Songs and Poems of the Wingless Cafe

Songs and Poems of the Wingless Cafe, as of Jan 2001

_ Area: WBwingless
Msg#: 25316 Date: 11-28-96 14:12
From: Jmkayser To: ** All **
Subj: ACM and it's beauty

If I may play on your credulous simplicities....

Thanks (or apologies) to a certain green Spit and a certain purple P38
for inspiration.

"kais" JG14

"Suppose that you were an idiot, and suppose you were elected to
Congress. But I repeat myself." ---Mark Twain---

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_ Area: WBwingless
Msg#: 26241 Date: 12-16-96 15:47
From: Toad To: ** All **
Subj: And Then We'd Sing ...

The weary bomber crew, shedding their heavy jackets and gloves, push into the crowded Wingless Cafe. The place is crowded, full of pilots who are equally full of Debbie's potions and Christmas cheer. The new crew has walked into a special evening, "The First Annual Commemorative Christmas Singing and Dwarf Tossing .. Whatever."

The crowd, arm in arm, is just beginning an old favorite:

The crew pushes through the singing crowd, exchanging friendly hello's and handshakes with friend and foe alike. Pushing up to the bar, they all order, and then turn back to join in festivities. There's a cleared spot in the middle of the room, with volunteers (or those shoved forth by their mates) leading the room in song.

The old ICI favorite is winding down to a cacaphonous ending.

The pilots all bawl out the last line in heartfelt hope for a special ICI Christmas bonus.

Several short figures, completely hidden in thick woolen robes, glowing red eyes visible deep within the cowls, stand in a corner. One hisses, "Yessss .. when monkeysss fly out our buttsssss!" Two giggle in falsetto unison. The third, confused and stunned by too much wassail, hisses, "We haven't implemented monkeysssss yet, have we?"

Three pilots in Luftwaffe blue step out and, arm in arm, sing about a bit of WarBirds history.

Several Red dweebs ask their neighbors, "What's Kiel?", but are shushed into silence.

A figure in a bush jacket and jaunty hat, one side of the brim pinned up, steps away from his table (where he's still madly autographing books), and breaks out in a bit of a new song:

"Too roight, mate!" "Let's hear it for the Butcher Bird!" The various Wurger pilots around the room all cheer and raise their mugs and bottles high, ignoring the disparaging mumbles of "Superplane!" around them.

A Yank pilot steps forward and, taking a fat cigar from his mouth, breaks into song:

The room breaks into the chorus, accompanied by the woeful howls of the WarDawgs.

[From: There I was, flat on my back..., Bob Stevens.]

Derisive laughter breaks out all over the room, quickly followed by solid thuds to noses from dedicated "Real Men" Aircobra pilots. Threatened by Lady Hawke's scowl, the WarDawgs uncurl their lips, shiny fangs hidden again.

And then a clear tenor cuts through the babble, and in an Irish brogue the ancient holiday song rings out:

The room is dead silent, the air ringing with that long glorious high note. And then, in a triumphant rush,

The room stands in stunned silence, all eyes turned to a little green figure on the bar on one knee in a classic Al Jolson pose, webbed hand outstretched after the last emphatic line.

Froggie looks at the silent room, his broad smile sliding from his face. "What? What?!" He asks in his usual gravelly voice.

An ominous Lady Hawke stares at the little frog from under dark eyebrows. "And where did you learn _that_ little ditty, Froggie?"

"Why, on me mither's knee, of course!" he responds. The little gremlin, never heard with an Irish accent before, is obviously overcome by the historic (if out of place) song. "She wuz an Irish frog, she wuz, come over from the Auld Sod in the 20's, she did! A Gremlin too, she wuz, one uv the Gremlins uv County Cork! And moight ye be Irish, Lady Hawke, young lassie me dear?"

The clear double-click of silver-plated hammers locking to the rear gives the little gremlin the hint that there might be an Orangeman (or woman) amongst the crowd of revelers.

A choking cloud of green smoke billows out over the bar. When it clears, the little frog is nowhere to be seen.

Toad bravely steps into the path cleared in front of the awesome barrels of the Nitro .600 Double Express. "Now, Lady Hawke," he murmurs soothingly, "I'm sure Froggie only wanted to join in with us. I suppose he doesn't know any Christmas songs."

Lady Hawke's face is no happier as she eases the hammers forward and puts her fearsome weapon back up on the wall rack. The rest of the pilots in the tiny cafe draw a long breath of relief. "I'm gonna have that damned little frog fried and breaded for supper one night, see if I don't!" the dominating proprietress mutters.

Rick jumps to his feet. "Come on guys, who knows 'Lili Marlene'?" Blowing on a tiny silver pitchpipe, he launches into the old military song, with voices in several languages following him. The other pilots of the Independent Swedish Air Force join in, each in a separate key, and only coincidentally hitting any of the correct notes.

"Owooooooo! Owoo! Owoooo!" A little dog with a big nose and a leather flying cap with goggles collapses face-down in a stainless steel dish borrowed from the WarDawgs and bursts into wails. Invited over from a parallel world, he's known to get emotional about things. Several of the Dawgs discreetly push the large tankard of milk and Scotch out of his reach. Each sincerely hopes no one starts singing "It's a Long Way To Tipararry!"

Debbie stands stone-faced behind the bar, anger visible in her eyes. "Whassa matta, sweetie?" a really blasted Bear slurs. "Don't'cha like th' singing?"

"That Lily hussie was a hooker!" Debbie hisses. "You men, I swear! Singing a love song about a common streetwalker! That song sets back women's rights by decades!"

Bear shakes his spinning head and reaches for his refilled tankard. Women! Who can understand them?

... Stop that! Stop that! You're not going into a song while I'm here!

--------
_ Area: WBwingless
Msg#: 26271 Date: 12-16-96 22:38
From: Toad To: ** All **
Subj: Them ICI Blues

Toad gingerly bites down on his tongue (something one must be very careful with when one has needle-sharp fangs) and scrawls down a last line on the notepad. Then, leaning back, he takes a puff on his Parodi as he looks over his work.

Rick sits down with a glass of .. something colorful, with an umbrella sticking out the top. (Debbie is experimenting.)

"Whatcha working on so hard, Toad? Listing all the moral deficiencies of the Reds?"

Toad blows out a long streamer of smoke, and Rick carefully refrains from inhaling until the air has cleared somewhat.

"No, Rick .. something different. Did I tell you about that really weird experience I had the other day?"

"No, which one?" Rick snickers.

Toad ignores Rick's jibe. "Well, I was flying my Ki way out over the ocean, just kind of checking it out? And there was this weird whirling sort of black cloud down below me! So I flew down to check it out .. and before I knew what had happened, I'd flown right through it! And there I was, back over the ocean again .. and right over the biggest doggon CV I've ever seen in my LIFE!"

Rick's ears pick up. "Really? That's weird!"

"Yeah .. so anyway, I throttled back and came on down vertical like I always do, you know gear out and flaps down .. and there were a bunch of funny looking planes and stuff on the deck .. oh, and the deck wasn't properly squared off like it oughtta be, it had a piece sticking out kind of to the side.

"Anyway, I had a 500-pounder on the Ki, so I dropped it, and then zoomed on out. Boy, that 500 pounder did a JOB on that flight deck, I'll tell ya! Man, stuff blew like crazy! But it was funny, not a single bit of flak came after me! It was like that CV had no flak at all!

"So I came back around, and was shooting up all these funny airplanes on this BIG flight deck .. they all had wings bent way back, shaped like a 'V' .. weird .. except for these little birds with a kind of round saucer stuck on top. Anyway, while I was shooting all these guys up, some other smaller ships came in close. They didn't have any flak either, but they shot some weird kind of rockets at me."

Toad shakes his head.

"But they all missed, didn't even come close!"

So then I was just about Winchester, so I pulled back a bit .. and be doggon if that big black swirly cloud didn't come along and suck me right back in again! And next thing I knew I was flying over an empty ocean! Really weird!"

Rick answers, "Yeah, that was strange. I guess something ICI is playing with, huh?"

"I donno, there weren't any flags on the CV or the other ships, no icons, nothing.

"Something else weird though .. I had my radio on, you know the AM jobbie we use for direction finding and navigation? And while I was beating up that CV, I kept hearing this weird music .. kinda sounded like this."

Toad begins a monotonal "Ribbit! Ribbit!" in a deep bass voice. Rick says, "Toad, that doesn't sound like any music at all! You sure have a tin ear."

