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 Thema: Funthread ( Das "G" steht für Lustig )
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Schm3rz

AUP Schm3rz 25.03.2022
 
Zitat von [KDO2412]Mr.Jones

https://i.imgur.com/mPMTGnF.mp4

Praise Shai Hulud. May his passing cleanse the world.



Durchfall Pfanne Hässlon
10.02.2018 15:08:38  Zum letzten Beitrag
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DeathCobra

AUP DeathCobra 24.06.2021
 
Zitat von Reuter

http://vid.pr0gramm.com/2018/02/10/b92bf313a15a35b5.mp4


Super Breites Grinsen
10.02.2018 15:09:09  Zum letzten Beitrag
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[RPD]-Biohazard

Arctic
...
 
Zitat von [Caveman]

 
Zitat von [RPD]-Biohazard

 
Zitat von DopeFlash

Man müsste mal eine Petition an Elon Musk starten, dass er einen von der Flachhirn-Gesellschaft ausgewählten Kugelzweifler nach oben schickt.



Ich dachte das hätte er? Breites Grinsen Breites Grinsen Breites Grinsen


Der Starman im roten Tesla ist leider nur eine Puppe, kein Flacherdler.



Danke Caveman auf dich ist verlass
10.02.2018 15:09:26  Zum letzten Beitrag
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blue

Bluay
...
 
Zitat von Reuter

http://vid.pr0gramm.com/2018/02/10/b92bf313a15a35b5.mp4





Breites Grinsen Breites Grinsen
10.02.2018 15:10:38  Zum letzten Beitrag
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Brainkicker

tf2_soldier.png
 
Zitat von Reuter

http://vid.pr0gramm.com/2018/02/10/b92bf313a15a35b5.mp4
Glaubt ihr echt noch dran hahahahahaha


Alter... Breites Grinsen

Spoiler - markieren, um zu lesen:
Wollte mich schon wegen der fehlenden Musik beschweren.
10.02.2018 15:15:04  Zum letzten Beitrag
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Kobayashi

AUP Kobayashi 15.07.2011
 
Zitat von monischnucki

 
Zitat von [RPD]-Biohazard

Wie erklären die sich eigentlich einen Kompass. Der dürfte bei ner flachen Erde garnicht funktionieren.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tHimQOPeYJc




Er redet die ganze Zeit von einem Flug Taiwan - Los Angeles, liest am Anfang aber mehrmals etwas über einen Flug Bali - Los Angeles vor. unglaeubig gucken
10.02.2018 15:17:37  Zum letzten Beitrag
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blue

Bluay
...
Zwei viel zu lange, aber coole Geschichten ueber die SR-71 Blackbird, von Major Brian Shul.
Die erste war mir neu, die zweite ist aber ein Klassiker, der sich immer wieder lohnt zu lesen.


 
“As a former SR-71 pilot, and a professional keynote speaker, the question I’m most often asked is ‘How fast would that SR-71 fly?’ I can be assured of hearing that question several times at any event I attend. It’s an interesting question, given the aircraft’s proclivity for speed, but there really isn’t one number to give, as the jet would always give you a little more speed if you wanted it to. It was common to see 35 miles a minute.

Because we flew a programmed Mach number on most missions, and never wanted to harm the plane in any way, we never let it run out to any limits of temperature or speed.. Thus, each SR-71 pilot had his own individual ‘high’ speed that he saw at some point on some mission. I saw mine over Libya when Khadafy fired two missiles my way, and max power was in order. Let’s just say that the plane truly loved speed and effortlessly took us to Mach numbers we hadn’t previously seen.

So it was with great surprise, when at the end of one of my presentations, someone asked, ‘What was the slowest you ever flew the Blackbird?’ This was a first. After giving it some thought, I was reminded of a story that I had never shared before, and I relayed the following.

I was flying the SR-71 out of RAF Mildenhall, England, with my back-seater, Walt Watson; we were returning from a mission over Europe and the Iron Curtain when we received a radio transmission from home base. As we scooted across Denmark in three minutes, we learned that a small RAF base in the English countryside had requested an SR-71 fly-past. The air cadet commander there was a former Blackbird pilot, and thought it would be a motivating moment for the young lads to see the mighty SR-71 perform a low approach. No problem, we were happy to do it. After a quick aerial refuelling over the North Sea, we proceeded to find the small airfield.

