Timmy RL Fake and Chairman of the Bored's blog: "Real Life"

This is pretty funny. Wanted to share it with my peeps. Just in case you need a laugh: Remember it takes a college degree to fly a plane, but only a high school diploma to fix one. Reassurance for those of us who fly routinely in our jobs. After every flight, Qantas pilots fill out a form, called a "gripe sheet," which tells mechanics about problems with the aircraft. The mechanics correct the problems, document their repairs on the form, and then pilots review the gripe sheets before the next flight. Never let it be said that ground crews lack a sense of humor. Here are some actual maintenance complaints submitted by Qantas' pilots (marked with a P) and the solutions recorded (marked with an S) by maintenance engineers. By the way, Qantas is the only major airline that has never, ever, had an accident. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ P: Left inside main tire almost needs replacement. S: Almost replaced left inside main tire. P: Test flight OK, except auto-land very rough. S: Auto-land not installed on this aircraft. P: Something loose in cockpit. S: Something tightened in cockpit. P: Dead bugs on windshield. S: Live bugs on back-order. P: Autopilot in altitude-hold mode produces a 200 feet per minute descent. S: Cannot reproduce problem on ground. P: Evidence of leak on right main landing gear. S: Evidence removed. P: DME volume unbelievably loud. S: DME volume set to more believable level. P: Friction locks cause throttle levers to stick. S: That's what friction locks are for. P: IFF inoperative in OFF mode. S: IFF always inoperative in OFF mode. P: Suspected crack in windshield. S: Suspect you're right. P: Number 3 engine missing. S: Engine found on right wing after brief search. P: Aircraft handles funny. (I love this one!) S: Aircraft warned to straighten up, fly right, and be serious. P: Target radar hums. S: Reprogrammed target radar with lyrics. P: Mouse in cockpit. S: Cat installed. And the best one for last.................. P: Noise coming from under instrument panel. Sounds like a midget pounding on something with a hammer. S: Took hammer away from midget

Ban Dihydrogen Monoxide! The Invisible Killer Dihydrogen monoxide is colorless, odorless, tasteless, and kills uncounted thousands of people every year. Most of these deaths are caused by accidental inhalation of DHMO, but the dangers of dihydrogen monoxide do not end there. Prolonged exposure to its solid form causes severe tissue damage. Symptoms of DHMO ingestion can include excessive sweating and urination, and possibly a bloated feeling, nausea, vomiting and body electrolyte imbalance. For those who have become dependent, DHMO withdrawal means certain death. Dihydrogen monoxide: is also known as hydroxyl acid, and is the major component of acid rain. contributes to the "greenhouse effect." may cause severe burns. contributes to the erosion of our natural landscape. accelerates corrosion and rusting of many metals. may cause electrical failures and decreased effectiveness of automobile brakes. has been found in excised tumors of terminal cancer patients. Contamination Is Reaching Epidemic Proportions! Quantities of dihydrogen monoxide have been found in almost every stream, lake, and reservoir in America today. But the pollution is global, and the contaminant has even been found in Antarctic ice. DHMO has caused millions of dollars of property damage in the midwest, and recently California. Despite the danger, dihydrogen monoxide is often used: as an industrial solvent and coolant. in nuclear power plants. in the production of styrofoam. as a fire retardant. in many forms of cruel animal research. in the distribution of pesticides. Even after washing, produce remains contaminated by this chemical. as an additive in certain "junk-foods" and other food products. Companies dump waste DHMO into rivers and the ocean, and nothing can be done to stop them because this practice is still legal. The impact on wildlife is extreme, and we cannot afford to ignore it any longer! The Horror Must Be Stopped! The American government has refused to ban the production, distribution, or use of this damaging chemical due to its "importance to the economic health of this nation." In fact, the navy and other military organizations are conducting experiments with DHMO, and designing multi-billion dollar devices to control and utilize it during warfare situations. Hundreds of military research facilities receive tons of it through a highly sophisticated underground distribution network. Many store large quantities for later use.

