Birthday Happy Birthday Gulfstream!
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It's his birthday. Happy Fookin Birthday Gulfstream.
I first met the bastard at a bar (hey this story could just as well be about a boat captain).
There I am, sitting at the local FBO, waiting for them to gas up my Mooney; in walks a Gulfstream pilot. He’s wearing a Lacoste t-shirt, camouflage cargo shorts, Birkenstocks, and a shiny new pair of aviator Ray Bans. He calls all the women working at the FBO “Sweetheart” or “Sugar”. He is the definition of “Douche Nozzle”. You hate him with all your heart.
He leaves his glasses on, even though the sun just set. He interjects a casual “Giggity” into every other sentence. He reeks of cigarettes and mouthwash. He starts out the conversation with; “Hey, Weinstein is just unappreciated in his time”, before letting out a resounding laugh, and an attempt to slap the ass of the nearest female. He is the gut wrenching hate that everyone feels for a great big Doucher.
The lady behind the desk looks to you for help. You are reminded of Marty McFly, and the time Biff was being too handsy with his mom. God, Back to the Future was a great movie. You clench your fist into a great big ball of rage. You contemplate saying something, but refrain. Not because you’re a little bitch…but because when you wrestle with a pig, all you do is get dirty.
In walks a Skyhawk pilot. Ohh God, this poor guy doesn’t even know what’s about to happen. It’s now, at this moment, that the Gulfstream guy goes full Douche. “Hey little buddy, how are things down at three thousand?” as he lets out a chuckle and looks to anyone for acceptance. “What’d you get that big bad skyhawk up to??? A hundred knots?” he says as he completely loses it laughing. He then goes up to the low time pilot and puts him in a headlock and roughs up his air. He senses that the little guy isn’t too happy about being played with like a rag doll. “Aww, come on…don’t be so sensitive. I’m just messing with ya” he says. The lady behind the desk seizes the opportunity to duck out the back door. She’s too slow. “Hey sweetness, where are you going?” he asks her as he grabs her wrist. “Ohh, nowhere. I mean, I was just gonna go out for a smoke.” she hesitantly says. “Great! I’ll join you. I’m jonesin’ for a puff” he says. As he walks her to the back door, he looks at me, and winks.
As they they leave, he slams the door shut. I look around the room. There are a couple of FBO employees that could help. Who am I kidding? They’re scared. They’re just happy it isn’t them. I look over at the skyhawk guy. He’s working him comb-over back to its original resting place on his big bald head. Subtly tucking in his shirt from where it came out during the commotion. Is there no one else? There has to be someone else that can be the hero? I take a deep breath and stand up. “It’s gotta be me”, I say out loud, in my own head. The others look up, and stare at me in awe. “Finally someone is gonna stand up to that guy” they probably say to themselves.
I begin the long walk towards the back door. What am I gonna say? “Hey Gulfstream Guy…take your damn hands off her”? Nah, that’s too much like George McFly. “Hey Siri, remind me to watch Back to the Future later”. “You got it. I will remind you to watch Back to the Future later”. Thanks Siri, now it’s time to go kick some ass. I open the door…not slowly like a little pussy, but not too hard…I mean if that lady is standing near the door, I don’t want to hurt her. As I open the door I hear the Douche; “I mean at first I was worried that it was ball cancer or something, but after a couple of weeks I realized it was just an ingrown hair”. I round the door and see the lady smoking a cigarette, and the Douche standing awkwardly close to her. “What’s up chief?”, he says to me. I look at her. Her eyes scream “Get me away from this guy”.
I first met the bastard at a bar (hey this story could just as well be about a boat captain).
There I am, sitting at the local FBO, waiting for them to gas up my Mooney; in walks a Gulfstream pilot. He’s wearing a Lacoste t-shirt, camouflage cargo shorts, Birkenstocks, and a shiny new pair of aviator Ray Bans. He calls all the women working at the FBO “Sweetheart” or “Sugar”. He is the definition of “Douche Nozzle”. You hate him with all your heart.
