...then I realize we're 8.1 kilometers off course.
"There's our target, off to the east."
How the heck did it get way over there?
Evidently confused
the altimeter with the compass.
Wouldn't be the first time.
Well, this is a fine predicament.
I've got half a rack of 2,000-pound bombs --
got to drop them somewhere.
(Here's the irony: Riding three tons
of incendiary explosives plus fuel
while my latte's getting cold
in the cockpit.)
"What do you say we call it a morning?
I'm getting a haircut at noon,
then I'm going home for a nap."
Didn't she ask about Russia?
...