Team Kimberlin Post of the Day

This image originally ran as the TKPOTD for seven years ago today.

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It’s May the Fourth …Everything is Proceeding

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That cartoon got so deeply under Brett Kimberlin’s skin that he questioned me about it when he called me as a defense witness in the Walker v. Kimberlin, et al. lawsuit.

Q   Do you ever post graphics or photos of you as a Star Wars Hero?

A   I have, people have sent me graphics of my face to replace, who’s the guy that played Obi-Wan Kenobi, the older fellow? This is what happens when you’re old. Alec, Sir Alec Guinness with my face instead of Alec Guinness’ as Obi-Wan in, in various cartoons. I think they’re funny, and I’ve, I’ve posted a few that have sent me, and other people have, have picked up on that, as well, and sort of run with it. It’s a, it’s, it’s kind of a running gag now in certain corners of the internet.

The jury’s reaction to that exchange went almost exactly as the Gentle Reader might have foreseen.

1 thought on “Team Kimberlin Post of the Day


  1. Oh! Oh! I picked up on the Obi-Wan thing and used it many moons back. From the groove-yard of moldy oldies, I re-print:

    Four Wright R-1820 “Cyclone” radial engines run smoothly as the Boeing B-17G Flying Fortress climbs in to the early morning sun heading north towards Washington, DC. Nose art shows a 70-year old woman reclining in a Princess Leia slave-girl costume next to flowing script proudly proclaiming ‘My gal, Hil’-

    Additional script lists the aircrafts intrepid crew:

    Captain W. Schmalfeldt, Commanding
    1st Lieutenant Bunny Boy, Co-Pilot
    Tech Sergeant Rauhauser, Gunner
    Corporal Fifi, Navigator/Comms and Electronic Warfare (EWO)
    Evil One, B. Kimberlin, Bombardier

    Captain Bill sits in the left seat, a cigar clenched between his teeth, little skulls on his shirt and a 50-mission crush on his pork-pie hat. Sitting forward on top of the instrument panel and attached by a gold disco chain, but not blocking the Captains’ sight lines, is a troll doll with pink hair. The troll doll is naked and since there IS such a thing as TMI we’ll just stop right there.

    “Pilot to Bombardier. How we doing back there, Brett? Talk to me, Evil One.”

    “Brett, here. Laser designator is down. We’ll be bombing by hand, Bill.”

    “Ah, Brett- I’m Aircraft Commander so address me either as ‘Captain’ or ‘Flight.’

    “Kiss my ass, Bill. I’m the brains in this operation and you know it. Makes ME Mission Commander so you can just suck it. Else write your own briefs.”

    ‘Picard never has problems like this’, Bill thinks to himself. ‘After this mission I’m going back to the UNSS Che Guevara; I miss space.’

    “EWO, Flight… Fifi, our laser designator is out. During our pre-flight brief Colonel Comey said there’s a witch in orbit over DC. Can she paint the White House with a laser?”

    “Flight, EWO. Ah, that’s a negative. Tried on HF radio and I can’t raise the witch. She’s not listening. Maybe never has but that’s weird since all of us are on her sycophant list- My understanding is Uma cleared us personally.

    On the other hand it IS possible that Hoge’s son is jamming us with his shortwave radio. He’s properly credentialed, you know- Something none of the rest of us are intellectually capable of pursuing. A recognized credential, that is.“

    The Captains eyes narrow. STRATCOM says this mission to remove the Trumpenfuhrer is critical to LGBTAEIOUQ rights as well the feelings of oppressed lambs in the Antifa. They gave this mission to the finest crew in Air Command. “We’ll just have to press forward. We must PROGRESS!”

    EWO breaks in on the intercom, “FLIGHT EWO! MISSLE LAUNCH!!! Multiple contacts inbound from Maryland scanning as Standard-ER surface to air missiles. Eight contacts guided by SPY-1 radar from Aegis headed directly towards us from 120 miles out!”

    Captain Schmalfeldt bellows, “ENGAGE THE CLOAKING DEVICE! NOW!!!”

    “Cloak engaged, Captain”, Fifi responds. Bunny Boy wakes up. “Is it eleventy yet?” Bill doesn’t answer his co-pilot because Fifi speaks up again, “Flight, EWO- Missles are passing us by high and right. But we’re now left of course plotted.”

    The radio crackles, “Captain Schmalfeldt, Captain Schmalfeldt, come in Captain Schmalfeldt. This is Colonel Comey.”

    “Schmalfeldt. What’s up colonel? We’re busy up here.”
    “Ah, Captain… Tactics advises those missiles weren’t exactly aimed at you.

    Appears the shooter was going through the motions only. The motions. Get it? We suspect a ulterior motive.”

    “Colonel, those missiles WERE aimed at us. We live only because of my brilliance in engaging the cloaking device. THIS WAS A WIN FOR ME!”

    “Not sure about that, Captain. And you may have showed the cloak earlier than you had to. But keep going. I’ll document this in a memo for the record. Comey out.”