"Well, I know I don't carry a tune very well .. it's not something they stress in toad evolution, you know .. even the nuclear mutation kind of evolution. But anyway, the tune doesn't matter, because the guy singing with this music didn't seem to be carrying a tune either! It was like he was talking or something ..

"Anyway, the words didn't make any sense at _all_ .. but it had a weird sort of beat I just couldn't get outta my head. So I sat down here and tried to put down some words that went along with the beat."

Rick picks up the sheet of paper and reads what Toad's written. Unconsciously his foot starts tapping on the floor. For some strange reason a wailing harmonica seems to be ringing in his mind.

I'm right back home again!
Oh mama - can this really be the end?
To be stuck inside a Mustang with the Low-E blues again.

"system: Greens just took F9!" That's what it takes to win!
"Hey, WTG!" "Man, whatta guy!" The accolades pour in!
Hot damn, I'm good! I'm really hot! Put caution right aside.
I'm back in that silver Pony, ready for another ride!
Oh mama - can this really be the end?
To be stuck inside a Mustang with the Low-E blues again.

Rick shakes his head and clicks his fingers. "All reet! Dig it! Man, those are some heavy words, Toad! Hey, listen, if you don't mind .. I know this guy back in the States .. he's a little hard to catch up with since he seems to hitch-hike and ride the rails a lot .. but he likes songs like this, collects them from all over. I'd like to pass this on to him if it's OK with you."

Toad shrugs. "Sure, why not. Folks tell me I don't have much of a future in singing anyway .. although I have this great idea for a beer ad .."

"Great .. I think Arlo will really like this!"

... "Those are cannons."- Hobbes
... "And they perform this in crowded music halls?" - Calvin

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

_ Area: WBwingless
Msg#: 26640 Date: 12-23-96 23:58
From: Jmkayser To: ** All **
Subj: Christmas foolishness

'Twas the mission before Christmas,
And all through the dungeon,
Not a flieger was eatin'
Or sippin', or crunchin'.
Their stockings were hung by the wire fence with glee,
And the crew chiefs were wondering, "Why him and not me?"
The fliers were seated around on a mat,
With visions of glory, and nonsense like that.
And Pope, with his C-stoff burns, was in a bad mood;
Hoping that his man wouldn't really be good.

When, outside the building, in a place near the gutter,
Gruppenkommandeur Mo came tripping, with a growl and a sputter.
Up off their posteriors they came with a roar,
Pretending to discuss tactics, out there on the floor.
The GK, on this, the eve of a really tough duel,
Knew our men must be quick, and hit like a mule.
When, what to their wondering ears did he say,
But, "Despite the imminent loss, have a good holiday!"
With a neat little smirk, so wicked and quick,
They knew in a flash, it must be a trick.

More rapid than blizzards, his orders, they came,
He whistled, and shouted, and called them bad names.
"Now Drex! Now Para! Get off your fat rears!"
"If you don't get an abschuss, a box on the ears!"
We warmed ourselves up with wrestling, the oldest sport,
And heaven help the man, who his mission aborts!

"C'mon Kueh! Get Jagr, and quick, pin old -bat!"
"If you don't get them quick, a kick in the pants!"
"To the center of the mat, now, down on yer knees,"
"And don't let them up 'till they holler 'Please'!"
"Now we'll shoot away, fire away; kill 'em off all!"
And so he worked us up, until we were ready to fall.

As the thunder doth rumble, so loud in the skies,
So screamed the Jaegermeisters, with blood-curdling cries.
And all afternoon, their practice dog-fighting they did do,
There was C-Ya, and ---v, and Roko was there too.

Then came the day of the now-famed event,
Jagdgeschwader 14 was ready, their days were well spent.
They were dressed in a moment, from their heads to their toes,
And their dashing blue garb promised defeat to our foes.
As they flew off, towards the ill-fated town,
Not a word did they speak, but all had a frown.
The warm-up jousts began, they didn't last long,
Saci and Decc chanted a victory song!

Vols' eyes, how they sparkled--Bigr's dimples, how merry,
Skip's face was so red, it looked like a cherry.
Chat's droll little mouth was drawn up in a bow,
And Dkfi flew ahead, reconnoitering the foe.
His headgear, Hobb clenched tightly in his hand,
And Kays was hoping he'd hit his dude in some vital gland.
Jokk had a stern face, and a round little belly,
But, as his man would soon find out, it was more than just jelly.

The enemies' Hellcats were chubby, looking like jolly old elves,
The spectators laughed aloud, in spite of themselves.
A "thump-thump" of cannon fire, a "Horrido!" on the radio and
The assembled throngs knew, Time had blown up his man.
Mvp1 spoke not a word, but sent a stream after an F6F so fat,
One strike, two, three, a wing blows off and that's that.

The fliegers, in order, came up to the fore,
Nail exploded one, Totn too; the crowd gave a roar.
Pope scored right away, so did Drex and Mo,
And Para and Kueh, my, how they did go!
And I heard Otto exclaim, as the score was read out,
"You were lucky to win...now get the lead out!"

A great Christmas to all....
"kais" JG14

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

_ Area: WBwingless
Msg#: 26656 Date: 12-24-96 09:51
From: Toad To: ** All **
Subj: Toad's Christmas Carol 1

how

[Shaddap! When's the last time _you_
tried to find something that rhymed
with "amphibian" ??
]

[story here]

-----------

_ Area: WBwingless
Msg#: 27849 Date: 01-18-97 18:02
From: Toad To: ** All **
Subj: A Song For Dummies

Toad makes a last few connections between the block figure sitting on the long workbench and the oscilloscope.

"Well, I think that's got it, Rick."

Rickover looks dubiously at the strange arrangement. Of course he's seen the curious block figures of pilots in WarBirds aircraft cockpits before, representing the actual pilots that control them for damage control purposes. But he'd never made the jump in logic that prompted his amphibian friend to try this experiment.

"And you mean to tell me that these figures actually have memories, thoughts; that they're more than just graphic figures in those cockpits?"

"Yep, Rick, that's the idea anyway. There were a few of them still sitting in cockpits in some of the scrapped aircraft out behind Aadrian's hanger. I figure they might be from guys who disco'ed, since only a few aircraft had them. So I yanked one out and wired it up to this O scope here, to see if we can pick up what's going on inside it."

Toad reaches out and turns on the oscilloscope. A strange irregular pattern appears on the scope.

"Doggon .. that looks like .. I could swear that's voice patterns!" Toad mutters to himself.

"Yeah, or maybe music," Rick suggests. "Look at those regular patterns there."

"Let me try something out." Toad yanks the leads, hastily wires them into a standard jack, and plugs them into the earphone jack of a flying helmet. Holding one of the earphones up to his head, he concentrates for a second. Then with a startled look he hands the earphone over to Rick.

"Here, you listen to this. I don't have much ear for music. Can you make this out?"

Rick slips the flying helmet on and concentrates on the weak sounds coming from the block pilot figure. Unconsciously his head starts swaying back and forth and his toe taps as the music becomes clearer.

And here's what Rickover heard:

Rick slides off the helmet and shakes his head.

"Toad, if I didn't know better, I'd swear this pilot dummy is singing about flying an Me 163!"

Toad grins a sly grin and unplugs the leads from the block figure. "Here, how about giving me a hand putting this thing back on the junk pile, would you?"

"Wait a minute, Toad! What are you up to? You know more about this than you're saying, aren't you?"

Toad carefully looks around the little hanger, insuring there's no eavesdroppers .. especially the little hooded figures from the ICI hanger a few buildings down.

"Remember that time when Froggie the Gremlin got a little carried away, and all those weird things happened?"

"Oh .. that time when that whole squadron of F4U's sank into the swamp? Yeah, I remember that."

"Well, you might remember some big reels of tape somehow getting out of the ICI hanger and rolling down the road toward the harbor."

Rick shakes his head. He wasn't at the Wingless Strip that day.

"Well .. I helped the ICI guys collect their tapes .. but one of them didn't turn up until the next day. And it looks like that worm I added to the source code is starting to work its way around."

Toad looks curiously at the block pilot's head. "Never thought it would get into a dummy though. That's one hell of a worm! But I'm gonna get ICI support for my rocket fighters if it's the last thing I do! Today the pilot dummies, tomorrow the world! Muah hah hah!" Toad's big goggle eyes begin to gleam with a mad light.

