Being the humble guy I am, I don't talk much about my distinguished military career, but I used to fly F4-J (Phantom) jets for a Marine fighter-attack squadron. In fact, in aviator circles I was known as Wahoo, Air-Winger Extraordinaire. One evening after flying sorties all day, I adjourned to my favorite off-base watering hole to relax over a few cold brews, and at the bar I made the acquaintance of a drop-dead gorgeous young lady. One thing led to another, and the next thing I knew we were sprawled on the bearskin rug in front of her fireplace entwined in an amorous embrace. She nibbled my ear and whispered how much she enjoys foreplay with Marine aviators. At that, I jumped up, grabbed a can of lighter fluid, and started spraying the lighter fluid between her legs.

"What are you doing?" she gasped.

"I am Wahoo, Air-Winger Extraordinaire!" I exclaimed, "and when Air-Wingers go down, we always go down in flames!"