Capitaine Vengeur

A lone Camel facing a swarm of bandits (Jasta 15) in the autumn mist...

The Ministry of Silly Walks also exists in Greek version...

The French coffin has been chosen out of 8 by a honoured private from the 132nd Regiment (the regiment of my then devastated home city of Reims), 6th Corps, who as such chose the number 6 (=1+3+2). This moment can be seen in a nice movie by Bertrand Tavernier, "Life and nothing but" (1989). For many times during the movie, we can see a French officer tasked to search for a suitable body, alongside the main plot (a wife searching for traces of her missing husband on the same battlefield). During the ceremony, a general whispers to the officer something like: "I hope you didn't flog me a nigger or a boche!"

The documentary is broadcasted at the moment on the French-German Channel, I just saw it yesterday after "MP and the Holy Grail". I'm still crazy about the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch!! Little joke on the morning: "What is the difference between German humour and Jewish humour? Humour!"

French artist Julien Berthier has designed and built his boat "Love love" in 2007, for it to look like a sinking 21' boat. It's motorized, stable and fully operational. The boat has sailed without problem on many seas of the World (attracting many offers for help by surprised sailors).

Two of the impressive American monuments making woody Argonne today even more attractive: Varennes and Montfaucon. Constant impeccable maintenance by the American Battle Monuments Commission. I often wandered in these places when young.

"Protecting the Queen's safety is a task that is gladly accepted by Police Squad. No matter how silly the idea of having a queen might be to us, as Americans, we must be gracious and considerate hosts." (Lt Drebin in public interview, The naked gun)

Down here, we have always had some batch of weird TV commentators always completely extatic about the high ancient aristocracy, the princely courts, and all of the monarchic decorum - and most probably ready to taste with not-feigned delight what their Royal Highnesses drop each morning in their princely pisspots. I could have watched the ceremony just to hear the surrealist commentaries from such morons. Actually, I'm on a working day this morning, but I could have watched the ceremony, for it's just like using a Time Machine throwing you back to the Victorian era - but indeed, at a much higher cost for the British subject than the excellent historical fictions the BBC can produce.

8000 years of civilization, 60 years of electronic technology, and there is still nothing the mankind can do to avert the erratic course of such climatic phenomenons. The best that can be done is to maintain the best trained and reactive rescue forces. No more cuts in budgets for that matter, I hope. Katrina 2005 was an expensively-taught lesson, I hope it was also an advantageously-learnt one. My prayer for the toll not to inflate any more.

An English gentleman of some past century has been shipwrecked on a lost island for a few months. One day, he can see another shipwreck victim approaching his haven. He comes to welcome him, keeping some distance at first in the case the newcomer would be someone disreputable (French, Irish, American, Socialist, anybody from out of his own home island and class). - Aoh... Excuse me, sir? Are you an English gentleman? - Yes sir, by St-George I am. The old shipwrecked Englishman comes closer to the new one. - Oxford, I suppose? - Could you suppose a real gentleman has studied anywhere else, old chap? They shake hands. - Career officer, I presume? - I presume you couldn't miss it. I guess you are too. - In the British Indian Army, of course? - The best corps on Earth, by the Queen's garter. - Well, well.. So, er... Homosexual? The newcomer hurls himself backwards: - Lord, no!! Absolutely not! Damn, what an infamy!! - Aoh, sorry... So, you must be Captain Jenkins, 8th Lancers...

Lord Gilbert Lucifer de St-Hilaire. Oh yes, it rocks!

Alas, the Village People have given such an unmanly image of the US Navy white dress uniform, that you could believe that their trousers have a backside zip!

Bah, I'd bet three nails that Jesus probably wasn't the man (god? mangod?) to take pranks seriously. Really, you can't voluntarily bear crucifixion and other Roman sadomasochistic entertainments without a good sense of humour, even if you know you will come back just one weekend later with hands you can't drink in. The problem with humour would rather come from his daddy, you know him, the big severe accusing index finger pointing out from between the clouds.

