To the President or whoever the heck is in charge of this BOC, I've got somethin' to settle with somebody! So you're telling me, here I've been freezin' my you know what off, flappin' around over enemy lines for over an hour, Archie aimed directly at me, I'm sure, dodging flocks of Albitrii, I get back to base and my head mechanic counted 35 holes in my kite, that's way too many and one came in way too close to what I was sitting on. So you're telling me that some desk jockey, up the chain of command who's never even heard an explosion, has lost my BOC application! Where is that no-good lout? So to heck with that, drinks are on me, I'm going to make up a batch of what I think I'll call Rattlesnake-sting, since I'm the only Yank in this here squadron, and being from New Mexico USA, I've done some serious and absolutely outside international law border crossings to be able to acquire a much needed addition to Rattlesnake-sting, loading this batch up with tequila, what we call water down here, we'll see how you fellas' like it! Drinks on me, and when I catch up to that lazy-assed desk jockey I'll give him an Out-west howdy he won't likely forget! Not too much on your lingo over here, but can you be barmier than barmy? There was this time. . . . Oh well, drinks on me and send me two pins and I'll probably send a check via usmail. Steve