He leaves his glasses on, even though the sun just set. He interjects a casual “Giggity” into every other sentence. He reeks of cigarettes and mouthwash. He starts out the conversation with; “Hey, Weinstein is just unappreciated in his time”, before letting out a resounding laugh, and an attempt to slap the ass of the nearest female. He is the gut wrenching hate that everyone feels for a great big Doucher.
The lady behind the desk looks to you for help. You are reminded of Marty McFly, and the time Biff was being too handsy with his mom. God, Back to the Future was a great movie. You clench your fist into a great big ball of rage. You contemplate saying something, but refrain. Not because you’re a little bitch…but because when you wrestle with a pig, all you do is get dirty.
In walks a Skyhawk pilot. Ohh God, this poor guy doesn’t even know what’s about to happen. It’s now, at this moment, that the Gulfstream guy goes full Douche. “Hey little buddy, how are things down at three thousand?” as he lets out a chuckle and looks to anyone for acceptance. “What’d you get that big bad skyhawk up to??? A hundred knots?” he says as he completely loses it laughing. He then goes up to the low time pilot and puts him in a headlock and roughs up his air. He senses that the little guy isn’t too happy about being played with like a rag doll. “Aww, come on…don’t be so sensitive. I’m just messing with ya” he says. The lady behind the desk seizes the opportunity to duck out the back door. She’s too slow. “Hey sweetness, where are you going?” he asks her as he grabs her wrist. “Ohh, nowhere. I mean, I was just gonna go out for a smoke.” she hesitantly says. “Great! I’ll join you. I’m jonesin’ for a puff” he says. As he walks her to the back door, he looks at me, and winks.
As they they leave, he slams the door shut. I look around the room. There are a couple of FBO employees that could help. Who am I kidding? They’re scared. They’re just happy it isn’t them. I look over at the skyhawk guy. He’s working him comb-over back to its original resting place on his big bald head. Subtly tucking in his shirt from where it came out during the commotion. Is there no one else? There has to be someone else that can be the hero? I take a deep breath and stand up. “It’s gotta be me”, I say out loud, in my own head. The others look up, and stare at me in awe. “Finally someone is gonna stand up to that guy” they probably say to themselves.
I begin the long walk towards the back door. What am I gonna say? “Hey Gulfstream Guy…take your damn hands off her”? Nah, that’s too much like George McFly. “Hey Siri, remind me to watch Back to the Future later”. “You got it. I will remind you to watch Back to the Future later”. Thanks Siri, now it’s time to go kick some ass. I open the door…not slowly like a little pussy, but not too hard…I mean if that lady is standing near the door, I don’t want to hurt her. As I open the door I hear the Douche; “I mean at first I was worried that it was ball cancer or something, but after a couple of weeks I realized it was just an ingrown hair”. I round the door and see the lady smoking a cigarette, and the Douche standing awkwardly close to her. “What’s up chief?”, he says to me. I look at her. Her eyes scream “Get me away from this guy”.
- Jun 11, 2014
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So, I say to the guy; “Look man, you’re being a real creep. Can you just tone it down?”. No sooner do the words leave my mouth, the lady hits King Douche over the head with a brick. “Ohh my God. What the hell are you doing?” I say to her. She looks shocked at my question. “I thought you were about to make a move. I was trying to back you up.” she says. I kneel down by his lifeless body; “Man he doesn’t look so good. I think you ****ing killed him”. “Ohh damn, not again!” she says. “Again?” I ask. “Nothing. I mean, I haven’t ever killed anyone before is what I mean”, she says. “No, what the hell did you mean by “AGAIN”? What the heck have I gotten myself into?”. “Let’s just leave it all in the past. We have to get rid of the body.”, she says as she grabs his feet. “Come on, grab his arms. We’ll move the body over there, behind that shed. No one goes over there. Later tonight, we’ll come back and move it someplace else”. I grab his hands and start to do as she says. I suddenly stop, and drop the body; “Wait! Why are we moving the body? Why do we have to get rid of it? Can’t we just tell the police that he was assaulting you or something?”. “Yeah, great plan. They got forensic **** man. They can tell that he was struck from behind. It’ll look like you and I murdered him, which is basically what happened”. “No, not basically…It’s WHAT ****ING HAPPENED!”, I say. “Look dude, you’re still living in the past. The past has no future. Let’s get this guy out of sight, and we can talk more about it”. I hesitantly agree. With each moment that passes, I strangely become more comfortable with this reality.