    Bunny Boy speaks up, “Captain! Imperial Tie fighters coming out of the sun 2 o’clock high! This is why the missiles pushed us left!!!”
    Bill doesn’t hesitate. “Rauhauser, man the ball turret. Nav, man the waist guns.”

    Neal jumps on the aircraft intercom, “You bet, Captain! I’ll swat ‘em. I’ll swat ‘em all.”

    Steely edge in his voice, Bill says “Bunny Boy, come further left to bearing 070.”

    “Stay on target.”

    “What Brett?”

    “Stay on target.”

    “ Quit drifting left, dammit” Brett says.

    “Woo hoo!” exclaims Neal- “Got one!”

    “Great kid- DON’T get cocky. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” Even as he’s encouraging his crew, Captain Bill watches as Tie fighters with lasers duel the 50-cals on his B-17. Doesn’t seem like a fair fight but some people can’t understand the concept of being outgunned.

    Fighters swirl, lasers flash and guns blast- “Number 4 engine is hit. I can see it smoking, Captain- Temps climbing too!”

    The airplane bucks but Captain Schmalfeldt holds the wheel firmly. Man of destiny that he is and with righteousness (wait a minute, that can’t be good- leftousness?) on his side the Captain glares at his co-pilot. “Pull the E-handle and feather the prop you idiot.”

    “Handled pulled, prop feathered… Fire’s out in number 4. Temps going down.”, Bunny Boy reports. He’s sweating bullets. They rattle around on the cockpit deck. Captain dials in some trim (look, we’re all adults here but DON’T say it) to account for the the drag caused by number 4 engine. Another Tie fighter flashes by RIGHT IN FRONT of the B-17. “If only I had a nose gunner,” Bill mutters. “Why the hell did Eric Clanton have to get his ass arrested after the Battle of Berkley? Now he’s just another idiot arrested for a bike lock.”

    The Fortress slams sideways. Another hit. “REPORT!”

    “Captain, Neal here- Vertical stabilizer just took a hit. Starboard waist gun is totaled. Fifi is bleeding but I’m taking care of him. We’re short a bombardier also.”

    WTF? “What do you mean our bombardier is short? That’s not exactly news, Neal. Don’t waste my time while we’re fighting for our lives.”

    “Ah, no Captain. Brett’s gone and his parachute is too. There’s a bag on his chair with a note pinned to it.”

    “Read me the note, Neal.” Bill rolls his eyes. Good help is SO hard to find.

    “Says, deliver this bag to Captain Schmalfeldt in the cockpit.”

    “Damned strange… Why would I need to hold a bag in the midst of a battle?
    Bring the bag up, Neal.”

    “Aye Captain. On the way.”

    “Macintosh. Prepare for battle.”
    “Macintosh. Report in.”
    “Macintosh? Dammit! MACINTOSH!!!”

    “Macintosh here, Captain. Sorry for the delay. I was 20,000 leagues under the sea looking for butthurt.”

    “Find any?”

    “Nope. Saw a Trident submarine though. And a mermaid who bears a striking resemblance to Gwyneth Paltrow.”

    “Oh man-“ Bill responds, “She is such a good looking bitch. Get any pics?”

    “Regrettably not. And if I had, do you not have enough lawfare on your hands that it would be wise to avoid a fight with her publicists plural? Might as well pick a fight with frickin’ Madonna while you’re at it.”

    “See your point. Macintosh, we’ll be bombing by hand. You’re our new bombardier.”

    “Roger that, Captain Schmalfeldt. We are currently too far left; adjust course.”

    “CNN indicates we’re perfectly on course. Damn the torpedoes, the Tie fighters and the Hogeists! Keep on keeping on because we’re getting closer to the White House!”

    It’s a epic fight and it continues to rage. And it’s got to be continued, later, because I’m going out for a beer. I’ll try to get the next part written tonight.

    Will post to Hogewash if John doesn’t mind-

    I need to keep moving.

    Around.

    I got the music in me.

    Round and round the mulberry bush-

    Feelin’ me?

    Oh hi, Mom! What am I doing? Ummm… Nothing. Practicing my typing. No really. Nothing at all.

    27 miles out. ‘My gal, Hil’ is a B-17 bomber shot up and trailing smoke. One engine out and feathered. Left wing is down. Oil streams from 3 of 4 engines and fuel from the wings-

    Out of hope, out of ideas, out of brains but not out of altitude and it continues to fly. Like a flatworm that can’t feel pain. Or repeated beatings- ‘My gal, Hil’ presses on. William Schmalfeldt commanding.

    Controls are sluggish but the bomber still flies. “Macintosh,” Captain Schmalfeldt roars, “SITREP!”