Rick looks dubiously at the pilot dummy and then at his green-skinned friend. "Yeah, sure. Look, Toad, I gotta go now. I'd rather not be around when ICI finds out their pilot heads are all singing about Komets .. in chorus yet!"

(Credit to Dire Straits and MTV, of course)

... Everything that deceives also enchants. --Plato

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

_ Area: WBwingless
Msg#: 30305 Date: 03-02-97 10:55
From: Toad To: ** All **
Subj: Tone's Ode to the P-39

Snarfed from comp.sys.ibm.pc.flight-sim,
Tone's most wondrous and ma'vlous Ode to the P39
(with preamble):

From: tone@wildfire.com (Tone )
Newsgroups: comp.sys.ibm.pc.games.flight-sim
Subject: WB: Ode to the P39
Date: 28 Feb 1997 18:52:38 GMT

Well, I flew a few P-39 sorties in the HA last night and had major fun. I'm no +GJ+ (he was racking up kills!), but I had some wonderful sorties.

My first one, I found snpr smoking over west Guadalcanal, dogged by 2 planes (at least one was a Ki). I went swooping in, somewhat awkwardly. I blew my first pass, firing just a moment of 30 cal. And I flopped around now low and slow near a hill. Snpr was hanging tough!

The Ki that was all over him was extremely fixated and I saw some warps. But I got in close. Close. CLOSE!!! At range 50 yards, we were jack-knifing, and I underplayed it to avoid spinning in. Then, just as my prop seemed ready to hit the enemy, I fired a single cannon round at him. BOOM! He must have lost a surface (or net lags made him blow up late), since I was awarded a kill 6 sceonds later.

I returned to base, crashing on landing because I am, after all, a Dweeb.

Then, I took another flight. Got in way too deep near the Japanese islands. Got a kill on some confused Ki who's evasion of my overtaking 39 was to drop his gear. A cannon round tore his wing off. So I am again feeling studly and winging home to land my kill and I see my squad-mate eyas being chased by another Ki. I come in clean as can be on his tail. Cannon up the butt, wing off. Wingman saved. Just like a bad movie.

Anyway, I suffered some reversals later in the night to be sure, but landing a 2xKi kill P39 sortie and having saved 2 allie's lives inspired me. I am not even a good P-39 pilot, but I know what it takes to tie one on. I thought it was a plane that deserved respect. So I wrote a poem...

... But alas my engine faltered, fare thee well my 39

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

_ Area: WBwishlist
Msg#: 30906 Date: 03-11-97 21:26
From: Switlik To: Darkfire
Subj: Fairness

<>

DA>..... Don't you guys see the fire coming from the red AB17s as
DA> they leave the Hangers?

DA> WaKe UP! BTW STOP asking which way this field runs or Which
DA>way does that Field RUN!! just Zoom in on the map and See for yourself!

DA> dkfi
<>

For I surely will be cursed..

For more Swit's punned verse.

Some cute and some profain.

"I'm sorry, your bombers aflame.

"Which ones do I shoot?"

I've seen some odd requests..

without required Posit.

.. do you remember this?

and CVs much the same..

((though, come to think of it.. I'm SURE that if they could, the fields WOULD be picking up their aprons and running away.. ;}

Nick, de very sick Swit.. ;}

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

_ Area: WBwingless
Msg#: 34464 Date: 05-09-97 17:05
From: Toad To: ** All **
Subj: Fifty Ways

{plink}{plink}{plink}

Ding comes panting into the Wingless Cafe after another long day in the Warbirds skies.

"Hey, Debs .. how about a nice cognac and milk?" The big Purple dingo stands up at the bar and Debbie fishes a single gold double-eagle from the pouch rivetted to Ding's heavily spiked collar.

"Where do you want it, Ding?" she asks.

"Hey, how about over at Toad's table? Keep the change, darlin'."

Ding drops to all fours and walks over to Toad's table. The big mutant amphibian is leaning back in a wooden chair, plunking away with clawed fingers at a shiny new banjo. His long tongue is caught in the corner of his wide mouth as he concentrates on the difficult task.

"Gee, Toad, I didn't know you could play the banjo!" Ding remarks after the first few thirsty laps at his shiny stainless steel dog dish.

Toad looks down at the dingo. "Well, I can't really, but I'd like to learn. You know, we toads by nature aren't very talented when it comes to musical stuff. I figured if I couldn't learn to sing .." Ding's hair instinctively raises on his back as he recalls the last time he heard Toad try to sing. ".. well, maybe I could learn an instrument."

"So why the banjo anyway?"

"Well, this funny little guy came through here today in a really gorgeous Stinson. Him and this real tall guy. They took a break while they were getting refueled, and the little guy was kinda plunking around on this banjo while the big guy was playing bongos. So I walked over to listen. I couldn't get much out of the music, but it had a kind of catchy rhythm.

"Well, they tried to give the fuel guys some silly piece of plastic to pay for the fuel. I figured I'd give them a hand, so I went ahead and paid their fuel bill. What the heck .. at 30 cents a gallon ...

"And the little guy gave me his banjo! So I've been kind of trying to figure it out, and working out some words to go with the little pieces of his song that I could remember."

Ding suddenly realizes what's about to happen. He looks desperately left and right, but can't see any likely excuse or emergency to duck out! Plus .. there's that fresh full bowl of cognac and milk .. and no hands to pick it up with! Ding shudders, and resigns himself to the inevitable.

"So, are you going to sing this song, Toad?"

"Well .. if you insist .."

Toad takes a last quick look at the lyrics carelessly written on the white linen tablecloth (one of LadyHawke's finest!), turns his big eyes upward, and begins.

{plink}{plunk}{plink} {Ribbbbt!}

The monotone song ends with a loud bass "ribbbt" and a flurry of random string picking.

Ding restrains a mournful howl and buries his nose in the foamy drink, hoping Toad won't ask for his opinion. Toad looks around at the few patrons who hadn't the sense to leave when he was warming up. Debbie has diplomatically ducked down into the wine cellar.

"Well? Whaddya think? Kinda catchy, huh?"

The pilots look at one another.

"Well, you know .. it does have a neat sort of a beat .." a Purple comments, just to be nice.

"Yeah, and the words are kinda cute," one Red agrees.

"How much did Shaw and Doc Doom pay ya for those book plugs anyway?" one Gold asks. (Typical Gold.)

"Hmmmph! You guys got no kultchur anyway. Whaddya know about good music? Maybe I oughtta try a harmonica." Toad grumphs and returns to his plucking practice.

[OK, Simon, so I owe you a drink]

... Though many times, we're given rhymes, that are quite un-sing-able

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

_ Area: WBwingless
Msg#: 34615 Date: 05-13-97 21:02
From: Toad To: ** All **
Subj: And The Song Goes On ...

[From email and Usenet.
When Rickenbacker starts tapping his toe, no telling _what might happen!
"Spam spam spam spam.."
]

To: squiretoad@ibm.net
Date: Tue, 13 May 1997 14:40:38 +0200
Newsgroups: comp.sys.ibm.pc.games.flight-sim
Subject: Re: Warbirds Poetry
From: Email@the.bottom.of.the.sig (Rickenbacker)

In article <3374647F.7745@ibm.net>, squiretoad@ibm.net says...
>"Hmmmph! You guys got no kultchur anyway. Whaddya know about
>good music? Maybe I oughtta try a harmonica." Toad grumphs
>and returns to his plucking practice.

Later that night, Rickenbacker steps into the Wingless for a quick Guinness before bed, only to find a freshly erected stage in one corner of the dining room. Toad is busily stringing cables all over the place, and a crowd is slowly gathering around the four young guys with totally non-regulation haircuts that are doing soudchecks on the small stage (constructed, Rick notices, from old packing crates and piano wire). He gets a beer and a smile from the ever, er, buxom debbie and sits down to enjoy the music. He doesn't recognize the music, but a smile slowly spreads across his face, and he leans back further, scratching Dingo between the ears as the large canine lies down on the floor under his chair...

Before being absorbed by the music, Rick notices that the bass drum has "The Warbles" freshly stenciled on it.

It's been a hard dog fight,
and I've been turning like a log,
it's been a hard dog fight
My Pony handled like a hog

But when my wheels touch the strip,
and Dingo brings out the dip,
I watch the Reds crash aaall night...

OK, OK, but it only took me 5 minutes :).