Walter had a myriad of sophisticated navigation equipment in the back seat, and began to vector me toward the field. Descending to subsonic speeds, we found ourselves over a densely wooded area in a slight haze. Like most former WWII British airfields, the one we were looking for had a small tower and little surrounding infrastructure. Walter told me we were close and that I should be able to see the field, but I saw nothing. Nothing but trees as far as I could see in the haze. We got a little lower, and I pulled the throttles back from 325 knots we were at. With the gear up, anything under 275 was just uncomfortable. Walt said we were practically over the field-yet; there was nothing in my windscreen. I banked the jet and started a gentle circling maneuver in hopes of picking up anything that looked like a field. Meanwhile, below, the cadet commander had taken the cadets up on the catwalk of the tower in order to get a prime view of the fly-past. It was a quiet, still day with no wind and partial gray overcast. Walter continued to give me indications that the field should be below us but in the overcast and haze, I couldn’t see it. The longer we continued to peer out the window and circle, the slower we got. With our power back, the awaiting cadets heard nothing. I must have had good instructors in my flying career, as something told me I better cross-check the gauges. As I noticed the airspeed indicator slide below 160 knots, my heart stopped and my adrenalin-filled left hand pushed two throttles full forward. At this point we weren’t really flying, but were falling in a slight bank. Just at the moment that both afterburners lit with a thunderous roar of flame (and what a joyous feeling that was) the aircraft fell into full view of the shocked observers on the tower. Shattering the still quiet of that morning, they now had 107 feet of fire-breathing titanium in their face as the plane levelled and accelerated, in full burner, on the tower side of the infield, closer than expected, maintaining what could only be described as some sort of ultimate knife-edge pass.

Quickly reaching the field boundary, we proceeded back to Mildenhall without incident. We didn’t say a word for those next 14 minutes. After landing, our commander greeted us, and we were both certain he was reaching for our wings. Instead, he heartily shook our hands and said the commander had told him it was the greatest SR-71 fly-past he had ever seen, especially how we had surprised them with such a precise maneuver that could only be described as breathtaking. He said that some of the cadet’s hats were blown off and the sight of the plan form of the plane in full afterburner dropping right in front of them was unbelievable. Walt and I both understood the concept of ‘breathtaking’ very well that morning and sheepishly replied that they were just excited to see our low approach.

As we retired to the equipment room to change from space suits to flight suits, we just sat there-we hadn’t spoken a word since ‘the pass.’ Finally, Walter looked at me and said, ‘One hundred fifty-six knots. What did you see?’ Trying to find my voice, I stammered, ‘One hundred fifty-two.’ We sat in silence for a moment. Then Walt said, ‘Don’t ever do that to me again!’ And I never did.

A year later, Walter and I were having lunch in the Mildenhall Officer’s club, and overheard an officer talking to some cadets about an SR-71 fly-past that he had seen one day. Of course, by now the story included kids falling off the tower and screaming as the heat of the jet singed their eyebrows. Noticing our HABU patches, as we stood there with lunch trays in our hands, he asked us to verify to the cadets that such a thing had occurred. Walt just shook his head and said, ‘It was probably just a routine low approach; they’re pretty impressive in that plane.’

Impressive indeed.”




------------------------

 
There were a lot of things we couldn’t do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment. It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plane in the past ten months. Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet. I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn’t match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury. Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace. We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground speed. Center replied: November Charlie 175, I’m showing you at ninety knots on the ground. Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the “ HoustonCentervoice.” I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country’s space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the Houstoncontrollers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that… and that they basically did. And it didn’t matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios. Just moments after the Cessna’s inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his groundspeed. Twin Beach, I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed. Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren. Then out of the blue, a navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios. Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check Before Center could reply, I’m thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million-dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout? Then I got it, ol’ Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He’s the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet. And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion: Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground. And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done – in mere seconds we’ll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now. I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn. Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet. Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke: Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check? There was no hesitation, and the replay came as if was an everyday request. Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground. I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice: Ah, Center, much thanks, We’re showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money. For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the HoustonCentervoice, when L.A.came back with: Roger that Aspen, Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You boys have a good one. It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day’s work. We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast. For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.

10.02.2018 15:23:45  Zum letzten Beitrag
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Bleifresser

Bleifresser
Typ muss wohl gegen ne Wand gefahren sein und hat sich beide Ski gebrochen.
Ich konnte einfach nicht mehr...leider hab ich nixjt drauf wie er sie ausgezogen und zusammenstecken wollte und sie total traurig runterhingen. 😂😂😂

10.02.2018 17:16:09  Zum letzten Beitrag
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Parax

AUP Parax 26.11.2007
Ich find dein Unboxing Video auch sehr toll!

