HO2 was the three-character designator code for the now-abandoned Ondonga Airfield built by the Seabees on New Georgia during World War II. This story does not take place there. Mostly because it’s fictional and takes place in our grey matter. Said grey matter -- and the perverse characters that inhabit it -- being well over eighteen years of age.

Hey there, I’m Francine, but my friends an’ family all call me Frannie. My given name means “free spirit” in French which is fittin’ ‘cause this used to be part of ‘Ouisiana. A while back, I noted a musky, stanky odor while I was at work. My office is in the front of a pretty white an’ silver C-53, the 5000th airplane ol’ Donnie Douglas built to Spec’fication A-669. Sixty-nine, hey, I like that ... Sorry ... Sometimes my mind wanders. Well, mine ‘as a pretty green stripe along the fus’lage ‘tween the windows an’ matchin’ leather seats. It was them seats where the stank was coming from.

Good thing they was leather ‘cause some Armor All on an ole’ tee-shirt mostly cleaned ‘em up. But they was real old leather, bein’ made back in ‘42 an’ all, they do have some cracks an’ such. ‘Parently that stank can slip down into the cush’ning too. So I came up with a solution. Then I figured I’d share it an’ put this here story “out there” on the interwebs because you know dry cleaners an’ even ‘polsterers don’ have no idea ‘bout how to stop the jizz leakin’ outa happy pussies from makin’ yer workplace real stanky.

It ain’ really all my fault that I’m so leaky. I just work fer a great comp’ny that treats all its employees ‘jus like family, if yer know what I mean. We got six us line pilots. Let’s see there’s Daryl an’ there’s Daryl an’ then there’s Daryl an’ there’s Daryl. Oh an’ Fern an’ me. We got two ‘ministrators runin’ the place who also can fly if they need to. That’s Bubba, he’s Daryl an’ Daryl’s father, an’ there’s Bubba’s brother Bubba, who is Daryl an’ Daryl’s father. Were all real friendly-like, but it’s hard to get it on at work. The cockpit ... That’s funny, I thought my snatch was the cock pit ... Oops, my mind wandered again.

Well, the DC-3’s cockpit’s jus’ a lil’ bit cramped to be getting it on while we’re flying. But necess’ty is a mother, or was that opportun’ty? Somebody’s a mother. On the firs’-hand that ole’ Sperry Autopilot just maintains yer heading an’ attitude, nutin’ fancy. So if’n you accidental-like bump yer ass into the yoke while givin’ yer co-pilot a hummer, it don’ do nothing ‘noying like disengage. It jus’ brings the plane back to where it wuz. But on the secon’-hand, it’s kinda easy to accidental-like hit the dern in’ercom butt’n on that yoke.

Let me tell you ... You can kind of freak out the pass’ngers in the back by broadcastin’ the sounds of the pilots moanin’, groanin’, an’ screamin’ if’n they don’t know what’s going on up-front. ‘Specially if’n the plane is movin’ down or sideways at the time. But, then on yer third-hand, if you’re really sly you can pick-up the mike, an’ blame it all on bumpy air. Then the pass’ngers ‘ll be relieved an’ they prob’ly won’t even notice that your pants are unzipped, an’ you’re buttoned-up crook’d, when you thank ‘m for flyin’ Air Ark’nsas.