I had a friend with an old Mini. Had it hopped up to 98 HP, up from 38 if I remember. It was a freak show to watch him smoke the big boys.
In my past life, I hung a long cable under an oil leak, and invented bowling games with greasy humans. Now I don't fly much anymore, and plan to make that zero in the coming few months. My logbook will be brassed and put on my mother's mantle with my baby shoes. A Newfoundland and Labrador provincial holiday to commemorate my grounding will be announced when the strike is over.
As many of you know, I'm a fat alcoholic and a federal employee - both of which have been linked to atrophy of the brain. In addition to editing the 8 sheets of green and white toilet paper that arrive in your mailbox quarterly, I also represent the Minister (Old What's-His-Name) on helicopter accidents, usually international ones or sometimes really bad Canadian ones (so stop having them). I am also responsible for human error, and THAT is no coincidence.
I run two very small businesses. The first is a tiny motorcycle accessory company that builds two (soon to be three) very simple products and sells them to unsuspecting BMW owners. Usually Americans. The second is an even tinier aviation consulting gig that has done some training programs for a couple of misguided outfits, and gives the odd vertical reference seminar to mouth-breathing helicopter pilots.
I cook, ride my motorcycle 20-40,000 km/yr, play the piano like Elton John's tone-deaf ham-fisted neighbour, read books with big pictures, sing in the shower, and listen to the radio. I also spend some time on the web.
So there. Let's have some fun in here girls, chime in with stories of your miserable lives.