--
Rickenbacker
Mats Erik Axel Anders Nylund O-
Homepage

... The louder the music, the better the code.

--------

_ Area: WBwingless
Msg#: 34617 Date: 05-13-97 21:02
From: Toad To: ** All **
Subj: Help!

Toad is squatting down behind the sandbag wall in front of the little Wingless Cafe, grinning broadly as he leafs through a real toad-choker of a sheaf of currency. The different size bills (a weird mixture of greenbacks, occupation currency from four armed forces, and Maori bark money) make it difficult to count. Still, Toad doesn't mind. The fat pouch of gold coins tucked inside his flying jacket weighs comfortably also.

The disturbing double-click of heavy hammers brought back to a full cock gets his attention. The big mutant amphibian slowly turns his head, to come eye-to-bore with a Double Express. Peering up the long barrels, Toad sees the dominating figure of Lady Hawke.

"Toad, why are you sitting out here counting money, hmmmm?"

Toad grins sheepishly, being very very careful not to move.

"And what's this I hear about maybe you having something to do with this new surprise USO touring group inside getting ready to play, hmmmmm? And maybe the slightest, teensiest rumor that you might've been charging _admission_ out here? That couldn't possibly be true, could it, Toad?"

Toad's mind spins furiously: there _must_ be a logical reason for the current, certainly harmless and only _seemingly_ suspicious, situation. Regrettably no decent excuses come to mind. The .600 inch bores might be contributing to his sudden lack of ideas.

"And all those bimbos in there? The ones squealing and giggling in the front rows? The ones with the translucent .. whatevers ..? Did you have anything to do with them coming down from Castle Anthrax to watch the show? Maybe with some misguided idea of insuring that lots of pilots paid to attend? Hmmmmmm?

"But but but but but but ..." Toad tries to get his usually nimble tongue warmed up, but quickly hushes as the big double-bored gun presses harder between his eyes.

"Tell you what, Toad .. you just had over that wad of cash and I'll just call us even, how about that? Doesn't that seem fair? You know how I hate surprises."

"Oh yes, Mistress Lady Hawke .. very fair, more than fair .. a most excellent idea. Here you go .. careful, the bark is a mite crumbly. And I think the ink in the Japanese occupation currency runs."

Lady Hawke expertly ruffles the thick wad of cash, smiles a delicate ladylike smile, and tucks the money into her cleavage. "Thank you, Toad. Now why don't you go on inside and enjoy the show?" She gracefully flips the Webley back over one slim black-leather-epauletted shoulder and tosses her head towards the open door to the cafe. Loud shouts and whistles coming from inside signal that the show's about to begin.

"Oh .. and you might suggest to those young Brits that they get a haircut .. they look like a bunch of girls! Hmmmph! 'The Warbles' indeed .. Not _nearly_ enough muscles for _my_ taste! Girly-boys!"

Lady Hawke pushes back through the crowd, working around behind the improvised stage to insure Debbie is keeping the drinks flowing.

Up on the stage, a little green figure with long legs and a top hat is in the spotlight. It's Froggie The Gremlin announcing the group, doing a pretty fair Ed Sullivan impersonation. "Well, folks, we have a reeeeeeeely big shew! Just over from England .." His voice is drowned by a loud chorus of almost hypersonic teenage squeals from the front of the audience, and he struggles to be heard. ".. The Warples!"

With a flourish, he waves behind him. The improvised curtains pull back and there's the singing group: long hair, tight suits, strange boot-like shoes. The maids from the Anthrax in unison roll their eyes back in their heads, let out a resounding squeal, and rush the stage. (Those that haven't fallen in twitching convulsive heaps on the floor, that is.)

Six brave hamsters ("volunteered" by Toad to serve as stage security) are hard-pressed to hold them back, bringing their heavy cudgels down on dainty fingers as the girls try to clamber on the stage. Several large pilots, pressed into emergency duty by Lady Hawke, are clearing a path between the stage and the crowd of excited maidens, piling up rolls of razor-sharp barbed wire. This manages to keep the screaming frantic girls at a safe distance, and the nervous band members begin on their signature tune, slightly modified for the USO tour:

At the sound of the familiar chords and melody, the screams and squeals rise to new crescendos. Toad, standing back by the door, is stunned at the girls' response, and reminds himself to re-read that book that fell through the time warp .. by someone called Masters and Johnson? The physical symptoms seem similar .. but he doesn't remember them writing anything about bands being a stimulus.

Toad, deep in thought, only half-noticed the squeal of tires on PSP as aircraft landed outside on the little Wingless strip. The rumble of idling inline engines catches his ear as dark shapes roll past to the parking area, but he figures it's just some late-comers. Suddenly a crowd of short stocky figures push through the door, shoving Warbirds pilots left and right to clear a path toward the stage. Big red stars adorn the back of leather jackets, and the newcomers take off their flying helmets and shake out long pigtails and braids. Toad belatedly peers out into the descending gloom, and recognizes a long line of fighters parked outside! Rounded tails and wingtips, big red stars on fuselage and tails .. they're Yaks!

The curses and complaints of the jostled pilots hush as they recognize the newcomers. Up on the stage, the loud music straggles to a halt as the British musicians peer at the stocky figures pushing into the cafe.

A thick gutteral accent breaks the silence:

"Hokay, dollinks, vat's dis ve hear aboot zum cutesy-poo singink poys, eh?

A broad-faced Slav face beams and thick muscular arms spread wide. "Hoy, is Ringo! Vy didn't dey say vas Warples? Is so cute, dot Ringo. Yoo hoo! Ringo, come gif Tascha big kiss, da?"

Yes .. it's the Russian ferry pilots! They're back! And just in time for the show!

With a desperate look in his eyes, the band's drummer hits some fast intro licks to set the beat, and the band launches into a fresh song, hoping the music will distract the newcomers.

At the beloved, familiar introduction, the Castle Anthrax maidens scream and swoon by the dozen, joined by the deeper, booming (yet still feminine) cheers and squeals of the ferry pilots as they press forward through the crowd, just as desperate to get as close as possible to the Warbles.

A 48 Triple-D bra sails through the air, wrapping around the round-faced singer and temporarily muffling his voice. Casting it aside, he gamely grins, hits some more licks on his guitar, and bravely launches into the first verse.

The bass player leans over to the drummer. "Wot's 'E' anyhow?"

"Blimey, I doan't knaow .." he responds, not missing a beat. "That toad-like chap wot got us this gig, 'e helped Paul wit' th' new words. Wot do we knaow aboot aeroplanes?"

The two shrug and join in with the chorus.

The girlish screams climb to an earsplitting crescendo, and the desperate hamsters have resorted to electric cattle prods. Luckily they're now aided by the Warbirds fighter pilots in the audience. At first scornful of the Liverpudlian girly-boys, the fighter-pilot song lyrics have won them over, and they're more than glad to pull back and restrain the crazed Anthrax maidens. (The occasional grope of nubile young bodies beneath thin nightgowns is considered a purely incidental bonus!)

Regrettably, this leaves the hamsters with the wild-eyed Soviet ferry pilots, who are boosting each other over the barbed wire surrounding the little stage despite the best efforts of Debbie and Lady Hawke with the firehoses.

As the long-haired quartet and their music are smothered beneath the excited Slavs, Toad steps outside into the cool night. Too noisy for him, these human social affairs. Comforted by the reassuring weight of the pouch of gold coins, he strolls over to see if anyone happened to leave any of these nice new Yak fighters unsecured.

... "No! Is no rat! Is Siberian hamster!"

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

_ Area: WBwingless
Msg#: 34975 Date: 05-24-97 14:06
From: Toad To: ** All **
Subj: The Air Force Hymn ...

[Not on topic, not even a funny story to go with it. The reality itself is so absolutely hilarious in itself .. if it weren't so goddamned pathetic. But _this_ song really wraps it all up.
]

[From Rick Horowitz' column, Opinion page, Fayetteville
Observer-Times, 24 May 1997]

(Says he's alone -- right!)

(Only a pal -- right!)

(Boys'll be boys -- right!)

(Wanted to smile -- right!)

[Horowitz is a syndicated columnist.]

... "If this were an Fw, I'd be home by now" - Bumper sticker

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

_ Area: WBwingless
Msg#: 35216 Date: 05-30-97 16:35
From: Toad To: ** All **
Subj: LilleHawke

There's a tinkling on the piano keys as one of the Warbirds pilots kills some time. The tune is familiar, and several pilots in Luftwaffe blue stroll over and softly sing an old favorite:

The big tough fighter pilots wipe a few tears away and wander over to the bar for a refill of their Cognacs.