I've seen the movie only once more than 20 years ago, and I still remember the strong impression it made on me. The couple Verhoeven-Hauer was one the most worthy values of Netherlands - before sinking for some times in worthless blockbusters. Hard times indeed. On the one side, many brave Free Dutchmen fighting in England in the Navy and the Air Force, courageous informing underground seen in "A bridge too far"... On the other side, two Dutch SS divisions both named Nederland. Between, one of the densest Jewish communities in the World, and an overpopulated country easy to starve, which happened during Winter 1944-45. Each occupied country had such stories, but here, it seems more paroxystic.

Bonne chance. And don't worry about the charming French accent, it has always matched well with the charming outdated red bobble (well, not for officers, I know).

Three blokes are discussing about exoticism in their their sex life: - Yesterday, I made to my wife a sensual massage with avocado oil, and made her yell for a hour or so. The second adds: - Well, last weekend, I gave to my wife a long, slow, sensual massage with jojoba oil, and made her yell for more than two hours. The first guy whistles, the third adds: - Last month, I offered to my wife a home-made massage with monoi oil, and made her yell for all of the day... The other blokes stare at him with open mouths: - Yell all of the day!!? But how did you do? - Oh, well, mm... Actually, I wiped my hands on the curtains...

The mother of one of my colleagues was in love with Gagarin when young, and probably wasn't the only one. The Soviets had chosen the pretty boy with the nice proletarian grin, a good example of worldwide public relations.

As the Nazi German Army was already out and beyond any reparation in 1944, the Yanks (and Brits, Canadians, Free Poles, etc) didn't actually save us French from speaking German. But they saved us from being "liberated" by the Soviets, speaking Russian, parading with red flags each May 1, and having Marcel Dassault work for the Mikoyan-Gurevitch Board. That's enough to say: "Thanks to you all!"

It seems that Gadaffi could soon resign, and accept to confess and be tried before an International Court. An old man wanting to save his soul... April's Fool, of course!

View File Mirage 2000C Hangar and Loading screens These screens have been designed for Christian59's SF1 model for the 2000C, but should work for any work adapted from Erwin_Hans' Taiwanese 2000-5. Submitter Capitaine Vengeur Submitted 03/30/2011 Category SF/WO* Hanger/Menu/Loadout

Pork knuckle, just this lunch. A whole one, directly on the bone, with all of its grease, without vegetables. With a full bottle of apple cider. I'm ashame, and know I will sweat for this this afternoon. I don't allow myself such a Roman orgy more than once per month usually. But after all, I don't plan to see what's up on the next century.

Actually, I'd like the medias to focus a little further North, as hundreds of your Syrian neighbours are dying at the moment, trying to overthrow the al-Assad dynasty. Had a strucutured movement of opposition emerged and seized a part of the country, would we launch an "Illiad Dusk" operation there? The Syrian armed forces are much tougher than the derelict Libyan Gaddafist army.

Mmm, their fanatism could be explained otherwise. Considering the nepotic nature of this sort of regime, and the prestige attached to the career of fighter pilot, it could be possible that half of the Libyan jet pilots come from the clan Gadafi. I can just imagine the result. – Major Gadafi, you are assigned today to patrol over Benghazi. Your wingmen will be Captain Al-Gadafi, Lieutenant Abd-el-Gadafi, and Lieutenant Gadafi. Beware, Lieutenant Gadafi's skill is really under average. Well, I mean even under our own Libyan average standards, which are... well, you see... Rrrrm... Anyway, he has been recommended to me by his uncle – and I can't refuse anything to my cousin. Any questions? – No, sir. Thank you, sir. Allahu akbar, sir. – All right. Good luck, son.

American history. Each wave of immigrants installed for two generations used to look down with contempt upon the following waves, that dirty dishonest European waste who plagued them, the true Americans. Bless these successive waves: without them, Americans would still eat bacon with corn and potatoes rather than hamburgers, pizzas, tacos and Asian cuisine. Not all Americans descend from immigrants, alas. Most of dark-skinned Americans descend from tradable goods, and many have not forgotten. Coming back to Mr Davidson's problems, it's just the usual petty revenge of mean dodger state employees against those who have risked their own lives for their rights. Typical. Bitter, anyway. In France, the movie "Indigènes" (2006, "Days of Glory" in English) has enlightened the shame tied to the fact that for long, half of the Free French Forces who fought in Italy or Alsace were made of North African or Black African natives. They were not French citizens, and did not become afterwards. And as such, after their countries became independent, they received only a miserable part of the war pension any common veteran could claim.