    “Brett Kimberlin has been picked up by Rachel Maddow in a CNN helicopter. He lives to appeal, yet again, another day. But the wheels of justice continue to grind.
    Finely. Neal and Fifi have both bailed out also. They’re being picked up, as we speak, by Keith Olbermann on a golf course. Fifi will live. Neal will be on the run shortly. Again. Number 4 engine is out. Number 2 engine is running hot. Multiple holes in the fuselage. We’re streaming fuel and oil. Control linkage to the left elevator is severed by laser fire but backup cabling survives. For now. 23 miles to the White House. A single Tie fighter, and one that’s not in the normal configuration, is in pursuit. Formerly registered to D. Vader; no last known address.”

    Aforementioned fighter roars by Boeings pride, the ‘My gal, Hil’. Captain Bill looks to his left and sees…. JOHN HOGE!!!! In the other cockpit. The Tie fighter pulls upward in to a loop. Split-S at the top, reverse direction and…

    Macintosh says, “Analysis indicates Hoges fighter is fired out on all laser banks. He has no more ammo.”

    His Flying Fortress is wounded but still flying. Hoge is shot out. Nothing between the B-17 and the White House. ‘Life is good’ Bill says to himself.

    The White House is ahead in the distance. Airspeed good but ragged, oil pressure falling and temps rising in number 2 engine. “We can hold over the next 3 minutes or so and then the White House and all in it are toast” Bill says to Bunny Boy. Who has a glazed look in his eyes. No matter. Proximity and airspeed will take care of the rest.

    Bill looks up from his instruments. A black fighter looms increasingly large in the B-17s windshield. “WTF is Hoge doing?”

    As the two aircraft cross left-to-right , Hoge’s canopy lowers and a light-saber comes flying out. Schmalfeldts’ eyes widen but he can make no move otherwise.

    The light saber crashes through the B-17s windshield like it’s tissue, grazes Bill’s right arm and then proceeds to pin Bunny Boy through his seat like a butterly on a pin. Hoges’ fighter pulls up in to another loop but Bill knows John doesn’t have enough time for another pass. The White House is his.

    ‘Macintosh SITREP!”

    “4 miles out. Number 4 engine is out. Number 2 engine is out. Number 3 engine is running hot and will fail in 9 seconds. Kimberlin, Rauhauser and Fifi are off ship. Bunny Boy wounded; critically. Captain is wounded but vital signs are ‘fair’. Well, as fair as they can be for somebody in your condition, Fat Bastard. Five people standing on the White House roof. Blond chick, looks like Ivanka, on right has just fired a Stinger missile.”

    “People on the roof? Missile! WHAT!!!”

    Number one engine explodes catastrophically. Macintosh says, “Number one engine is gone. Recommend 20 degrees flaps to extend our glide to the White House given reduced airspeed.”

    Bill lowers the flaps to 20. Looking straight forward he sees a person in dark blue suit standing on the White House roof. “Macintosh, analyze visual straight ahead!” Is THIS to much to hope for?

    Macintosh responds, “Person in the middle is Donald J. Trump. To his left is Jared Kushner who is firing a M-4 which has taken out our starboard control lines. To Jared’s left is James Mattis who is throwing bayonets at us. He’s thrown 4 and has impacted 7 of our control surfaces negatively. We’re going down.”

    “What’s that in Trumps’ hand? I can’t see from here without my glasses.”

    “President Trump is holding, and firing, a Wilson Combat XDC X9 1911 pistol at us head on. Human female next to him evaluated as Melania Trump, wearing a exquisite Le Chiffre little black dress and is handing him reloaded magazines. Sir, we are taking damage. Do not underestimate the impact of a .45 caliber round.”

    The windscreen on the front of the B-17 starts sustaining multiple hits. One after another. And then another. And another. The airplanes windscreen starts to give as God and John Moses Browning intended all along. Total screen failure is imminent.

    ‘Doesn’t get any better than this’ Bill says to himself. “RAMMING SPEED! TODAY IS A GOOD DAY TO DIE! SAVE THE REPUBLIC! ALL HAIL SOROS!!! And Governor Moonbeam TOO!!!”

    Three-quarters mile to the White House. We’re on rails. The President continues to fire. Melania tosses him yet another magazine. Physics of mass, glide path and airspeed work inexorably together. But-

    Bill looks up and sees the entire area behind the White House shimmer. Why… It’s the UNSS Che Guevara! Remember the whale-hunting boat scene in Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home? Yes! JUST LIKE THAT!

    Did you say Star Trek?

    No. NO. We did NOT. Focus w; focus like a laser and finish this thing!

    Frack.

    The Che materializes. Bill looks down at his hanging right arm and sees it sparkle. He knows transporter effect when he sees it.

    “NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!” I was SO close. HOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!!!”

    ‘My gal, Hil’ dematerializes. The entire B-17 disappears mid-flight. United Nations Starship Che cloaks. And disappears.

    The White House remains intact. Melania tosses and Donald J. slams the last magazine home. He lowers his smoking pistol and looks out across the lawn and over a great nation.

    Truth, justice, lasers, IR missiles, hollow points and good men and women have prevailed. Yet again.

    For now. Meanwhile, the Deep State, media companies, people ignorant of history and well meaning but misguided children stir anew.

    The saga continues.

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