Several RAF pilots stroll over and pick up the verses of the old ballad:

As the song fades away, they too move over to the bar and join the Luftwaffe pilots with glasses of gin and Scotch.

There's a puff of noxious smoke on top of the upright piano. When the smoke clears, there's Froggie the Gremlin, resplendent in his white silk scarf, just back from a Reichenburg mission. He waves to the pilots lined up at the bar and winks at Debbie.

"Play it again, Sam!" he orders the piano player. As the familiar tune begins again, Froggie breaks out in song with the most amazingly clear Irish tenor voice:

There are smothered snickers from the Yank pilots around the room. Then the room comes to complete silence at the familiar double-click of heavy machined hammers. Froggie was taking a deep breath for the next verse, but stops with the tinkly piano. He turns, to find himself staring down the gaping double barrels of LadyHawke's Express.

"Why .. uh ... hello, LadyHawke, top of the day to ye, and what a foine foine day it is too!" Froggie tries the old Irish charm, but LadyHawke's face is still as dark and stern as a thunderhead.

"Froggie, what did I tell you about those songs? Didn't I tell you I'm trying to run a decent place here?"

"Well, yes, of course, dear LadyHawke .. it was just a little ditty .. I didn't know you spoke German!"

The little frog's eyes suddenly bug out and he clicks his fingers (a good trick for a frog).

"Why, I remember now! _That's_ where I remember seeing you! Hamburg! What was it, 1946? Remember? Right outside the old German artillery barracks?"

Froggie's instincts serve him well, and he disappears in a huge puff of purple smoke, a split second before LadyHawke's cannon belches out fire and lead.

LadyHawke, her face flushed, lowers her cannon and sternly looks around the room as the experienced Warbirds pilots pick themselves up from the floor.

"I was NOT in Hamburg!" she says to the room in general.

Her color high, back straight and rigid, the dominating proprietress turns on her tall 6" heel and strides back into her office. The silence is shattered again as the armored door crashes shut.

The stunned pilots all look at one another, aghast.

And then a froggish whisper floats through the air.

"Perhaps it was Bremerhaven?"

... Cry "ribbit" and let slip the frogs of war!

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

_ Area: WBwingless
Msg#: 39249 Date: 09-22-97 11:27
From: Toad To: ** All **
Subj: It's Glen's Turn

"Hey Toad!" Debbie calls out across the crowded room as the big mutant amphibian walks through the front door of the Wingless.

Toad looks over and waves. "Hi Debs!"

The buxom bargirl waves Toad back toward the bar. "Hey, the mail clerk dropped off a package for ya!"

Toad pushes through the crowd, his big eyes glowing as he sees the big package Debbie is holding up.

"Oh frabjuous joy!" he thinks to himself. "It's here!"

Grabbing the package, Toad quickly slices with his razor-sharp claws through the string that secures the brown paper, revealing a long heavy cardboard box. Ripping that open, Toad pulls out a big shiny guitar .. a 12-string guitar!

"Oooooooo!" The other pilots at the bar marvel at the beautiful new instrument.

"Does this mean you won't be playing that damned banjo any more, Toad?" one of the Golds asks.

Toad ignores the snide remark. He'd be the first to admit he hasn't much of a singing voice .. and it's true he has a tin ear .. and he never did really get the hang of exactly what a "chord" was ...

But his banjo playing certainly never lacked enthusiasm! Much like his harmonica playing when the other pilots asked him (once) (just once) to accompany them as they sang his famous "Low-E Blues".

"Man, I've been waiting for this!" Toad's eyes gleam as he admires his new instrument. "This kid from Arkansas was starting to sketch out a song and asked me for some help, something about a telephone repairman or some such. I told him nobody was gonna listen to a song about a telephone repairman, and he got mad and left. But I gotta admit the melody was kinda nice. And he said I had to lose the banjo, though, it wouldn't sound right without a 12-string guitar."

Toad beams proudly at his new instrument. "So I sent off and got this one to go with the song I wrote! Ain't she purty?"

"Yep, she sure is, Toad." Several of the Warbirds pilots at the bar start to look apprehensively at one another. "This doesn't mean you're gonna sing, does it, Toad?"

Toad loosens the broomstick Mauser in his shoulder holster.

"You guys wouldn't be thinking of leaving now, would ya?"

And then, without a moment's hesitation (and before anyone can find a good excuse to run for cover), the big amphibian strums a series of elegant licks on the broad-necked guitar, suckered fingers easily covering four or six strings at once as his other hand's claws madly pluck away. Ignoring the boing and spang as tightly wound steel strings break under his sharp claws, Toad bursts into song, in a deep booming monotone voice.

Glasses shatter along the back of the bar as Toad's voice swoops upward, ever upward, through two, four, eight octaves, into the most amazing (and unexpected) falsetto. Adding her own soprano scream of pain to the uproar, Debbie covers her ears and dives for the wine cellar.

Toad's claws disappear in a blur, flashing as they pick ever more elaborate rhythms on the 12-string. Lost in the harmonies that resound in his head, tone-deaf and oblivious that they don't in the least resemble what's coming out of his throat, the amphibian bellows on, evoking echoes of far distant Mesozoic Era forests and swamps, blissfully ignoring the flakes of varnish and chips of inlaid ivory that scatter across his knees.

The glass covering the large Rubenesque painting behind the bar explodes, spraying razor-sharp shards across the bar. The slower of the drinkers are dragged to cover and some of the kindlier pilots begin to administer first aid. But the enthusiastic singer launches into yet another verse.

A rat falls from the rafters and bounces from the polished surface of the bar. Stone dead, its little brain homogenized by the ultrasonic vibrations of the incredible falsetto notes, its feet still twitch with lingering reflex action. A normally unshakable Green, a Finn, stares at the dead rodent and wonders about the state of his own internal organs. Then he shrugs and takes another long slug of Flakpanzer Juice.

With only two strings left, the guitar accompaniment now leaves something to be desired .. but Toad presses on, unmusical, undeterred, as he launches into yet another wondrously unique verse.

Outside the little cafe a series of painful howls fades in the distance. The WarDawg Squadron had parked their P-39's outside and were approaching the Wingless Cafe, with visions of dawg dishes full of Chevas and milk dancing in their canine brains .. but the piercing falsetto of Toad in full cry has sent the whole pack scrambling for cover in the distant jungle.

The emergency radio frequencies fill with warnings, and red flares soar into the sky.

hq: Go around, go around! Toad is singing!
hq: Wingless Strip is closed, you do NOT want to land here!

Approaching fighters hastily raise gear and firewall throttles (to the great relief of some Red pilots who were quite anxious about this whole "landing" business in any case). Even with bingo fuel, some pilots would rather take their chances ditching with the Great Whites than land within earshot of the untuneful amphibian.

A chorus of agonizing screams accompany Toad's falsetto crescendo as the cafe customers feel their molars starting to crystalize.

[KA-BOOM!]

The fat-bodied guitar explodes into a thousand needle-sharp splinters as a .600 Double Nitro Express fires its heavy charges across the cafe.

As the blast dies away, the air in the Wingless is strangely silent, the virtual world adjusting to the sudden absence of Toad's voice and the screams of agony from the formerly contented drinkers.

"Toad!" The soft melodious voice of the world's most famous and well-loved proprietress .. well, respected anyway. Well, for sure feared. Anyway, it's Lady Hawke. (But then you knew that, didn't you, Dear Reader?)

Toad pulls himself back from whatever strange place his song and the muses had taken him to. Dazed, he looks down. His beautiful 12-string guitar is completely gone, only the last few inches of its neck still clasped in his left hand, shiny silver strings coiling and waving in the air. Dozens of splinters are harmlessly imbedded in the front of his leather flying jacket.

"Toad .. were you singing again?"

Toad sheepishly nods. "Well, yes, Lady Hawke .. but it was such a lovely song, really it was."

"What did I tell you about singing, Toad?"

Toad's face falls. "I know .. 'in the dungeon of Castle Anthrax, or at ten thousand feet beyond the sight of land .. or in the Caldera .. or at the ICI secret airfield, because they deserve it' .."

He turns pleading eyes towards the dominating proprietress. "But but but but ... it was such a lovely song .. and it didn't have _anything_ about telephone repairmen either!"

