problems and solutions
After every flight, Quantas pilots fill out a form, called a "gripe sheet," which tells mechanics about problems with the aircraft. The mechanics correct the problems, document their repairs on the form, and then pilots review the gripe sheets before the next flight.
Never let it be said that ground crews lack a sense of humour. Here are some actual maintenance complaints submitted by Quantas' pilots and the solutions recorded by maintenance engineers.
By the way, Quantas is the only major airline that has never had an accident.

(P = The problem logged by the pilot.)
(S = The solution and action taken by mechanics.)

P: Left inside main tire almost needs replacement.
S: Almost replaced left inside main tire.

P: Test flight OK, except auto-land very rough.
S: Auto-land not installed on this aircraft.

P: Something loose in cockpit.
S: Something tightened in cockpit.

P: Dead bugs on windshield.
S: Live bugs on back-order.

P: Autopilot in altitude-hold mode produces a 200 feet per minute descent.
S: Cannot reproduce problem on ground.

P: Evidence of leak on right main landing gear.
S: Evidence removed.

P: DME volume unbelievably loud.
S: DME volume set to more believable level.

P: Friction locks cause throttle levers to stick.
S: That's what they're for.

P: IFF inoperative.
S: IFF always inoperative in OFF mode.

P: Suspected crack in windshield.
S: Suspect you're right.

P: Number 3 engine missing.
S: Engine found on right wing after brief search.

P: Aircraft handles funny.
S: Aircraft warned to straighten up, fly right, and be serious.

P: Target radar hums.
S: Reprogrammed target radar with lyrics.

P: Mouse in cockpit.
S: Cat installed.

P: Noise coming from under instrument panel. Sounds like a midget pounding on something with a hammer.
S: Took hammer away from midget

1. Whats your Name?
2. Are we close?
3. What do you think of me?
4. Do you hav a crush on me?
5. Would u kiss me?
6. would u fuk me?
7. Describe me in 3 words?
8. If u Had Me for 30 Mins wat would you do?
9. What was ur first impression of me?
10. Do u still think the same?
11.. What reminds u of me?
12. If you could give me anything what would it be?
13. How well do u know me?
14. What do u like best about me?
15. Ever wanted 2 tell me something u could'nt?
16. Could you ever love me?
17. Give me a nickname and explain why?
18.R u gona put this on ur blog and c wat i say bout u?
19.Anything 2 say b4 u go?

It’s a warm summer’s evening in late July. As I walk my way slowly across the magnanimous gray soil with faultless footsteps I see a dark figure rustling through the trees deviously. My blood starts to boil vigorously as my heart pumps it around with street shattering force. Suddenly out of the unknown as if it had been formed by gravitational collapse appeared an elderly gentleman.



He was bald like an Australian eagle with hairs penetrating out of his crumbled ears. I looked into his eyes with unfathomable confusion. They glowed brutally with severe terror. I was suddenly plunged into a world of puzzlement unaware of what was going on around me. Nothing else had ever compared to the immense and mammoth mystification that I was experiencing. And then there was a swish of air, and a thump.



Unexpectedly I felt something thrust against my body. I had smelt the smell before; yes that was it; Rubber. I gradually opened my eyes to find the old man prodding me with his old polished walking stick……………

My first and foremost reaction was that of severe perplexion, I enquired as to the motives of this queer old man, and what was initiating his somewhat spontaneous actions.

“What the spesh are you instigating?”

His eyes gleamed like fish pellets, in other words they didn’t gleam at all, they were vacant and unseeing, he looked straight through me straight through the darkness and the mountains behind. He replied…

“Jesus Christ Monkey Balls, the bastard is still alive!”



The air trembled, and buzzed noiselessly. The trees whispered inaudibly to each other in traumatized voices. In my eyes, in order everything suddenly came back to me. After a vicious and disastrous experience of lying on the floor I managed to erect my structural body off the rigid ground. I don't know who was more shocked, him because he hadn't killed me, or me because I hadn't even seen the blow coming. He spat words at me;

“You bloody cockroaches need a lesson”.

He raised his rotting old arm and took a swing at me with his wooden stick. My rapid reflexes saved me mercifully. I'd made him angry and my sharp bewilderment had made him challenge me with violence. You know how you can tell by their eyes when they are about to strike? His eyes never gave a glimmer of admonition. But abruptly, there it was BANG in my face again. His stick moulded its shape into my tender face with such force. This old bastard was crazy! The time had come. I had no choice but to put the hours of surveillance of WWE into rehearsal. My soul erupted and boiled with fury! All the subtle flavours of my life had become bitter seeds and poisoned leaves. I stood up like a coiled spring waiting to unleash its power. I leisurely moved my way closer to him. All of the sudden his eyes changed; they looked stunned. I could see his retina shuddering like it was in an earthquake. I saw his work badge on his old man jumper. It said; “gracious gang leader, unemployed meteorologist, and a telekinetic prosecutor practice meditation in the ocean.” However I decided to ignore it. I shouted over the land; “Pedigreeeeee!!!” This was my favourite move. The horizon shook. The trees sang like a quire and the heavens opened up. I picked the old man and lifted him up on my shoulders before absolutely crushing him into the ground.



The old man spluttered breathlessly, wheezing gargantuosly. He advocated a compromise in a hoarse whisper.

“a compromise?”, he said gesturing in a way suggesting advocation.

And with that he ceased to breathe, and his eyes were stone. I slapped his face, no response, he was clearly fast asleep. I reminisced, and remorsefully placed a stray crisp packet in his pocket as a sign of respect. The hem of his trousers were tucked into his purple socks, at this revelation I reeled around and vomited on his shoe, what tasteless blasphemy! Oh my days if Gerard Schwartz had been present to see this!