There’s something interesting and oddly noticeable about a group of men, who I have the privilege of being associated throughout my entire life. When one of us makes a mistake or are faced with a sudden and unpleasant event, we will clinch or teeth and through them say with a sneer, “Shit!” A close friend of mine who is not from my area noticed this and asked me why, saying, “I’ve seen you do it on several occasions and now I just noticed your friend do the exact same thing, almost like you were coached.” In fact, we were. Over the past few days, as the college football world mourned the passing of one of it’s most successful coaches, my heart has gone out to his players. Make no mistake; a significant part of them has been lost. For anyone who has not played sports, it’s very difficult to fully appreciate the player-coach relationship. I am very lucky to have been a part of such a society, made with such skill, dedication, and over such a period of time that I am branded forever. My golf buddies, including one who is a well respected coach in his own right, have noticed the brand and commented on it also. Anytime a former Lumberjack miss hits a ball, he will almost assuredly show his lineage. Countless times a day, from August to November, we heard the sneer, “Shit!” and responded with the determination of a salmon struggling to reach far upstream against strong currents. It doesn’t seem like the most socially acceptable expression of distain for a mistake, but it is nearly unstoppable. Our mold was cast from a mortar of mud, blood, and sweat, and cured over years on a field tucked between hills and a railroad track up a hollow of a small Appalachian town. We were shaped of our own free will and love of the game of football, and have ended up as family with bonds standing through all other influences our entire lives. These bonds grew stronger through generations, and were created through an entire gamut, respect, fear, sometimes loathing but never hating, and love for Coach West. These days we see him from time to time, now retired, and will address him as “Tom”, but make no mistake, the respect has only grown, fostered by those who have carried on the tradition after us. We still listen attentively, appreciate immensely, and then wear it with pride. I see my former teammates frequently; some almost daily at this point in my life. It is interesting that no mater our past differences, our other life history, or political or religious affiliation which is almost meaningless in comparison, we are brothers and treat each other as such. We hold the same ties also with those who played years before us and after us. For those of us lucky enough to have played for a great coach, you will never hear, “Did you play also? What year?” because we know. It does not mater if we were a bench warmer or all-state, we all share it equally and all carry the same extent of pride. Several years ago we stood on the field before our coach’s last game and hoisted him on our shoulders as cameras flashed and fans openly wept and cheered in recognition of his career. This football field of a single A school with a typical population of well under 300 students over the years was nearly shoulder to shoulder from end zone to end zone with former players, some with plane tickets in their pockets. It’s almost impossible to explain the effect, but you can see proof by testing the armor of most high school or college football players who have played under the tutelage a successful coach. After a loss, throw a seemingly justified criticism of their coach at them. You will rarely get an agreement, but instead will hear back, “We didn’t execute”. There is always an assumption of responsibility by the played in defense of the coach, no mater how understandable. I cannot think of a more admirable, yet seldom seen trait, in any person than that of assuming responsibility for one’s own actions. That might be the greatest gift a coach gives to his players. What a different world we would live in if each person were accountable for their actions!

