Monday, June 25, 2007

area 51

Surrounded by miles of barren sand, hidden deep within the borders of New Mexico, lies a state-of-the-art military facility. Everybody knows that the facility is an Air Force base, and everyone knows that its electronic eyes are turned forever toward the heavens, searching for life extraterrestrial. Located near Roswell, New Mexico, it is Area 51, the best-known top secret military base in the world. The U.S. government, in the surest sign of the base’s existence, denies knowing anything about it.

Captain Jack Rackham, stationed at Area 51 for nine months, pounded the floor as he raced toward the landing pad of the Air Force base. The hallways echoed with red light as the intruder alarm blared. In a moment, Rackham and a detail of shore police burst through the door, surrounded a two-person plane that had just landed, and pointed their guns at the pilot as he opened the cockpit and emerged.

“Hey, I’m almost out of fuel. I nearly crashed out there,” said Emil Earthart, the pilot. “Do you take MasterCard or Visa? I left my American Express card at home. Hey. what’s with all the guns? Is this Area 51 or something?”

“No,” said Rackham. “This is a secret government facility. It is not Area 51.”

“Actually, captain, it is,” one of the SP’s said.

“There is no such place!” Rackham shouted. Everyone self-consciously tried to avoid staring at his ID badge, which clearly stated “Captain Jack Rackham, U.S. Air Force, Area 51.”

“But ―”

“That’s an order!” A vein in Rackham’s forehead throbbed dangerously close to bursting. “It ― does ― not ― exist!”

“If I don’t really work for Area 51, can I still get paid?” asked the SP.

Earhart promptly was whisked inside the base to the interrogation room, past another room occupied by a strange creature with an elongated head and two mouths, one set inside the other. As Earhart passed, the creature rushed to the observation window and held up a sign that said: “Help! I’ve been held here without legal representation since 1957!” In the next room, a horde of little green people with three eyes and an antenna each jumped up and down and squealed in unison in an attempt to get his attention.

“Ha ha,” Rackham laughed as they walked past. “That Red Squad. They’re such jokers.”

The interrogation room itself was a small, crowded place. Just inside the door was something that looked like a large blue Police Call Box that used to be found on street corners in London. Leaning against the far wall was a display case, filled with a wide variety of items Earhart couldn’t see any pattern to. There was a metal cap made from a fine a silver mesh, shaped it seemed to match the contours of a human skull. Next to it was a headpiece that looked like a giant set of prosthetic ears and a bald headcap. On the middle shelf, lying atop a large tiger hide, were a green ring and an equally green Coleman lantern, next to a silver surfboard. Hanging on the outside of the case was a large blue pair of pajamas with a red cape and the letter S emblazoned on the chest. Next to it stood an imposing robot with a steely visage that looked like it could make the earth stand still.

“Oh, I see you’ve spotted our trophies,” Rackham said awkwardly. “We got those for beating the Army in the annual bowling tournaments. I believe we keep the stuffed elephant with fingers on its trunk, and the giant three-legged all-terrain transport in one of the other rooms because of their size.”

In the end, Earhart was able to convince them that he was just what he said he was: a private pilot who got lost after a weekend gambling in Las Vegas and who had considered himself lucky to find any place to refuel. Air crews gassed up his airplane; Rackham gave him a terrifying “Even if this base did exist, which it certainly doesn’t, you didn’t see it” debriefing, coupled with threats of late-night abductions and medical probing; base personnel gave him the heading for Sante Fe; posed for a group picture in which Lieutentant Iverson had to be told three times to stop making bunny ears behind the heads of the enlisted men; and he was sent him on his way.

The next day, to the total disbelief of Rackham and the other personnel stationed at the base, Earhart’s Piper returned. Once again, the SPs surrounded the plane, only this time there was a woman in the plane with Earhart. Earhart jumped out and said, “Do anything you want to me, but my wife is in the plane now and you have to tell her where I was last night!”

Most people have heard of the Air Force's ultra-high-security, super-secret base in Nevada, known simply as “Area 51.” Late one afternoon, the Air Force folks out at Area 51 were very surprised to see a Piper landing at their “secret” base. They immediately impounded the aircraft and hauled the pilot into an interrogation room.

The pilot's story was that he took off from Las Vegas, got lost, and spotted the Base just as he was about to run out of fuel. The Air Force requested a full FBI background check on the pilot and held him overnight during the investigation

By the next day, they were finally convinced that the pilot really was lost and wasn't a spy. They gassed up his airplane, gave him a terrifying “you-did-not-see-a-base” briefing, complete with threats of spending the rest of his life in prison, told him Las Vegas was that-a-way on such-and-such a heading, and sent him on his way.

The next day, to the total disbelief of the Air Force, the same Piper showed up again. Once again, the SPs surrounded the plane... only this time there were two people inside. The same pilot jumped out and said, “Do anything you want to me, but my wife is in the plane now and you have to tell her where I was last night!”

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