We get the body hidden between some bushes, and the old work shed. My shirt is drenched in sweat. She’s completely calm. No sweat, and not a hair on her head is out of place. She’s stoic, and in a strange way, looking kind of hot. I mean, I should hate her. It’s because of her that I’m most likely going to prison, but I gotta say…all the action has got me kinda turned on. I quickly dismiss that thought, and get back to the task at hand. “People know he was here. It’s going to be suspicious that he just left” I say. “No it won’t. He wasn’t even flying today. He was just in here to hit on the girls, and pick on other pilots. He does that **** all the time”. I become a little more at peace with killing this guy. “What do we do next?” I ask. “We’ll both go back inside. I’ll tell everyone that you punked that guy out, and then you and I made out”.
We get the body hidden between some bushes, and the old work shed. My shirt is drenched in sweat. She’s completely calm. No sweat, and not a hair on her head is out of place. She’s stoic, and in a strange way, looking kind of hot. I mean, I should hate her. It’s because of her that I’m most likely going to prison, but I gotta say…all the action has got me kinda turned on. I quickly dismiss that thought, and get back to the task at hand. “People know he was here. It’s going to be suspicious that he just left” I say. “No it won’t. He wasn’t even flying today. He was just in here to hit on the girls, and pick on other pilots. He does that **** all the time”. I become a little more at peace with killing this guy. “What do we do next?” I ask. “We’ll both go back inside. I’ll tell everyone that you punked that guy out, and then you and I made out”.
- Jun 11, 2014
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“You’ll tell them that we made out?” “Yeah, it’s more believable that way”. I grimace, and she notices. “You’re gonna stand there and slut shame a woman that just killed a guy? That’s not too smart” I shake my head and play it off by saying the grimace was because it’s a weak story. I hope she believes me, I don’t want to end up like the other guy.
We walk back into the FBO. I expect the whole place to stare at us when we walk in. It was just the opposite…no one seemed to notice. “Play it cool man”, she says to me. I take a deep breath and channel my inner Don Draper. “Hey Siri, remind me to watch Madmen Later”. “I got it, I will remind you to watch Madmen later”. Thanks Siri, I can always depend on you.
I head to the bathroom…I have to get away from this chick for a while. I’ve gotta clear my head. I walk into the private bath, and move towards the sink. I turn the water on, and wash my face. I keep thinking about DNA and all that other “Forensic ****” she mentioned. God, what have I done? Just as I finish drying my face, she walks in, and quickly closes the door. “You aren’t getting cold feet are you?”, she asks.
“No, I just wanted to wash up”. She looks at me with “side eye”. She thinks I’m gonna tell the police what happened. She’s here to kill me too. No way sweetheart. She walks towards me, obviously holding something to her side, just out of my sight. She’s got a knife, or maybe even that same brick. I don’t hesitate. I connect with a right hook that would make Ali proud. The punch lands squarely on her left shoulder (not on her face, as I would have hoped). “What are you doing?” she asks, but she knows what I’m doing…because she’s here to do the same thing to me. She swipes at me with the kitchen knife that she had been hiding to her side. She misses as I step back. This is happening now. I am locked in mortal combat with a woman that I didn’t know an hour ago.
I square up and swing at her again, this time I land a glancing blow to her left cheek. It’s enough to get her off balance. I grab at the knife. I have her hand locked up and I attempt to use my body weight to my advantage. I give her a solid elbow jab to her face. She’s done now. She drops the knife and I go in for a deep “side choke”. Now it’s a waiting game. She struggles, but she is no match for my superior strength. I easily have a hundred pounds on her. After some flailing, she starts to fade. I wait long enough before loosening my hold on her. I don’t need her to be faking, and kill me while my back is turned.
