“Well, they are on to us,” said Jeff.
He and I were sitting at our favorite Waffle House, enjoying some scattered and smothered along with our coffee and eggs, when I looked up to notice that he was reading what we old folks call a “newspaper.”
Newspapers, for those of you who were never taught to write cursive, were made, surprisingly enough, out of paper; on that paper, they printed the news. You may remember paper from such things as Jepp revisions and cardboard checklists.
News used to be facts that people reported on without focus groups or assemblies of six or seven talking heads yelling at each other while on TV.
The riveting news story that Jeff was referring to was indeed bad tidings for all of us who have taken part in a decades-long conspiracy. The legislature of Louisiana, along with at least six other states, voted to ban chemtrails from the skies above the land of the free.
The jig is up.
“Ignorance has no political party,” Jeff said, “but it sure seems to lean in one direction nowadays.”
Overlooking his partisan yet true comment (all seven states with chemtrail laws in the works are from the same party), I begin reviewing the history of chemtrails.
From watching movies like “Twelve O’Clock High,” I remember that our bomber and fighter pilots laid down a buttload of contrails over Europe during WWII. Your basic B-17 could barely carry ten brave men and their bombs to the target. How could they carry deadly chemicals as well? I have to assume that there were different chemical generators during that time because they were burning avgas in round engines back then, not Jet A.
A few years ago, at my local general aviation home drome, I was approached by some very somber people who were there to survey and report back on the chemtrail activity at our airport. They gave me a couple of pamphlets that explained the whole thing.
According to them, most all of the so-called “fuel tanks” on a big jet are used as chemical hoppers containing all sorts of nasty stuff like LSD and other drugs that turn an unsuspecting public toward a direction of gayness, hacky-sac playing, and tie-dye shirt-wearing. “It is making us stupid!” the person handing me the pamphlet said.
I had to agree that something had made that person absymally stupid, but I did not think it was the aerospace industry’s fault.
Jeff chimed in with, “We should have made the chemicals invisible. Those chemtrails were cloud-like and gave the whole thing away. This newspaper story says we are also changing the weather with contrails. I wish we were. I would not have taken all of those delays waiting out the fog in New Orleans if we had chemtrails that worked.”
I agreed that our conspiracy to make suspicious dim bulbs get even dimmer from our chemicals in the sky scheme had failed. They imagined a problem, assumed without evidence that it was true, and are now making laws to make the non-existent problem go away or at least pay a heavy fine.
“I think that the geniuses making laws against imaginary and magically evil science need to go further,” said Jeff.
Grasping what he meant, I got out a pen, and we listed a group of other aviation conspiracies that we thought our group of pointed-headed owl entrail-searching and ouija board viewing lawmakers should get busy outlawing right now.
Thunderstorms should be made illegal nationwide. Anybody who has watched a Marvel Universe movie knows Thor is the god of thunder, and Thor is not a Christian in any way, shape, or form. He is a daggum pagan!
Fog is mysterious and probably conjured up by illegal aliens who need the cover to come in and do whatever it is they are doing. If we could outlaw fog or at least fine it a lot, it would be easier to take a CAT III approach, and RVRs would be a thing of the past.
Air pockets have vexed the flying public for too long. Any turbulence must be generated by the Tri-Lateral-Commision and should be banned immediately.
Flying at night should be outlawed. If God wanted us to fly at night, she never would have invented happy hour. Plus, a lot of skulduggery can happen in the dark, and you can’t see the chemtrails when the moon isn’t out.
Jeff and I, being old general aviation pilots, have outlived our chance to lay down some sweet chemical mind-altering drugs in the sky. We left the Waffle House comfortable in the thought that younger pilots are out there right now doing imaginary things that will puzzle certain members of the public to the point of printing a letter (most likely using a crayon) to their representatives.
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