Yesterday was the annual Special Forces day at Skydive Twin Cities. Every year a group of old SF guys and assorted retired Army grunts come out to the drop zone to make a skydive and tell war stories, mostly to tell war stories. Among the group of old men trying to one up each other with tails of daring do was a ninety year old ex-paratrooper named Ernie. When I met Ernie I shook his hand rather gently so as not to break anything in his old withered hand only to have my hand crushed with a grip like iron. “What kind of handshake is that for man? I hate a man with a weak hand shake!” Ernie said as I desperately tried to match his grip. Ernie then went on to tell us about the last time he jumped out of a plane. It was June 6th 1944 and he left the plane over a little town in France called St. Mere Eglise with his buddies in the 82nd. Airborne. He went on to tell us about that long night and what it was like jumping under fire at night. The weather yesterday wasn’t great and we had to wait for a few hours for the clouds to clear. When we told Ernie what we were waiting for he gave us a look that was impossible to misunderstand, “PUSSYS!” We finally got him up and he had the time of his life. When he landed one of my staff, a stunning twenty five year old blonde woman, came up to shake his hand and congratulate him. Ernie brushed her hand aside, planted a big wet kiss on her mouth and left her blushing in his wake. What a stud.
