Folks,

Dux:

For old time’s sake, and in deference to our missing pal SNAFU, I pulled for the underdog and subsequently the winning team, New York. Sadly for moi, I did not bet, however, I do understand that far too many totally disregarded the points spread and plunked their hard-earned cash down on the Pats to win. Do you folks get the big game on TV over there or was this from the BBC coverage? I believe there has been an inexplicable rise in interest over there in the UK regarding the American brand of football and also in our stock car racing. As for us sporting colonials, I like soccer. My grand kids play soccer. I have never quite understood the finer points of the slow paced game of cricket or the deadly physical game of rugby.

Welcome back Mad!

LOL. It is always a delight to have you walk, stagger, tumble, crawl or even be thrown in. Although it is a lot of fun typing away on this old thread daily and a real kick to see those counters chalking up more and more hits, nothing pleases us more than to have old chums stop by to have a pint of Pouritt & Sypp or a glass of Château Thames Embankment vin. yesterday, and to post a few choice words.

That old stove has been the scene of much friendly comradeship and more than a few tall tales have been traded by the chaps whilst we were huddled around it on those bitterly cold mornings. Unlike Dux, I seriously doubt that the 'wiskey' or 'whiskey' either way we spell it, is the same that you 'borrowed' from us so long ago. You are far too thirsty for that to be plausible. So, with that in mind, your story continues thusly through the bloodshot eyes of JRT:
---------------------------------------

JRT took a long sip of what seemed to his educated pallet to be a spirited concoction made from boiling old boots in turpentine and then wringing them out into a bucket half filled with grain alcohol and kerosene. Educated pallet or not, it burnt all the way down to his ingrown toenails and that felt mighty good on a frosty morning like this.

Just as he took another long sip of the deadly brew and but a tad before his past life could began to pass before his bloodshot eyes, Dux muttered something best not repeated in polite company and spat what appeared to be a rusty screw right onto the hot stove. There was a blinding flash and a loud ping as the metal object ricocheted off the blistering hot stove and flew across the room where it struck a rising Mad squarely between his eyes. That put him out again and he slumped to the floor with a groan.

"What the hell was that?", asked JRT. Dux looked a trifle green about the gills but there was still a tipsy smile on his face as he lowered his cup and replied, "Them idiots in the motor pool have been mixing jungle juice in the same galvanized tub they clean greasy aircraft parts in again!", he exclaimed. Then he took another deep swig and passed out cold. JRT looked down into his tin cup and noticed that the bottom was beginning to dissolve. Mad and Dux were both already out cold and JRT was not to be very far behind them.

Three days, and a pleasantly recuperative, alcohol-free, stay in the base infirmary later, JRT, Mad and Dux had all three firmly sworn off the devil booze for life. However, as they left by the back door of the infirmary and skipped down the worn, wooden steps; a cheerful Dux was heard to ask Mad if he knew where they might be able to get a drop of something tasty.... for medicinal purposes only. With an affirmative answer, all three pilots turned sharply to the right, and in lockstep, they headed across the parade ground toward the repair sheds and the busy motor pool.