KIRKUK, Iraq By age 15, his destiny was already set by Saddam Husseins regime he was to become a fighter pilot, a necessity in the bloody war with Iran. He took the controls of a Bravo, a single engine, propeller-driven training aircraft, and performed his first solo flight before most Americans could even drive.
Today, Iraqi Air Force Maj. Abbas, his name changed in this story for security reasons, serves once again in the Iraqi Air Force, but hes no longer asked to fly for the dictator but to fly for his country.
Abbas is an instructor pilot with the Iraqi Flying Training School in Kirkuk, Iraq, where he teaches initial pilot training to future Iraqi pilots. Like many instructor pilots who have returned to the school to teach, he was a fighter pilot under Husseins regime with a great deal of experience and training.
My education was only for flying, said Abbas, while he kept watch over a pitche
Looking at her computer screen, the star reporter of the Daily Planet could not figure out what to write about.
Sure, there were always many things that happened everywhere on this planet, even just in Metropolis. Superman saving someone, Lex Luthor being his usual self or sightings of anything strange. Whatever it was that happened, Perry White would make sure that Lois Lane would get the front page. She knew that she was that good and that many would buy the newspaper to get her spin and the result of her investigations on whatever was going on.
She still has a writer's block to contend with, however.
She needed something big, something that would rekindle the flame of passion she had for journalism. She needed something akin to the first time she interviewed Superman, a piece that gave her the biggest breakthrough in history. It needed to be something big, revelatory, that would make people wonder and talk about it to everyone they knew.
The Superman interv
Joseph Daniels sighed and slumped down in his seat, the picture of unkemptness. His face looked tired, with large bags underneath his eyes and at least three days' worth of stubble. His hair was a mess, his clothes were disheveled. He seemed to exude an aura of despair.
He surveyed the room he was in, which was quite his opposite: neat, orderly, unremarkable. Blank, white walls, some filing cabinents, three windows looking out on downtown. He was sitting in a plain, wooden chair in front of a plain, wooden desk with merely a fake houseplant and laptop on top.
The woman behind the desk, typing notes on the laptop, was similarly forgettable. She was dressed in a black pantsuit, her dark brown hair in a bun. Her eyes were blue, but otherwise ordinary. She wore little makeup on her plain face. She was as unremarkable as the room, which was how she liked it.
She had introduced hers
I have thought this for a long time, but never bothered to write it. Don't get me wrong, I love The Lion King. I love it very much. But I have a question. Why is Simba seen as the hero for The Lion King? Why is Simba hailed for saving the day? Why is Simba on all the merchandise? The watches and the socks and the cuddly toys? Simba, I think, is such a plank! Simba does not run the show, everyone else does!
Simba is the main character, true. But it ends there. Simba would have been a mucus slimed trail in the hyenas' digestive system, if not for his daddy leaping in with his scary Darth Vader voice and saving his fuzzy little cute butt in the Elephant Graveyard. His combat skills are, well, negligable, and he keeps on making the same mistakes over and over...I see him as, well, more of a morality lesson that an actual hero. You know, like, 'H