"No more songs!" The dominating proprietress's toe tap can clearly be heard in the dead quiet air of the cafe.

Toad's shoulders slump and his head sags. "Poor Toad," he mutters. "Unloved Toad, Unappreciated Toad."

Even the stern Lady Hawke's heart is softened by the big amphibian's dejected appearance.

"However .."

Toad looks back at her, tears welling in his big goggle eyes.

"If you write any more songs, and you want us to hear them .. well, you'll just have to find someone _else_ to sing them for you, understand!"

Toad nods eagerly. "Oh yes, Lady Hawke, I can do that. No more singing, all right, I promise. I'll just have someone _else_ sing. Yes, a most excellent idea. I can write and they can sing. Oh, a _most_ wonderful idea!"

Whipping out his Cartier fountain pen, Toad begins madly writing on a torn bar napkin. "Yessssssss, preciousssssss .. a song someone _else_ can sing ... yesssss .. maybe something like ..."

A Red cautiously peers over the big amphibian's shoulder at the words Toad is hastily scribbling down on the napkin.

The Red shrugs. For just an instant an image of a giant plant had come to mind .. but that's silly.

"Debbie! Where _is_ that worthless woman? I swear, one just can't get decent help these days." The .600 Nitro tucked under her arm, Lady Hawke walks around the end of the bar, her high heeled boots crunching on the scattered shards of glass.

Debbie's blonde head shows above the floor as she cautiously climbs up the steps from the wine cellar.

"Uhhh .. I was just getting some new glasses, Lady Hawke."

"Well clean this mess up. Honestly .. Oh .. and get rid of that rat!"

... The louder the music, the better the code.

-----------

_ Area: WBwingless
Msg#: 39523 Date: 09-27-97 07:34
From: Jedi01 To: ** All **
Subj: Poetry in Motion

...ahem. The first in a (possibly very short) series of Warbirds ballads. Taught to me by my Mama and Papa before we moved to California. Written to be sung by Toad or Telly Savalas.

--------

_ Area: WBwingless
Msg#: 39526 Date: 09-27-97 09:27
From: Jedi01 To: ** All **
Subj: Poetry in Motion, part deux

...was watching some beatles in the garden, moving objects much too large for their tiny bodies, and I began to think of other seemingly magical things, and this popped into my head:

;-) jedi (not quittin my day job any time soon)

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

_ Area: WBwingless
Msg#: 39745 Date: 09-30-97 22:00
From: Jedi01 To: Toad
Subj: Poetry in Motion, part de

TO> Mi> Now look who's writing poetry :)
TO> Mi> Perhaps you'd like to join me for a cup of red zinger sometime....
TO> Mi> Miila

TO> JE>We'll get you a brand new plane, my friend, if it'll help you kill
TO> JE>tonight.
TO> JE>Just take up any plane, my friend, but you've got to do it right.
TO> JE>'Cuz I don't care too-oo much for Lightnings;
TO> JE>The Lightning ain't got no drag!

TO>Yes, ain't it wunnerful?! Was almost tempted to get down the
TO>old banjo and burst into song .. but [looks around nervously]
TO>well, you know ..

TO>A toad's gotta be careful about where he sings these days.

TO>Red zinger .. I'm afraid to ask.

TO>Toad

TO>... Stop that! Stop that! You're not going into a song while I'm here!

Ahhh, shoot. I can't resist. Some Canadian guys in an anarcho-synchronous commune taught me this one. At least they said they were Canadians. Sounded foreign anyway.

N Jedi N
hmmm. Is that a cat I hear screaming? My wife perhaps. Everybody's a critic. Sheesh.

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

From - Wed Oct 08 19:33:10 1997
To: KirschD
From: RCOLLIN7@email.usps.gov (Jokr)
Date: 8 Oct 97 16:54:42 -0500
Subject: A song!

Ho there good gollum. I was dredging through some old email, and also reviewing your combined zip files of BBS messages, and chanced upon this 'song' that I warped last Christmas. Comments from the CO are at the bottom; doctor's comments have been erased.

LOL!!!

I'll send this one out to the rest of the boys along with the night before Christmas : )

LoOn was quoting this thing ad nauseum last night...had me howling!!

Thanks for the cheer Jokr! and Merry Christmas to your fine self.

Prop

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

_ Area: WBwingless
Msg#: 41808 Date: 12-01-97 18:51
From: Toad To: ** All **
Subj: Moose's Song

[alt.games.warbirds
Wunnerful, absolutely wunnerful!
]

Subj: A little WB song...

Posted by: Moose *Flying Pigs*
Date: 22 Nov 97

I have no idea what possessed me to do this, but a couple of days ago I thought this up while getting ready for work. Maybe they're not giving me enough to do at the office? :)

(to the tune of "Sympathy for the Devil")

:)

Moose
Flying Pigs

* Oink! Oink! To War (or Christmas)!!

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

[ alt.games.warbirds ]

Subject: Dora Dweeb, and an apology to john lennon & paul mccartney ;-D
Posted by: ik
Date: January 06, 1998 at 22:42:08

ik

(gets in a dora to run away from flames)

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

From: Toad
Newsgroups: warbirds.general
Subject: Toad's Cruel War (A Song)
Date: Wed, 21 Jan 1998 20:29:46 -0400
Organization: Toad Hall

Toad's Cruel War

[plink][plink]
[Looks carefully around to be sure Lady Hawke isn't in earshot]

Ahem .. [ribbbbt]

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

[ alt.games.warbirds ]
Subject: Re: *music* I'm in a Hurricane, an I'mmm O.K. *music*
Posted by: Toad
Date: January 21, 1998 at 21:19:07
Original Posted by: Dekker *401 Rams*

: "I'm in a Hurricane, an I'mmm OOKKKK."

Must .. Restrain .. Banjo .. Of .. Death ...

And then we'd siiiiiiing!

Toad
(d&r)

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

From: gunsnake@datasync.com (Gunsnake)
Newsgroups: warbirds.general
Subject: "Come the Dawn" (or "The Morning After")
Date: Sat, 28 Feb 1998 03:38:46 GMT

On Sat, 28 Feb 1998 03:28:47 GMT, gunsnake@datasync.com (Gunsnake) wrote:

>Any interest in starting a Wingless Cafe Group?

Ed. Note: The following was sent to me by Maj. Waxx (-waxx-) our Squadron Historian and all round good guy. He kindly gave his permission to post it to the Warbird Community. Also, the ladies mentioned in the story are wives and girlfriends of our Squad Members...I'll let you figure out who's is who's

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

The morning sun is reflecting off the white coral airstrip, brightly enough to hurt the eyes of anyone foolish enough to look.

[WAXX, shuffling through a mound of steel beer cans at the front of the tent] Clink,clink,klank,rattle [thinks: Man, if I didn't hafta whizz there's no way I'd be wadin' knee deep through these to get to the Head,... hmm, I wonder where MESS' helmet is] [discovers MESS the hard way, buried beneath the beer cans, half in and half out of the tent.] [stubs toe on MESS' recumbent seabag like corpus] Ouch !

[MESS, squints in the morning glare, evidently the top half is the half outside the tent] Hey, what'd ya go and kick me for !

(WAXX) Hey, lucky for you and me, the runway's still cratered from 'CUDA's air raid yesterday or we'd hafta fly today. [WAXX trips over tent rope] Hmm, who put that there since yesterday.

C'mon Buddy, time to get up [WAXX notices MESS is alternating shades of green and white] C'mon Buddy, let's stand you up, you wanna throw up inside the tent, or outside ?

(MESS) BOTH, I think.

(WAXX) I'm gonna round up WAPS and FOX, when you get your shit together, organize a detail to fill the holes in that cratered runway so's that USO tour has got someplace to land this afternoon. [shakes MESS awake] Hey, you in there, Buddy ? Remember, No Runway, No USO show, No USO show, NO GIRLS ! [MESS snaps to full consiousness]

(MESS) YEAH, RIGHT ! Geez, I almost forgot. [pulls land crab out of his dungaree pocket] I hate these things, they get in everything.

(WAXX) OK, I'm off to find DOBS, he's prolly out on the reef fishin' for God knows what in that ersatz ChrisCraft he cobbled together (DOBS, being a true "Renaissance Man" fashioned his run-a-bout out of drop tanks and a washing machine motor, only to be outdone by KDX's motor scooter fabricated from F4U main gear, a motor stolen from the mess tent's refridgeration plant, and fueled by fermented coconut milk !)

