"I mean, I don't know. Here I come to visit my old pal I haven't seen in, is it thirty or forty years, hell I can't remember, time flies like an arrow fruit flies like a banana and all that rots is not compost for the soul or else what are friends for, but I mean to put me to work like that, and it's not that I don't know all about work, I've been a mail carrier for twenty years, bad back, gone postal, I've dealt with it all but where did this capn skypilot thing come from, I mean, what's it mean, what am I supposed to do now? Drop back ten and punt, he says, as oblique as ever, however you spell it, we are on a rocket ship for somewhere; and then he says it's not the destination that's important, it's the journey. I think I'll just be here now and play it by hear."
-- Artie Arch, club member since Thursday
Oh, me, what a week. The deck's awash, not with water, but tools, hastily gathered to ward off the collapse. Yes, of me, certainly, but also the deck itself, done in by the dreaded dryrot, undermining the supports underneath and causing a dangerous list to the left, mateys, list to the left.
Fortunately an old skypilot of yore buzzed in in his rocketship just in time to lend a hand, an arm and a strong back. Meanwhile in the top rigging, the debris from the last storm was weighting us down above boards and the second generation skypilot was beamed in to clear up that mess.
Now the old cap'n is happy to announce all is well and hearty and eager for flights to the known and undown spaces with reports coming in from all over the galaxy. And beyond. As above, so below. But what's with the black globules floating in my eyeballs. Space trauma? Stay tuned.
-- Cap'n skyken
Hmmm, the skypilotclub board of directors are going to have to consider that request. Seriously, very seriously. Once you open a can of words like this, there's going to be a long hard discussion and you can bet the fur will fly; were it not for the fack we is fur loving critturs.
what is that nasty thing, it's everywhere.
worse than a swarm of bees
We must explore the world to find out.
Ask the chilluns!
Then the men!
Call for help! Har.
We give up. We don't know who skypilot is.
But we do know where he is:
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