Sometimes the perfect example of what a joke so many college programs are is glaringly obvious. PhD doesn’t equate to correct because muh credentials.

25 years. I was in Fort Drum, waiting to turn Hogs for live fire training when it happened. F-16’s from Syracuse, some that probably should not have been flying, started landing left and right. They somehow put about 7 or 8 jets in the air. One was pissing fuel. A couple others looked like they were pulled from maintenance. But they got them to us. I was a hog crew chief. I’d never worked a Viper. I learned that day. I also learned how to assemble an AIM 9 on the wing. I recall strapping in one pilot. Big dude. He already had the 1,000 yard stare and barely spoke to me. I understood as well as I could at the time. He knew what he might have to do and so did I. I’m sure we both thank God those missiles all eventually found their way back into storage, not creating a need for more caskets for innocent passengers and crew. When I look back, I know we did everything we could with the information and time that we had, but it still scares the hell out of me. We need to get over the brainwashing of the religion of peace bullshit and accept what our ancestors knew for almost 1,400 years. Islam is incompatible with the west.

I took my son to the New England Air Museum today for their WWII weekend — one of the things I’m honored to do on occasion: meet and talk with members of the Greatest Generation. I could tell he was ready to hear why it mattered. James N. Britton was one of the many who stood up and volunteered. He found himself off Okinawa, on a ship in that hell. Shuri Castle sat above the fray, bearing witness to the worst and best of mankind from its centuries old perch. We all owe him and his colleagues more than we could ever repay or even fully understand. My son had two questions. “What was the toughest part of your service?” James: “Boot camp.” I smirked. We all know where that goes if you’ve been. “As long as you aren’t a wise guy, you’ll do okay.” My smirk came back. “I still remember my drill sergeant’s name. He was tough on us, but I was glad for it.” Sage nod from me. We all remember their names. My son: “What was the best part of serving?” Now James smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Coming home.” My smirk disappeared. Under the gratitude that he made it back was the rest of the story. Buddies who didn’t. Watching a kamikaze smash into his ship. Decades of those memories. When we left, I asked my son his favorite part of the day. Talking with those two men.

Probably the best way to watch Top Gun

It’s always serendipitous when three idiots present themselves on X in order with their own solutions but refuse to see it.

Marco Rubio is a damn soothsayer.

It’s really his best solution…

Dude.

Solid job opportunity here folks.

Oh hell yes to Firefly! Nathan Fillion Firefly Reunion Teasers (All 6 Videos) – March 15 Announc... youtu.be/SXRvEheY5cA?si=gQty… via @YouTube

The feel good movie of the year.