Fighting Irish Forums

Hello mates.

I think its time for you and Falcon too decide if im going to be taken up into the squad. Have I been proven worthy? Do you think I would fit in? Do I got what it takes to be accepted into your fine squadron?

If I hopefully would be accepted into the squad I would like too keep the nick "arne_and". Although I dont have an microfone to talk with you when flying and no joystick, I hope that wont be a problem. Ive been flying since the first release of IL2 without this and I have done well without it, though i can see the practical reasons for using a mic, but unfornatley im dead broke right now so a phurcase of a headset is not an option; right now.

Why do I want too join exactly this squadron you might ask. That is because I live next door too an Irish lad, and he`s a great guy, good company, so i thought you guys would be too, and now, after my experiences with the forum and flying on hl with you i have found my assumptions correct : )

Salutes from Norway- Jonas Havn

Cheers!

Camera pans slowly down a line of judges sitting at a large table. The first, adjusting his "Hi! I'm :FI:Crazy!" pin, takes a sip of water and gives a thumbs-up.

The PA clicks on: "Mr. Crazy has voted aye!"

The camera pans down the line to...

:FI:Macca44.....


sitting beside :FI:Crazy and pouring sometging rumish to Crazy's water when he is not looking...

after a few quick ones of rum Macca raises his right hand with thumb up....

the comentator, with voice shaking due to stormy emotions and beating heart (his heart is very weak, as Monsieur Alfons' - the Undertaker - Swiftly and with Style) says - :FI:Macca44 votes for "yes"!!!!

commentator is all red on his face and it is clearly seen that he won't bear such great storm of emotions and excitement any more....

the camera goes down and the next member of the panel ...the :FI:.......

:FI:Genosse, responsible for the curtains in this theater, pushs a button and ...

... the curtains fall ...

Now, he´s awaiting the new orders of the director of this play, :FI:Falcon. The audience harrumphs already looking forward to the next scene ...

Act II


Setting - a nice country cottage, somewhere in Co Mayo....

a group of Fighting Irish pilots is sitting in front of the cottage and chatting over a few crates of Guinness....

Willie, clears his throat loadly, taps Spits on the shoulder and says,

"Hey Spitsy," Spits awakens from daydream witha start. ( was he perhaps dreaming of camping trips in the mountains with the girl scouts?? , not to worry Spits, I think about that camping trip myself.. )

Spits replies, "Willie, whatcha need?"

Willie replies with as angelic a look as he is able to muster with a beat up mug such as his..












































"Pull me fingah"



Next!!

Macca sleeps near the campfire, very tired he is...He's just returned from the trip with the scout girls.....


But suddenly , from the darkness of the cottage door, appears ....


Who?

The long lost SIXXPAK!



and he utters wiht a mighty voice: -----------?------------

"SHE TOLD ME SHE WAS 18!!!"

The rest of the FI mates shuffle about uncomfortably and turn their attention to postulating specifically what sort of damage ten pints of Guinness does to one's intestinal tract.

Much beard-stroking takes place until a strange rustling sound is heard from behind the cottage...

<enter stage left (cottage)>

And then a man enters ...

a man like ... any other man, except much more handsome and taller and smar ...
well he's really, really handsome. Bedecked in his striking recruiting uniform of pressed cork, tin foil duckies and interestingly carved coconut shells, he climbs up onto the nearest antique floor lamp and begins to survey the room.

Remembering that he has no idea how to survey, Falcon, the victor of Wewak, the conqueror of Dnepropetrowhatever, the savior or tiny bits of shiny paper in his pockets, turns his stony gaze toward arne_and, opens his mouth and utters ...

touch this


... pay close attention to step five.

the audience is so anxious....

whispers can be heard....

what will hapen now?..... Have you seen the look in his eyes...


a late viewer comes to the theartre and struggles to make his way to his seat no 23 row 14.....

..hey mister, the play has been going on for half an hour, where have ya been?!


but on the stage.....


Falcon, the victor of Wewak, the conqueror of Dnepropetrowhatever is looking at arne_and......



what will happen.....

No more whispers can be heard as the audience is holding their breath in anxiety, only weak chidls cry can be heard from a row in the back of the theatre

The young and promising arne_and becomes pale in his face and throws a hasty look at the mighty conquerer of Dnepropetrow, before he cough and silently claims "Im sorry, victor of Wewak, i forgot the ol`mighty step five. This will be corrected asap" The man in the suit of carved coconut shells seems untouched and taps his feet quickly on the antique floor lamp wich is trembeling under his massive weight. His stony gaze is still unchanged. What will the err.. handsome man covered in pressed cork reply? The audinece gasps

Act III


the weather - .

The......let's call him "handsome".....men wants to say something...fist he looks with his steel, grey eyes at the audience to shutthem up....ekkkhmm.. silence them....an old grandpa in the first row stops choking and goes pale on his face as a wee candy in his throat pushes him towards the inevitable....

The Temprecoff opens his mouth....

..and a gold coin falls on the floor....



the audience is dying of anxiety.....