then an orderly corporal arrived with a telegram. It was stamped “OHMS” but I could not tell where it originated. It read simply: “Waiting for the boat. You buy the beer. More to follow. Swany.”

Swanson. He must be posted to HE too! He’s probably got leave until his VC investiture. I returned to the station office, where I found a message to report to Masons Yard at 1 pm tomorrow to see a Lieutenant- Colonel Palmer. Mason’s Yard was the RFC training HQ. This would be about my dreaded desk job.
The rain stopped mid-afternoon and by sunset the sky was clear. Ogden and Atwell were to fly tonight with me if called upon. I held them back at the Kings Head after dinner to discuss the potential patrol. With the night so clear and the moon so bright we would try staying in a loose vee formation. I would keep my panel lights on until we reached the river, and then we’d go dark, turn east, and climb together to fourteen thousand feet until Southend. We would fly a box circuit back toward London, then east again. We discussed the use of clouds to silhouette the enemy, and the action to take if searchlights concentrated in a close area or Ack-Ack fire was seen.

That night I laid on my cot fully dressed. At five past eleven the call came – Zeppelins heard over the coast near Foulness, heading west. They were back.

By midnight we were shivering as we reached patrol altitude. My machine throbbed on, seemingly motionless under a dome of stars. On either side, the faint yellow shadow of another BE12 undulated. I strained to see the bubble in the glass to ensure I was in level flight. After a while it became easy to imagine things. We were over open water. I turned north. Now we were crossing the Zeppelins’ path. More than ever, I squinted to try to make out any unusual form or shadow. After ten minutes, I began a gentle turn to just south of due west, back to London. Five minutes later, the sky ahead was streaked with faint beams – searchlights filtering up through a layer of haze at six thousand. The beams lay nearly flat. The Huns must be awfully low tonight.

I opened the throttle. Odgen and Atwell separated. The plan was a mile’s separation on contact until the attack. Odgen would always attack from the Hun’s left and Atwell from his right. I would attack from behind. Down to ten thousand, eight, six.

For an instant there was a silvery glint as a beam found an airship. Three or four more beams then joined in and the Hun was transfixed, ours for the taking. But he was very low, no more than four thousand feet. I cut the engine and dropped in a series of S-turns, levelling off at thirty-five hundred. The Zeppelin was a mile off when I began the stalk. It was important to stay alert, for one could easily fly into another Zeppelin while focused on this one. Two nights ago, I’d taken fifteen rounds during my attack from a second airship I hadn’t seen.

At four hundred yards I began to fire – short bursts, one after the other. I tried to repeat the tactic from last time, aiming for the dorsal area ahead of the fins. I closed slowly, throttled well back. The rounds made no impact. I was now very close and must be very low on ammunition. The two streaks of tracer I’d loaded to mark the final hundred rounds had streaked away seconds ago. One last burst and break right and down. The Hun gunner in the rear upper position had seen me now and tracer flashed between my wings.

[Linked Image]
"Then the fireball."

But the Zeppelin was starting to glow. I knew that glow. Then the fireball. I followed it down; the airship lit up the open fields below. That makes four of them. I turned north for home. Some searchlights had found another target, but there was no point in chasing it. Far off to my left and slightly behind, another Zeppelin began to burn.

[Linked Image]
[i]"I followed it down; the airship lit up the open fields below."[/i]

In those two aerial infernos, thirty to forty young Germans were dying. I said a quiet prayer.

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Raine, another Zep for Collins!? The man is an airship hunting wonder. He must be up for another gong soon, DSO perhaps, or possibly a bar to the VC. Great episode and screenshots. And it looks like Swany and Jim may be reuniting briefly in England - fingers crossed.

Fullofit, sorry Toby's outfit has lost Knight, it is a deadly game out there. Good videos as always.

Harry, sorry Lazlo is still suffering such pain, but at least he has mended enough to get back into the fight. Tough loss with Wintgens, I'm sure he will be missed. Nice videos.

Carrick, time isn't so kind to men either, unfortunately.

.


27 September 1916
Salisbury, England


Captain Swanson was waiting in Foster's as an elderly tailor finished up sewing on the strip of crimson ribbon. The fellow had deftly removed the RFC wings and re-positioned them a bit higher so that he could center the prestigious flash above the row of three honours already aligned over the left breast pocket flap.

"It's a privilege for me to be attending to this for you Captain", the gentleman beamed as he finished up the task. "It's not every day that one gets to sew on the VC ribbon."

"I appreciate you taking care of this for me so promptly", Swany replied cheerily.