[WAXX, enters the XO's office] Good Mornin' GUNSNAKE Sir, ole' Buddy ole' Pal ! Is the Boss in ?

[GUNSNAKE, sitting, elbows on desk, face propped in his hands] [groans ... peeks between fingers]

(GUNSNAKE) [slow drawl] Yyyeah, PAPPY's up, but when he sees what you and WAPS did to his plane you're gonna wish your mother and father had never met.

(WAXX) Hey, it seemed like a good idea at the time ! With the runway cratered we figured if we could just replace the main gear with floats it'd solve the situation. Problem was we couldn't find anything to use for the floats, DOBS has used up all the spare drop tanks, for that fishing fleet of his, and after a couple o' beers we figured a ski plane would work as good as a sea plane, and one thing lead to another, and well, y'know, how were we to know Marsden matting wouldn't work for skis, and like I say, after a couple o' beers, we figured we oughta try it out, ... I still think it woulda worked, if we'd gotten up to speed a little faster. Well anyway, DOBS says he can use it as an artificial reef in the lagoon.

(GUNSNAKE) Tell ya what, you better make good on that USO show, or you'll be the new coast watcher on Pago Pago.

(WAXX) Rog that, I've already got the lads fillin' in the craters and DOBS is decoratin' the stage, I just hope he doesn't use those blow fish tiki torches like he did last time. AXXX and CAESAR have made a request to sit in with the USO band tonight. [thinks: Spike Jones should have help like these guys] and MESS says he's musically inclined, but he won't say how. I told them it was up to the band whether they sat in or not. I'm gonna make myself scarce until that plane load o' "Gams" hits the deck this afternoon, if PAPPY's lookin' for me, tell him I'm collecting land crabs for a clambake.

[As the USO R4D rolls to a stop Jerry Colona (the "Mad Russian") pokes his head out] How DO you Doooooo ! [Mel Blanc pushes Jerry aside and hops out of the a/c] What's Up, Doc ?

(GAZE) Welcome Aboard, folks, I can't tell you how pleased we are to have you with us. The XO and most of the rest of the fellas send their greetings and they'll be along presently, they're busy fishing one of our F4U's out of the lagoon just now.

(GUNS) Here, let me help you with those bags.

(SMOKE) Yousa ! You take the blond, I'll take the brunette ! [notices the bevy of beauties still in the aircraft]

(GUNS) Don't mind him, Ladies, he's gone a little "Asiatic". We'll get you settled in so you can relax before your show, the chow hall is open, but stay away from the "Land Crab Surprise" WAXX is cooking !

[BESS, Karen, Angela and Rene' debark and head in the direction of their accomodations]

(BESS) You're gonna want to watch these guys, they've been on this Island a Long, looong time ! [deftly dodges SMOKE's attempt to pinch thigh] See what I mean :-)

----] Insert Plot Device Here [----

(Later that Night)

[The Officers and Men of VMF-214 are seated on the chow hall benches attending the stage, with tent flaps closed for "blackout" ]

(WAXX) Damn, it's hot in here. We shoulda set this up outside 'cept night falls around here, like an F4U glides, and it's too damn sweltering during daylight. [wipes sweat from brow with MESS' field scarf]

(MESS) Hey, gimme that ! [MESS re-straightens his tie] Y'know, it's hot in here, but it ain't the heat, it's the humidity. [thinks: It ain't the humidity, it's the Gals !]

[BESS, bounds on stage] Hiya Boys !

[VMF-214 rises to their feet as one, stomping feet, whistling wolf calls]

(BESS) Hey ! Do I know you Guys ??

[VMF-214 roars approval]

(BESS) Well allright then, let's start the Show ! Here's a little number we call "The Boogie Woogie Fly-Boy From Mobile, You See !"

[MESS, sitting in as honorary band leader][in his best Lawrence Welk impression] Uh One-Ah, Uh Two-Ah, ... [band rolls eyes and AXXX and CAESAR eye their trumpets like string musicians handed a baseball glove and told to make music with it]

[Angela, Karen and Rene', in close harmony]

[girls take a bow in unison]
[VMF-214 yowls their approval] [MESS howling like a wolf] Arrooooooooo !

(BESS) Glad you liked it, Oh Look ! There goes Haley's Comet [points] [while VMF-214 vainly looks for the Comet through the tent, the USO show makes a mad dash for their aircraft, one step ahead of the wolves]

(PAPPY) Now look what you guys went and did, ya scared 'em off !!

[as the USO aircraft lifts off the moonlit coral strip, Angela drops hankie to DOBS]

(Angela) I loved your blowfish Tiki Torches :-)

FIN

WAXX off

Gunsnake -out- ;)

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

[ alt.games.warbirds ]
Subject: Possible WB's Theme song
Posted by: Firefox ( VMF-214 )
Date: March 06, 1998 at 13:52:18

Playing around I came up with this. What ya think (Be Gentle)

To the tune of tubthumper ( ya know the chumbawumba song)

Rick "Firefox" Scott
VMF-214 2nd LT
WB ID: firefx

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

Subject: Re: Toad Toys
Posted by: Toad
Posted on: 15:44:07 4/08/98
In Reply to: Toad Toys
Posted by: Bino (II./JG54) on 11:24:12 4/08/98

: Don't forget about marketing all the different action figures for the kiddies: Torpedo Toad, Rocket Toad, Jet Toad, BUFF Toad, Fighter Puke Toad, Sensitive Artiste Balladeer Toad... and all the planes and accessories (sold separately): leather helmet, ME-163 Komet, goggles, B5N Kate (with 2 x 20mm Otto), gauntlets, D3A Val, boots, jhodpurs, broom-handle Mauser, guitar... one can almost hear the double eagles cascading into the coffers of Toad Hall!

: ;-)

: bino--

Marketing! Oh my goodness, how could I ever have forgotten?

You are absolutely right, bino, clever bino, genius bino!

All the top-end stuff in Toys-R-Us (with side deals with Schuco and Tamiya, of course) .. and the little trinkets in McDonalds (once the Disney animated special is locked in) ..

Man, I wonder what the Disney gang could do with LadyHawke and Debbie! Or maybe we should let Marvel Comics do the work, eh?

Now if I can only figure a way to get Elvira and Xena Warrior Princess as my sidekicks!

And then the sound track! With my wonderful solo songs, with banjo / 12-string duet of course!

[plink][plunk][plink]

[plink][plunk][plinkataplinkataplink!][twang!]

No .. not quite right .. something better than explode ...

Hollywood Toad

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Posted by: epee
Posted on: 18:21:53 5/07/98
Subject: Apologies to Warren Zevon....

(repeat chorus)

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Posted by: Jokr
Posted on: 17:39:04 5/12/98
Subject: A song for our troubled times

Must.. try .. to.. not be.. silly... grrrr.
Otto... buffer... angst... ahhhhhh!!

And with a twinkling of sawdust and a flash of something highly bad to inhale, Jokr appeared on the nearly deserted Wingless cafe stage. He quickly set up the drum machine, and tuned up the airless 2000 guitar. The familiar beat of an old song soon began to waft through the air.

He grabbed the microphone without pity, and said in a hushed whisper: "This is for all you buffers out there; I feel for you, but its kinda funny, if you look at it this way.."

The proprietess, Ladyhawke, stepped out of her office, double barreled black express striking a perfect picture of doom for any idiot who would appear in the Wingless at 5 p.m. on a weekday. But before she could open her mouth, the pilot known as Jokr let rip his song.

Ladyhawke looked at the smiling idiot, having gotten that horrible medley finally out of his system. She closed the door, and sank into the black leather armchair, holding her head in her hands. What else could she do?

gd&r real fast now
Jokr

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Subject: Song from the Wingless: Sweet Devotion (long)
Posted by: Jokr
Posted on: 17:32:00 8/05/98

The Wingless cafe had had better, and worse, nights than this one that was about to happen. Many an airman paused as they spied a large, boxy gray shape that was parked beside the Wingless, and the oddly pulsing hoses, or were they wires? that snaked into the Wingless from the attic opening.

As more pilots paused to watch, the grey box parted, and an older looking gentleman with a trim mustache and many many beers under his belt emerged from the gray shape. Toad, leaning against a defunct 88mm field cannon, noticed that the enscription on the shuttle read 'USS Enterprise Copernicus'

His eyes widened a bit, and he struck at a nearby giant mosquito for a lite snack. To his surprise, and those around him, he missed. Carefully retracting his tongue, Toad watched as the man approached several of the local, more adequately trained mechanics, and spoke in urgent tones.