There I am, standing over her…drenched in sweat again. What am I gonna do? I have too much adrenaline coursing through my veins to think up an excuse. Do I just say “**** it”, jump in my Mooney, and fly on down to Mexico? What about Lydia, and the kids? Ohh Lydia…what have I done? I can’t handle prison. I’m not made for that. I’ll just head home, and see my family one last time.
I open the door just enough to squeeze out. I don’t want a passerby to see her body. I start down the hallway, towards the front door. I hear a door open behind me. “Hey *******. Where’s that bitch that hit me?”, screams a voice from behind. A chill runs down my spine. The sweat on my face feels like the arctic. I turn around and see him in all his douchiness…it’s the Gulfstream pilot. He wasn’t dead after all.
OK so I lied. Gulfstream pilots are the Axe Body Spray of aviation | ATC Memes
We walk back into the FBO. I expect the whole place to stare at us when we walk in. It was just the opposite…no one seemed to notice. “Play it cool man”, she says to me. I take a deep breath and channel my inner Don Draper. “Hey Siri, remind me to watch Madmen Later”. “I got it, I will remind you to watch Madmen later”. Thanks Siri, I can always depend on you.
I head to the bathroom…I have to get away from this chick for a while. I’ve gotta clear my head. I walk into the private bath, and move towards the sink. I turn the water on, and wash my face. I keep thinking about DNA and all that other “Forensic ****” she mentioned. God, what have I done? Just as I finish drying my face, she walks in, and quickly closes the door. “You aren’t getting cold feet are you?”, she asks.
“No, I just wanted to wash up”. She looks at me with “side eye”. She thinks I’m gonna tell the police what happened. She’s here to kill me too. No way sweetheart. She walks towards me, obviously holding something to her side, just out of my sight. She’s got a knife, or maybe even that same brick. I don’t hesitate. I connect with a right hook that would make Ali proud. The punch lands squarely on her left shoulder (not on her face, as I would have hoped). “What are you doing?” she asks, but she knows what I’m doing…because she’s here to do the same thing to me. She swipes at me with the kitchen knife that she had been hiding to her side. She misses as I step back. This is happening now. I am locked in mortal combat with a woman that I didn’t know an hour ago.
I square up and swing at her again, this time I land a glancing blow to her left cheek. It’s enough to get her off balance. I grab at the knife. I have her hand locked up and I attempt to use my body weight to my advantage. I give her a solid elbow jab to her face. She’s done now. She drops the knife and I go in for a deep “side choke”. Now it’s a waiting game. She struggles, but she is no match for my superior strength. I easily have a hundred pounds on her. After some flailing, she starts to fade. I wait long enough before loosening my hold on her. I don’t need her to be faking, and kill me while my back is turned.
There I am, standing over her…drenched in sweat again. What am I gonna do? I have too much adrenaline coursing through my veins to think up an excuse. Do I just say “**** it”, jump in my Mooney, and fly on down to Mexico? What about Lydia, and the kids? Ohh Lydia…what have I done? I can’t handle prison. I’m not made for that. I’ll just head home, and see my family one last time.
I open the door just enough to squeeze out. I don’t want a passerby to see her body. I start down the hallway, towards the front door. I hear a door open behind me. “Hey *******. Where’s that bitch that hit me?”, screams a voice from behind. A chill runs down my spine. The sweat on my face feels like the arctic. I turn around and see him in all his douchiness…it’s the Gulfstream pilot. He wasn’t dead after all.
OK so I lied. Gulfstream pilots are the Axe Body Spray of aviation | ATC Memes
- Nov 16, 2017
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Happy Birthday Gulfstream. I hope you like a crap sandwich of a recruiting fiasco for your birthday - because that's what you're getting.
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Thank you all for the well wishes! I hope it's a great day for you all.
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