He'd been presented a length of the coveted ribbon by Major Lawrence during the bash at Fienvillers on the evening of the 25th. It had been a proper send-off and despite his best efforts not to Swany had indulged in several beers and shots. The pain in his head above his right ear throbbed its disapproval the following morning, but the Captain's mood was so high he shrugged it off as he packed his kit. He continued to smile through it as he settled his bill with Mme Corcelles, paying her to the end of the month for his room to which she replied, "Well of course you will pay me 'til the end of the month, leaving on such short notice." A hint of sadness in her eyes betrayed her usual gruff demeanor, the old woman was going to miss the young Captain.

His next stop had been the Officers' Mess where he paid his tab up in full before leaving camp for good. It took a bite out of his ready funds, but he knew it was coming and was financially prepared for it. He made his rounds and said his goodbyes, which went fairly quickly as all three flights were out on morning patrols. His final stop was the CO's office where Major Lawrence gave him his paperwork and informed him his travel orders had been changed and he now had until the 7th of October to report to Stow Maries. Until then he could do as he pleased, within reason. The Major also reminded him that, to be safe, he should wait until the 27th to put up his new citation as it was assured to be gazetted by then. Lawrence had made this point at the presentation the night before but decided a reminder was in order, given the level of drinking involved at the time. A final handshake and best wishes from his now former Commander and Swanson was on his way.

With the extra time suddenly allowed him Swany had decided to head to Boulogne and take the leave ship across to Southampton, heading up from there to his old stomping grounds in Salisbury. While waiting for the boat he'd sent a wire to his good friend Jim Collins with hopes the two might be able to meet for a catch-up. After making the trip across and upon arriving at his destination the Captain had sent a second wire that read simply, "In Salisbury next few days. Wire to the Old George your plans. Hurry. Getting thirsty. Swany."


And now here he was, waiting for a reply while he also waited for his tunic. The attentive tailor, whose name Swany learned was Edward, was now giving the garment a good brushing and spruce up before returning it to its proud owner. As he did so he ran a long, thin finger across the three gold wound stripes above the left cuff and gave a glance that indicated he was impressed by these nearly as much as he was by the strip of crimson he'd just sewn on.

"There you are Sir, I hope it meets with your approval." The craftsman presented his work to the Captain before helping him back on with the tunic.

"Wonderful! Thank you Edward, you have been most helpful. What do I owe you?", Swany responded as he pulled a small leather wallet from his pocket.

Edward looked horrified, "Oh no Sir, I wouldn't think of it, put your money away. It was my privilege."

Swanson insisted, but Edward stood firm. After a brief back and forth a compromise was reached: Swany would send the rest of his uniforms over from the Old George where he'd taken a room for the next few days. Edward would do the ribbon fitting on them as well as a thorough cleaning and touch-up and have them returned to the hotel, for which Swany would pay him a fair price.

With that business done the King's latest Victoria Cross recipient strode out onto Minster Street and into a crisp, beautiful fall day. He walked past the Haunch of Venison and Powney's Old Corner Store, remembering his outings with Collins at both. Swany hoped his friend would be able to join him again soon and they could make the rounds as they had all those months ago. The Captain continued along on to Bridge Street and then the High Street, stopping at a news stand on the corner where he asked for the latest Gazette. He flipped through to the supplement and there under the heading, "His Majesty the KING has been graciously pleased to award the Victoria Cross to the undermentioned Officers, non-commissioned Officers and Men", was his name and the description of his actions.

"Wait, is that you Sir?" The newsman, who'd been standing next to Swany looking him over, stabbed a finger at the block of text. The nosy fellow had noticed the honour on the Captain's chest and the section of the paper he was reading and put two and two together.

"Yes", Swanson smiled, "that's me."

"You're a bloody hero! Take your money back, paper's on me mate," the man replied, forcing the coins into the Captain's hand.

Swany was beginning to realize some of the clout and cumshaw the Victoria Cross provided it's bearer. He thanked the fellow, folded and rolled up the gratis paper and, carrying it baton-style, continued his walk through town. It was going to be a good day indeed.
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Raine, four ???? Oh my, you have it down to a science.

Lou, fab writing. Between you and Raine you two are constructing a fine novel. Great interplay!

Feldwebel Lazlo Halász,

Jasta 1, Bertincourt, France
September 25th 1916

Lazlo sat, gloomily, in the corner of the officer's mess. The sadness of losing his friend, Wintgens, had been compounded by the news that his recently arrived wingman, Horst Kremer, had also perished, during their assault on the Strutters at Bellevue. Lazlo had notice he was missing as they formed up after the action, but thought he was probably just a straggler. The man had been there such a short time that Lazlo hadn't formed much of a friendship with him, at least, but the losses had dampened the spirits of the unit.

