The following is an excerpt from a recently discovered journal
believed to belong to Amelia Earhart’s unnamed and almost unknown navigator,
written during their long, but doomed flight around the world in 1937 which was
believed to end in the South Pacific at the hands of sneaky Japanese fighter
pilots after she discovered Admiral Yamamoto’s dastardly plan to attack Pearl
Harbor.
June 1, 1937: Departed
Miami. Everything going ok. Heading south over Cuba and the
Caribbean. Cha cha cha!
June 5, 1937:
Arrived Fortaleza, Brazil. Boy,
I seem to have lost a few days there.
Amelia says I had a “great” time in Capripito, Venezuela but I sure
don’t remember anything. She keeps
snickering and saying that maybe I should lay off the juice for the rest of the
trip before I find myself so drunk that I can’t navigate my way out of a paper
bag. I told her to just stick to the
flying & I’ll get us to where we’ve got to go.
June 8, 1937:
Saint Louis…no, not that Saint Louis, but Saint Louis, Senegal. Haha.
Finished the Atlantic crossing without any mishap. Saw lots of killer whales down in the ocean
as we were flying over. I’d hate to
meet up with one of ‘em if we crashed.
Of course, there’s no chance of that.
Amelia’s a good pilot & I’m a better navigator. Damn, sure wish she had bigger boobs though.
June 11, 1937:
Fort Lamy, French Equatorial Africa.
Completed our first 1000 miles over the “dark” continent. Kinda scary, few places to set it down if we
had trouble. The people are pretty
friendly and get this: the women don’t wear any shirts. Giggle.
Wish Amelia would take a lesson from them!
June 13, 1937: Assab, Eritrea: Well, Africa is behind us!
Flying low over the Red Sea and the Arabian Peninsula. Thought I saw some more killer whales but
then decided that the light was playing tricks on my eyes. I’ll tell you what, after this trip is over
and I’ve become a millionaire, I might try my hand at starting an airline. That’s where the real money’s at! Maybe I’ll paint my planes like killer
whales. That would be cool. Wait a minute; Miss “Prissy” is calling me
up to the cockpit. Probably needs
another directional fix (she can’t navigate her way out of a paper bag, boobs
or no boobs!)
June 15, 1937:
Karachi, India. What a long
flight. Finally landed and I can’t
understand a word these people are saying.
Sounds like: “Halakala, halakala, halakala.”
June 20, 1937:
Singapore. Engines running a
little rough. All the way down the
peninsula all I heard was “blah, blah, blah.”
Wish she would shut up every one in a while. Anyway, I think “Her Highness” is going to want to do a little
work on the plane when we get to the Dutch East Indies. Yeah, I’ve got something for her to work on.
June 29, 1937:
Darwin, Australia. Overhauled
the engines and flew over Java to Darwin.
Saw some more killer whales as we approached the Australian coast. Reminded me of my dream of becoming an
airline mogul. Lot’s of room for
expansion in the southwest part of the U.S.
Now if I can only come up with a good name that people would luv (sic.)
July 2, 1937:
Lae, New Guinea. The locals are
telling stories of sighting strange aircraft with “meatballs” on their wings
flying in the area. Note to self: Check
with the Coast Guard cutter when we get to Howland Island about which country
has red circle symbols on their aircraft.
Amelia being very secretive about something. Says she just learned something “real” important and that we need
to leave for Howland ASAP. I told her
that we’re still waiting on a couple of drums of avgas from Australia but she
thinks we can make it on what we’ve got onboard if we lean the engines out. I think she’s crazy but it’s not like we’re
going to be dogfighting or anything.
Haha. Damn, I wish she had
bigger boobs…
That’s
as far as our researchers have gotten with this mysterious journal. They are still working on restoring and
preserving the next section of the journal but it is hard work, what with the
seawater contamination and bullet holes.
Man, he must have stayed blind drunk if he thought boobs were her only area that needed improvement. He should have known better letting a woman tell him how much gas they would need, come on man, they all try to run the tank dry, and that bad boy didn't have one of those little idiot lights to tell you "low fuel". Sometimes you have to listen to that little voice, not just the pounding of your hangover. Oh well, another bites the dust.
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