Gisele Bündchen, at an Island getaway for a bikini photo shoot, had a dental issue. The only dentists available were Navy dentists. And you know what happened:
Today’s mystery is below. I am told the picture is of a lady named Gisele. And yes, there are six people in the montage, including Ms. Bundchen:
It is all quite innocent, really. . .
During times of extreme budgetary crisis, Congress should consider drastic measures to balance our country’s books and to set us on steady economic ground.
In a stunning turn of events, as a way to both smooth fiscal corners and maximize tax-payer benefit, recruitment of young tykes as pilots into the Air Force training pipeline has begun in earnest. The little bubbas are issued flight jackets and then instructed on all the standard Top Gunnery: barrel rolls and whoop-dee-doos, dog-fighting and crawling, pushing 2 Gs and then pulling the cat’s tail. As is usual with all aviators, the wee wobblers are allowed to bring their mommies:
Ben looks an awful lot like his papa, the Patriot Tom Brady. (Patriot as in the New England football team, not the flag-waving variety. Well, with his son fighting for the red, white, and blue, perhaps Tommy Boy is a patriot of the other stripe too.)
Young 3rd Lieutenant Brady wears both an Apache AH-64 patch and an Army Air Corps (pre-Air Force) P-40 patch. As for the latter, the Warhawk, they were flown by the 23d Fighter Group (which combined with the disbanded Flying Tigers) when the United States worked with China in WWII. It is true, we fought side-by-side the eastern dragon, only to tangle, mere years later, in Korea.
The 23rd is still in operation with another bird: the Warthog, the modern day A-10, to the left.
At Al Udeid Air Base, the Warthogs bristled on the tarmac, like a gang of angry water buffalo, whenever we taxied by in our bus-like EP-3.
The plane has a unseemly look, but it serves a very definite purpose, close air support (CAS.) Query any infantry unit hewed in by enemy fire about the Warthog’s efficacy and they will undoubtably drool as to the Big Ugly’s ability.
There are stories of damaged Warthogs returning to the base, limping home on mere fumes. Air Force Major Kim Campbell once landed with compromised hydraulics, which highly limited her brakes and steering.
In an interesting bit of trivia, Major Campbell is the daughter of San Jose’s current mayor, Chuck Reed. Both zoooooomies were cadet wing commanders at the Air Force Academy. The top banana, large and in-charge.
Enough ruminations of the past, we must cast our eyes to the future and discuss the infant piloteers. A rumor, nothing more than a whisper, is that the wittle warfighters will use piddle packs in place of timeouts in the little boy’s room.
You say you don’t know what piddle packs are? Sit back, you are in for a treat. Most of what I know on the venerated piddles I learned from two sources: pilot friends or a retired Master Gunnery Sergeant whom I see periodically at my gym. He works for a company that sells piddle packs, known by their more serious name, UCDs. This is not a joking topic, folks. Pilots have been known to fiddle with their piddles, thereby losing control and ejecting themselves from their plane. At 7,000 feet. In an F-16. Surprise:
Sometime before 1991, a pilot of an F-16 had to ‘use the rest room’ at 28,000 feet somewhere over the Mojave Desert. A piddle pack is a sponge filled plastic pouch, designed especially for this purpose.
The pilot reported that he unfastened his seatbelt and was raising himself up to use the piddle pack when the plane began to swing to the right. He tried to regain control of the aircraft, but could not. He ejected around 7,000 feet.
Okay, enough with equipment issues. Let’s get back into the pilot pipeline with our trainees. Below, big-boy 3rd Lieutenant Brady poses with his mother, some civilian named Gisele Bündchen, during an ejection seat exercise:
Have I mentioned how much money our nation is saving with these pint-sized aces? Beaucoup, beaucoup. Imagine utilizing their finely honed skills for 45 years vice the usual 20-25.
In a mutually beneficial agreement, the young dog-fighter has offered, in lieu of salary (military, flight, hazardous duty pay, etc), to be paid in either matchbox cars, marbles, Pokemon cards, iPhone apps, or flight jacket patches. He’s got quite a collection, don’t you think?
I pass a car plastered with bumper stickers. It is disease this, reading bumper stickers, and I got the fever. One catches my attention. It says something along the lines of:
If animals could speak English, you would not eat them!
I turn Levin down. Light, his show is not. And I think, is this true? That speech-enabled animals would turn me away from my a-gnawing habit of lunching on them?
And what if I did not speak English? Does the Russian shrug off the New Yawkah cow who warns him: hey, yous hold it right there, mistah! Would not the uncomprehending Russian just sip his vodka mouthwash and go about his business?
Of course, if the bovinely, four-stomached* one uttered: Эй мудак, посмотреть его, in a grassy, Siberian-accented drawl, than perhaps the message would be received.
Ever my friend, Google, had a veritable buffet of vegan links speaking to this issue, of animals having the ability to talk. Over 3 million drooly posts.
Funny forum responses to this question: Yeah and what if your corn and arugula could speak? Shut up pig (shotgun blast)!
No one was swayed by this logic. That if our t-bone once quoted Goethe, we would stop eating meat. . .
Shall we review some other interesting grub-related stories of the week? I say yes! (Imagine this bumper sticker: If a blogger can write in tasty English, would you dine on his writing?)
Mrs. Tom Brady herself, Gisele Bundchen, had this to say about her son:
My children, they are like white canvases. When Benjamin eats broccoli, he thinks it’s dessert!
It is clear that this Patriot supermodel has her psyops down. Although easily tricked, little Benny Brady has got some good genes.
My hope for him is that he is able to read prevent defenses and can throw a tight spiral 60 yards downfield. But knowing how wacky this world is, perhaps he will grow up reading audiences from catwalks and throwing parties for androgynous wo-mannequins.
Last question for the billionaire
Gazelle Gisele: why did she not adopt the last name of her pass-happy (in football-lingo only) husband? Does not Gisele Brady have a nice ring to it? I think so. Or is it too Brady Bunch? Or Brady Bundchen? She had better be careful about having too many kids. Her life may come to resemble a television show. The Bundchen Munchkins.
Have you heard about this restaurant in Germany that caters to cavemen, cavewomen, and cavekids? Here is the meat:
No cheese, bread or sugar are available at a recently opened Berlin eatery.
In fact, guests are served dishes made only of ingredients that would have been available to their hunter-gatherer ancestors.
The Stone Age fare is prepared by adherents of the Paleolithic movement, who say their restaurant is the first of its kind in Europe.
The restaurant menu shows a stereotypical image of modern humanity’s forbearer, the jutting profile of a hirsute caveman.
Inside, diners eat at candle-lit tables with a contemporary cave painting hanging in the background.
These hints aside, Berlin’s Sauvage restaurant looks similar to many of the German capital’s other trendy eateries.
But the chalkboard out front announcing a “Real Food Revolution — Paleolithic Cuisine!” alerts diners to the fact that their Stone Age menu might offer up some surprises.
Alright, I gotta run. I got a cheeseburger with my name on it. Notice I did not say: I have a cheeseburger saying my name. . .
* I stand corrected: Per cow-likipedia: Cattle have one stomach with four compartments. They are the rumen, reticulum, omasum, and abomasum, with the rumen being the largest compartment. (Readers: do you not find it oddly comforting that the largest compartment is named rumen?)