10.02.2018 18:18:08  Zum letzten Beitrag
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Peniskuh

AUP Peniskuh 03.12.2018
Wer guckt sich diese Unboxing-Scheiße eigentlich wirklich an?
Langweiliger als Leute beim Auspacken zugucken, wäre es nur noch ihnen danach beim Entsorgen des Altpapiers zuzuschauen.
10.02.2018 18:32:17  Zum letzten Beitrag
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blue

Bluay
...
Ich wuerde eher die Entsorgung des Altpapiers angucken.
10.02.2018 18:33:44  Zum letzten Beitrag
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statixx

AUP statixx 14.11.2023
 
Zitat von Peniskuh

Langweiliger als Leute beim Auspacken zugucken, wäre es nur noch ihnen danach beim Entsorgen des Altpapiers zuzuschauen.



Um welche Mutter gehts gerade?
10.02.2018 18:37:46  Zum letzten Beitrag
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Bleifresser

Bleifresser
Parax offenbar lol.
Das unboxing von seiner Mutter hat leider gern yt Richtlinien verstoßen.
10.02.2018 18:39:28  Zum letzten Beitrag
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blue

Bluay
...
Als ob's ne Kiste geben wuerde, wo die reinpasst.
10.02.2018 18:46:38  Zum letzten Beitrag
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shp.makonnen

AUP shp.makonnen 01.01.2019
Hauptsache, wir passen in ihre Kiste.
10.02.2018 18:48:03  Zum letzten Beitrag
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statixx

AUP statixx 14.11.2023
Keine Sorge, da passen wir alle gleichzeitig rein.
10.02.2018 18:52:55  Zum letzten Beitrag
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[smith]

AUP [smith] 29.07.2010
Wie hieß denn noch mal diese holländische? Schul-Serie und kann man sie wieder irgendwo gucken?
Vielen Dank!
10.02.2018 20:15:15  Zum letzten Beitrag
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MamboKing

Arctic Female
Rundfunk, Youtube.
10.02.2018 20:16:25  Zum letzten Beitrag
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Geierkind

Geierkind


Das Editing bei 30s. Mit dem Wrecking Ball Breites Grinsen Breites Grinsen Breites Grinsen Wie geil Breites Grinsen
10.02.2018 20:41:29  Zum letzten Beitrag
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xnaipa

AUP xnaipa 14.01.2016
haha xD
10.02.2018 20:43:25  Zum letzten Beitrag
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[Muh!]Shadow

AUP [Muh!]Shadow 10.03.2015
x-----------D
10.02.2018 20:58:04  Zum letzten Beitrag
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Fabsn

AUP Fabsn 29.05.2013
Man wie voll der Bildschirm ist Breites Grinsen
10.02.2018 21:13:06  Zum letzten Beitrag
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Dr.Hamster

Leet
Wow, ziemlich lustig wenn man 14 ist!
10.02.2018 21:33:02  Zum letzten Beitrag
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MamboKing

Arctic Female
Oder dabei gewesen.
10.02.2018 21:34:56  Zum letzten Beitrag
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Geierkind

Geierkind
Ist eine potlersche Kreation, also geht nicht mit zu harter Messlatte ins Gericht.
10.02.2018 21:40:52  Zum letzten Beitrag
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Fabsn

AUP Fabsn 29.05.2013
Da is bleifresser. Da ist die Messlatte automatisch hart.
10.02.2018 21:42:02  Zum letzten Beitrag
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Armag3ddon

AUP Armag3ddon 04.01.2011
Alle loeschen.
10.02.2018 21:48:58  Zum letzten Beitrag
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Bleifresser

Bleifresser
Ich lole immer noch
10.02.2018 21:54:36  Zum letzten Beitrag
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Randbauer

AUP Randbauer 08.07.2015
...
 
Zitat von Dr.Hamster

Wow, ziemlich lustig wenn man 14 ist!

10.02.2018 21:59:23  Zum letzten Beitrag
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TheRealHawk

AUP TheRealHawk 26.11.2007
 
Zitat von [KDO2412]Mr.Jones



Praise Shai Hulud. May his passing cleanse the world.



Sieht aus wie mein Dünnschiss gerade.
10.02.2018 23:18:22  Zum letzten Beitrag
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