Saturday night some friends and I went through a scenario that I remember going through as far back as grade school. Saturday night some of us played the Powerball, and it’s funny to think back to about 1970 when we would ask each other, “What would you do with $100?” All our answers were very similar – “I’d get me a minibike, and a BB gun, and spend the rest on baseball cards.” Maybe in 1970 you could have done just that, but we had no clue what $100 was and imagined it to be enough to make us really happy. Those aren’t bad dreams actually. All it would take to make us happy beyond our dreams would be to shoot some bottles, ride fast and get muddy, and sit with a flashlight at night trading Clemente for Vida Blue and Gene Tenace. So the scenario Saturday night was, “What would you do if you won tens of millions?” There was the fun stuff like trips and SUV’s, nicer houses, things like that, but then someone asked, “OK, but beyond all the fun stuff, how would you live? What would you do when you woke up in the morning, and where would you want to wake up?” Amazingly most of us said we would not see or want much change at all. When you get down to the basics of living, and the important things that you remember fondly in later years, those are the things that make you happiest. I know me, for example, even if I won tens of millions, I would still get online first thing every morning to see what comments my friends left me and have a few laughs. The town I live in still has some surviving mom and pop stores, like the one I was at earlier today where I bought stuff to make vegetable soup. I walk in and the owner says hi, and asks me if I golfed over the weekend and he remembers I was having trouble hitting irons. I am sure they have to work hard to compete with the Super Wal-Mart a few miles away, but never for me. I would much rather pay $1.50 there for a bag of carrots than $1.35 at some chain, even if I am down to my last few dollars. I’m going to carry some firewood in that I cut and split myself, which is not something I do just because it saves on my gas bill, but because I love doing it. I’d still go to my parent’s house on Thanksgiving Day no matter what I drove there or how it looked in their driveway, and I’d still bake something on my own to take. My daughter came in from college over the weekend and spent the night here. Nothing in the way of surroundings would have mattered. We still would have sat in the floor in front of the TV eating chips and playing Trivial Pursuit. It’s a gloomy day weather-wise here. There’s a heavy mist falling making it impossible to see the surrounding hills, and yes I would love to be further south golfing or even lying on a beach, but not every day or even most days. There’s just something very romantic about the rain or being snowed in sitting by a fire that I could never do without. When I think about it now, I have 90% of what I would have if I won the lottery, and that’s pretty damned nice. The trips and playthings will have to wait a while, is all.

I left a comment on a MUM today out of the goodness of my heart, because I like helping people out when I can. Turns out the advice wasn't appreciated. So I went to this "Playboy Bunny Rate my profile a 10 before adding"'s profile and tried to leave something like..."ok, that's cool, just trying to help" but it turns out you have to be a friend to leave any comment. She was qick to add a comment to my profile though, and I deleted it of course, then I looked back at the mum and it looks like she didn't want anyone's opinions - just the points! What a fucking loser! I thought rather than put out a bulletin on her sorry ass, a more constructive thing for me to do just send out a BIG THANK YOU to the people on my Friends list. Y'all are just freakin awesome! I've trimmed some bad choices off my list and added a dozen people this week and it's so much nicer. I got a diverse group of genuinely nice, talented, and respectful people that I have the pleasure of interacting with every day here in CT, and I want you all to know I appreciate all of you! Tim

What a great day today! It’s sunny, 74 degrees, no wind, just about perfect! I’ve always been fascinated by biochemistry and I think if I have the chance I’m going to go back to school, pick up a degree in biology and look into the biochemical effects of sunlight on the adult male. Here’s why: I went to the golf course today at 8 AM, while it was still 40 degrees out and there were already a dozen in my group of guys already there. Guys were getting out of their cars all with the same story – “I called off. It’s just too nice to work today.” We might need to look into the effects of gaseous mood enhancers also, as the more the sun brought out the aroma of the wet fall leaves, the more juvenile our behavior became. Twenty of us stood on the first tee, heckling each person as he teed off. Out on the course we told ribald jokes and anecdotes, yelled obscenities across fairways at each other, and even had a hickory nut fight. After play we sat on the porch of the clubhouse drinking beer and making fun of each other’s worst shots. One guy in our group is recovering from some eye surgery, and so we took the opportunity to surround the wiper blade area between the hood and windshield of his truck with several golf balls, and then watched and laughed as he drove off, scattering them all over the highway. If you think you have my group figured out, let me put this behavior in perspective for you. The group includes me, of course, 45 yr old goofy scientist, three other guys my age, a 50 yr old engineer, a 58 yr old WV state Senator, one 60 year old school teacher who put the golf balls on the truck, two retired school teachers both 62, and five guys over 70, one of which is 82 who hit me from 30 yards right in the ass with a hickory nut as I was…relieving myself behind a bush. I don’t know, but there has to be something in the aroma of the leaves, or the sun, or ok, maybe the beer.