Von Mulzer wandered into the mess.

"Ah, Lazlo! I was hoping I'd find you in here". He made his way over and sat at the table next to Lazlo. "The Commander asked me to inform you of the good news! One of your Strutters was awarded already, from yesterday. Sadly not both of them." Lazlo looked up slowly, nodding a silent acknowledgement. "And I have more good news", the pilot smiled and fumbled in his pocket to produce a small square box. He handed it across the table to Lazlo, who took it and slowly prized open the lid. Inside was a medal. "It's the Iron Cross, 2nd class! Awarded for your brave actions yesterday". Lazlo stared in wonder at the thing in his hand. A watery smile formed on his face as he thanked his fellow flier. ".... and one more thing, Vizfeldwebel Halasz, congratulations on your promotion!" Even if he hadn't been awarded both kills from yesterday, clearly the brass thought his actions special enough to warrant further recognition. Lazlo was humbled. In truth it was fury that had pushed him forward, not bravery. His mind was whirling with conflicting emotions. The two men were suddenly aware of a growing commotion outside. Loud voices, shouting and cheering. Lazlo and Von Mulzer quickly got up and strode to the door. On the field stood three gleaming new Halberstadt DIII machines, engines idling.

"Oh my, those sound like good engines" beamed Lazlo, lighting up for the first time that morning.

"Indeed they do, Lazlo, and the final bit of good news for you today is that one of them is yours".

"B,bu, but I am not seniors in much enough for having this!", exclaimed Lazlo in shock.

"Maybe not, but you've suffered more than most at the hands of those terrible engines in the DIIs. We felt you should have one of these. We've also given one to that new fellow who just arrived. We can't let anymore youngsters go to their deaths from faulty engines if it can be avoided." Lazlo walked over to one of the machines and stroked its fuselage lovingly.

"I reckon that one's got your name on it", said on of the mechanics cheerily.

"Really?", asked Lazlo, eyes full of wonder. He started scanning the length of the plane searching for something.

"Well, figuratively speaking" smiled the mechanic. "Although we could try to arrange something for you along those lines. Let's see, Leffers has 'L', so we can't give you that, and I think 'H' is gone, too. But we coud give you 'R' for 'Red'. What dya think?" Lazlo was smiling broadly now. Von Mulzer shook a bemused Lazlo by the hand and congratulated him once more.

"I have to go. Secret mission", winked Von Mulzer, setting off to the office with a wave. Lazlo continued his inspection of the DIII. He couldn't wait to take her up. For now at least, his sadness for his fallen comrades was temporarily forgotten.

To be continued......

Last edited by HarryH; 09/27/19 04:02 PM.

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Originally Posted by Fullofit


Harry, that's some hunting! I cringe when I see Lazlo shooting down those Strutters. Good thing there are no Halbs around this part of the woods. Me thinks your pitch is too sensitive and crikey! that's some fierce archie!



You forget (or perhaps I neglected to mention), Lazlo is a three times arm wrestling champion of Croatia, so when he gets excited, that stick has no chance of delivering sensitivity, no matter what the settings smile


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Fullofit: She sleeps with a what ? Your killing my fantasy's!

Everyone else: Great yarns Keep em coming.

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Keith Cunard Mallory
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Lil Sisters, Hospital
Cannes, France.

Sep 28, 1916.
I will be getting out soon then 24 hrs in Paris. Our Physical Therapy was led by FiFi to get us back in shape for the Rigors of the Front

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Raine, another Zep to be crossed off in red ink off Kriegsmarine’s books. An exciting tale and some terrifying pictures to prove it. Looking forward to the reunion with Swany!

Lou, Swany is sure to miss 70 Sqn. but new adventures are already awaiting him elsewhere.
“Getting thirsty” - is Captain Swanson picking up a vice? Especially now when VC appears to be opening doors, wallets and perhaps a few corsets. Way to go and take advantage. I salute you, Sir!

Harry, tough break for Lazlo. All these mounting losses may bring down our favourite Croat. Hopefully his usual jolly demeanour will soon return.
Congrats on that Strutter (shudder). Aaand the medal. Aaand promotion. Aaand a new shiny plan. BTW, “Red” is also already taken. wink

Carrick, I wouldn’t mind myself get into Fifi’s shape.


28 September, 1916 15:20 afternoon mission
Luxeuil, Alsace Sector
3 Wing RNAS
SC Tobias Chester Mulberry
23 confirmed kills

The claim for the last Hun shot down near St. Dié has been confirmed.