"I dinna kin if the, um, tavern can handle it! Are you sure lad?"

"Scott, just do it! These guys are used to load and explosive noises. And maybe the place needs a bit of -redecorating-. I mean, the KI43 from the roof is nice, but its just a bit old, been there for nearly a year now."

The chunky engineer nodded, and began to snake the cables through the burnt opening in the Wingless' wall. A fellow inside, dressed in way too neat yellow and black fatigues, pulled them through from the other side.

Toad headed over to the second figure; as he suspected, it was Jokr.

"What's up clown?"

Jokr smiled, from ear to ear as usual, and tucked the small calculator shaped pad into his side pants pocket. "Toad old boy! How's the killer val pilot doing?" He held out his hand, showing it palm side up first; no joy buzzer. They shook hands, and Toad eyed the grinning pilot carefully.

"I can't help but notice that you've imported some help for the evenings festivities. I guess they're from out of town?"

"Aren't we all, in some manner of speaking, good big Toad? Say, why don't you give me a hand here. Oh, just an aside; I heard that toads have wonderful hearing!"

"Too true, happy one. One of the many distinct advantages that I suffer from."

"Hmmmm. Well, just to prevent any harshness, you may wish to sit in back a ways."

----

Several hours later, at the semi inpromptu musical gathering, after having worked over the earlier songs from the assorted song book, Jokr bounced up to stage, with a large remote control in one hand, and the small pad in the other.

"Now now, no need for hard feelings boys..." he addressed several members of the gathering who were already wearing gas masks "this one isn't going to be a 'blow out' so to speak, and don't say that I didn't warn you with all the references to 'stinky' and 'pepper spray'.

"Assorted friends, foes and country men, we have a very nice treat for you tonight. I have managed to persuade those two darlings of the bar, Ms. Ladyhawke and Debbie to accompany me on this, rendition, of a very wonderful song from a time back. They'll be here in a second or three."

In fact, as he spoke, Debbie stepped out from a small dressing room behind the stage, her youthful, buxom figure in clean dress fatigues, complete with a pure white silk scarf tied around her neck, and plunging dramatically - down into her equally dramatic cleavage. But ladyhawke was nowhere to be seen, as of yet.

"Just let me pull apart the magic curtain, and all will be revealed", Jokr cackled as the curtains parted and several other generic band members were revealed. A white screen, that Debs stood in front of, adjusting the microphone stand, was on the left. A conspicuous large blank spot was on the right side of the stage, with another solid white screen.

The band began warming up, and then on a decisive down stroke from the lead guitar player, launched into the melody.

Came from the silken throats of Debs and the still unseen Ladyhawke. Debbie started dancing in front of her screen, and playing with her leather jacket around her waist.

Jokr grabbed the mike, and started out on the lyrics, as the room darkened and projector images started to wash over Debs and the two white screens.

From the right side of the stage, a form appeared, being lowered down into the projector path. Completely unexpected, but most welcome to the mostly male audience of the Wingless, Ladyhawke was inside a dancing cage, replete in wonderfully firm black leather leggings, slightly tight shorts, and a titillating black leather blouse that was definitely not G.I. issue. She danced, sans shotgun, inside the gleaming aluminum cage as the projectors showed gun film! A montage of fly bys, from the recent Pointblank missions, and some wonderfully executed kills on dead six.

Cooed the wonderfully curvacious duo, as they danced on. The projectors switched to extended dogfights, with an occassional well executed kill.

Debbie, getting fully into the spirit of the music, went over to Jokr, danced with him, and took the pad out of his hand. It was fairly simple; Up and Down. She pushed up, repeatedly.

Scotty looked up in alarm as the shuttle's warp core pushed up in its energy output. The pulsing energy flow quickened, and the shuttle was beginning to vibrate slightly in tune with the bass guitar.

"This dinna look so good..."

The montage of gun clips synchronized into a clip of PYRO on his way to work one day, caught by an intrepid low level P51 pass.

The guncam went suddenly dark, and a spinning movement developed. All the pilots knew this feeling; don't push your luck with IMOL, and don't buzz their HQ.

The techies were looking more than worried. The dilithium matrix was starting to run high, as Debbie, fairly unaware and caught up in the dancing, held her petite finger down on the Up button until it starting making tiny beeping noises, which were completely unheard due to the steadily increasing speaker output.

Jokr, enjoying the inceasing volume, merely turned up his hand free mike with a casual twist.

Flakpanzer and Deicer mixed in one dark hidden recess of the bar, only to form into something even worse and more tasty..

The shuttle started to spark and control panels exploded, as they always do, and across the field several important and not well stored fuel drums ruptured. The hanging lightbulbs held out for a while, but on one especially hard downstroke, burst apart and the gas was soon being cheerfully consumed, along with several parked F4u4s.

The KI43, absorbing increasing amounts of punishment, started to disintegrate. The licks coming off the guitars pulsed into ever surface of the Wingless, and the entire building pulsated with ohms. The stamping and whistling by the patrons at Debbies and Ladyhawkes provocative moving didn't help either, and things started to break. The main window fell outwards, and shattered into tiny bits as it hit a discarded 20mm cannon. The mugs, made specially to undure squad nights, were still made of glass. Those started to rupture. In the cellar, all the wine and 'soda' kept for the lighter drinkers built up pressure, and exploded out in a large series booms. These just added to the chaos, as their barrel bits hit and destroyed a huge amount of the liquor stock. With a final groan of defeat, the KI43 sagged down and unfortunately took a large chunk of the roof with it. Weakened by over two years of abuse, being shot at, and generally being home to pilots from around the world, it gave way, and dropped several feet.

With a final stroke, the song came to an end, and things got a bit less noisy. Ladyhawke came out of her dancing trance, and Debbie, who had been teasing some Green pilots unmercifully with her scarf, smiled and bowed deep and even more provacatively to the crowd.

Ladyhawke, keen to something being amiss, grabbed her Derringer and held it up to Jokr. "What's up?"

Jokr, being temporarily deafened, managed to grasp the look of concern on her lovely face. He looked up, and saw a few stars where the KI43's prop had been.

The crowd grew silent, knowing that someone was in real deep trouble.

"Ahem. Well, I have just a few things to say... first of all, it was a great song, so I'd like to follow up with just a tiny, and quiet, ditty."

He pointed to the hole in the roof:

With a faint look of hope, he smiled down the barrel of Ladyhawkes' Derringer, wondering just how mad she was....

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Subject: Mood Material: Contribution to the new Dawn of Aces
Posted by: Jokr
Posted on: 15:04:21 8/14/98

Well, I like songs, as some of you may know. I don't know that much about WWI, but the best thing I ever saw was a monologue on the now sadly defunct Space: Above and Beyond.

Anyway, I found this gem and thought that you all may enjoy it. Some of the 30 something crowd should remember hearing it; the teenies, probably not.

SO, here it is.

Salute to the Dawn of Aces, I hope to try it someday.

Jokr

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Subject: My first WB song (sung to Chicago's "Does anybody know what time it is?")
Posted by: Udie -900th- Bloody Jaguars
Posted on: 15:52:22 9/03/98

Hope you guys enjoy :)

Udie

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Subject: I know, one post a day...but this song is fun!
Posted by: Stiglr
Posted on: 17:16:07 9/08/98

Since I've been doing nothing but bitching the last few days, thought I'd add some levity to the proceedings...here's my reworking of an old classic Rock 'N Roll song twisted to the WB vocabulary..

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Subject: Moose's Love Song
Posted by: Toad
Posted on: 17:34:29 9/08/98

I found this out on the Web .. and of course it brought a certain Virginian moose to mind :-)

Sorry, haven't found the melody yet .. this one slipped by me somehow (although I can't imagine why!).

[sniff] .. it's just so romantic I can't stand it! And we should all insure our dear Moose sings this at the next Con! The only question now is to whom.

Toad
---

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Subject: Do They Miss Me (In The Fur-Ball)?
Posted by: -bmbm-, CO RSAF
Posted on: 19:45:05 9/30/98

Tired of strat? Flogged the flak-horse for sure? Done fiddling with the 'puter? Here's a sing-along for you dudes:

;-)
BB, out

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