Toby was on his own. It would be a walk in the park - patrolling over friendly aerodrome of Corcieux. What could happen? Weather was great and Mulberry brought his bird up to 10,000 ft. He was nearing the assigned aerodrome when he noticed Archie ahead. He stretched his neck to look to the side and saw three Eindeckers bearing on him. Oh, this will be fun! The trio blew by as Toby took potshots at them. One continued straight on, the other two banked to engage. Mulberry had to remind himself to continue to check his six. He didn’t want to get jumped while concentrating on a Hun in front. Toby fired at anything that came even remotely close to his Vickers’ gunsight. He shot at them in a dive, he shot at them while climbing, he even shot at them up-side-down. He was certain he was chipping at them and soon some will want to leave. He’ll have to let them go if he wants to survive this. One of the Eindeckers swooped from below and hit Toby’s machine. Mulberry was sure he did the same as they passed each other. The British ace continued to disengage and go after another Fokker that was about to surprise him from behind. They were dragging him down, but Toby didn’t mind. The anti-aircraft gunner crews were waiting for them at the aerodrome below. As suddenly as it all started, it ended just as abruptly. There was only one Fokker to deal with and he was now falling with no power. Toby followed him all the way down until the German rammed into the trees below. Toby had enough of excitement for one day. He plotted a direct course to the base and followed it.

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Oh my, I've fallen behind again - and how much I've missed! VCs being won, Zeps being destroyed, wingmen being replaced...so much going on!

Hopefully I'll find some flying time soon...

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Wulfe, hope you can post Fullard's next episode soon.


Harry, congratulations to Lazlo. Despite the loss of his two jasta mates it appears he still had a good day on the 25th. The new Vizfeldwebel will be a force to be reckoned with in that D.III.


Carrick, physical conditioning is important, and from the looks of it Keith's PT instructor should have him standing straight and tall in no time.


Fullofit, Toby is becoming the stuff of legend, and of story books as well apparently, (they're writing tales about our Chesty, because he is the very besty). As proof, here is an excerpt from the soon-to-be-released "Green Eines and Hun", by Major D.R. Seuss:

Would you, could you, in a dive?
Or in a climb to stay alive?
Would you, could you, upside-down?
Or in a circle round-and-round?

In a circle round-and-round,
In a loop and upside-down.
In a climb to stay alive,
And most certain in a dive.
Whether here or whether there,
I shoot down Einies everywhere.
I'm the slaughter, they're the lamb,
I do not like them, Sam-I-Am.


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Lou you have outdone yourself with that one rofl


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Well done, Major Seuss.

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If the kids only knew how it all came about. nope
Lou, brilliant reimagining of Toby’s fight. Sadly no green Eines this time. Come to think of it I haven’t seen that Hun for a while. Is he writing children stories as well? Hauptmann Zeiss.


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The connecting rod out of my brain, my brain,
From out of my arse take the camshaft,
And assemble the engine again."
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BOC President; Pilot Extraordinaire; Humble Man
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BOC President; Pilot Extraordinaire; Humble Man
Senior Member
Joined: May 2012
Posts: 4,881
.

Ah, so you're familiar with the writings of Hauptmann Zeiss. Then you must also be aware of the lawsuit that was filed by Major Seuss claiming plagiarism of his style by the German author. There's been a great deal of debate about it over the years. Here's an excerpt from one of Zeiss's more famous works, "The Fop in the Sop". You be the judge.


The sun did not shine.
It was too wet to fly.
So t'was off to kasino,
To drink the place dry.

I sat there with Manfred.
We sat there, we two.
And I said, "How I wish
There were sorties to do!"

Too wet to go up,
Our style it did kink.
So we sat by the fire.
And we ordered a drink.
And all that we did was to
Drink drink drink drink!

WUMP!

And then something went WUMP!
How that wump made us jump!

We looked!
Then we saw him flying over the top!
We looked!
And we saw him! The Fop in the Sop!


.

Joined: Nov 2014
Posts: 3,696
F
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F
Joined: Nov 2014
Posts: 3,696
Lou, I assume it was Sopwith that instigated the lawsuit first? Trademark infringement and all that?
clapping rofl


"Take the cylinder out of my kidneys,
The connecting rod out of my brain, my brain,
From out of my arse take the camshaft,
And assemble the engine again."
Joined: Dec 2014
Posts: 1,340
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Joined: Dec 2014
Posts: 1,340
Lou, you are quite the rhymester smile

Lovely work!


System: i5 8600K @ 3.6GHz,16GB DDR4 @2666MHz. RTX2080, MSI Z370 mobo, Dell 27" G-SYNC @ 144Hz. 2560x1440

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