CHOPPERGIRL'S AIRWAR

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CHOPPERGIRL

Discordia Violence

the original dark horse and bad girl of aviation










Pirate Black Betty Flag



Cotton Candy / Ice Cream Sandwich / Pink Tips Dog Fight Battle Colors






Email: choppergirl@air-war.org

I am an anarchist.
I oppose statism, a widespread rotten, cancerous disease of the mind.
I am a pacifist and peaceful foremost, but not above responding with violence
to defend my freedom when some asshole cranks up shit with me.
You don't want to dance with me in a dog fight.
I come on like a freight train.
I am free. Nobody rules over me. No stranger, no friend, nobody.

Raw, unadulterated freedom.



You have no social contract with me.
Your asshole country is not my country.
Your fake ass flag is not my flag.
Your imaginary god is not my god.
Your arbitrary rules are not my rules.
Your bizarre morals are not my morals.

You didn't invent any of them at all, so what makes you really think any of them are yours?
They are not.

Someone else invented them, brainwashed you with propaganda, and you swallowed them hook line and sinker.
Don't be nothing more than a tool to repeat and regurgitate their viral idea rubbish.

Your historically proven wicked state, corrupt rules with ulterior motives, and imaginary god can go fuck itself.
Don't be a tool and a whore bitch to someone else's made up bullshit that did not spring from the fountain of your own mind.



Turn on a dime like the devil and climb like a monkey.
I am the burning sword of true freedom.





I am not your leader. You do not need a leader. Lead yourself.
Stand with me on the side of raw, unadulterated freedom, or stand against me...
I leave you alone, and you leave me alone, and we are golden.
You don't try and tell me what the fuck I can and can not do, because I don't try to tell you.

Anything else could be war.

Why I am a Fighter Pilot for the Anarchists









People ask me if I am really a girl? I don't know, what do you think?

My official answer: "No, I'm really a chopper"

The real answer: I'm a raw force of nature.













Victory loves Preparation,
and Fortune Favors the Bold
No Plan Survives First Enemy Contact
And few warriors grow old








Play with me. You know you wanna. Press Play, engage the Combat Music SubSystem.
Or, if you want to go old skool, crank up the Battlefield Vietnam Soundtrack.



In real life, I'm probably just another nobody in the middle of nowhere...
but in my own private Idaho, I'm a deadly weapon.



Let's test it. Go ahead, pick up that gun.
You're a soldier. I'm a warrior.

For five years, I massively modded a game called Battlefield 2142,
to fix all the game play bugs in it, flexing my game design and Python skills.
It was a brutal experience. I became hardcore, the meanest damn top dog 2142 pilot ever.
That project was called
AIRWAR.

But now, all that's gone and changed.
Now, I am restoring a little dragonfly of an airplane I named Dorothy. :-)

My Choppergirl / Airwar Youtube Channel

My Flying with Christina Youtube Channel

Twitter Page

rec.aviation.ultralight

My Profile on USHawks.org

My profile on HomeBuiltAirplanes.com

My profile on Microlight.com

My profile on WingsForum.com

My profile on SportPilotTalk.com

My profile on BFEditor.org

What if when I died, there actually was a heaven or a hell, and my gamer girl personality came up to me to be my companion and navigate me through it all, like George McDonald did for the narrator in The Great Divorce, or Virgil did for the narrator in Dante's Inferno. I think I would have a heart attack from the shock. So what happens when you die a second time, inside heaven or hell?





CHOPPERGIRL's DICTA

In a dogfight, I'm a crazy bitch.

Always turn to face your enemy. Never look them in the face. They are nothing but targets. Identify the most dangerous skilled enemy in the room and tangle with them alone while avoiding all other engagements or combat. You are a deadly quick mongoose fighting a dangerous son of a bitch cobra. Your entire mind is a fucking battle computer focused on taking them out in a dance of death. Skirt around and deny the damage he is trying to deal your way, and dishing it out in overwhelming fire power where you anticipate him to be before he is there. Neglilgate all his lesser compatriat punks, until you flame him firsrt and take the toughest opponent out of the picture.

Once your nemesis is taken out, mop up and process all the lesser rubbish like a sewing machine going through a slaughterhouse. It doesn't matter if you are in a fighter plane, a street fight, or a prison yard show down... battle is all the same. Love battle and run to it. Thrive on it. Sharpen your sword against the best of the best, and add every foe's dirty tricks to you bag of dirty tricks. If you can squirrel that motherfucker, do it. See the battle and engage in it, before he squirrels your daydreaming ass.

The bigger the odds the fucking better. Love oblivion. Smell the air. Do you smell that? That is death. Every day is a good day to die. Everyone must die; you die taking out as many of your fucking enemies with you as you can. That is what life is about. It is the only way for your soul to find peace.

That is the CHOPPERGIRL WAY. You go down fighting taking down as many of your motherfucking enemies with you as you can.



But not today. Today you are bullet proof.







How I got my name

I picked my nickname out why flying Hueys in the BF1 demo. In the beginning I wasn't terribly interested in all the shooting, but what found I really loved to do was fly, so I'd rush to get the Huey and would like shuttle players back and forth from the aircraft carrier to shore, or fly low through the jungle. I'd call this "Choppergirl Air" and like post funny messages like "Thank you for flying Choppergirl Air!" and "The Stewardess will be with you shortly!". The Huey rocked, it was like quintessential Vietnam. The Bird is the Word. It flew like a tub but who cared. I'd come in low and hot into the LZ through the jungle, and park it on a dime.

All those first days in the demo seems like a million years ago now. You don't want to tangle or dance with me in the air. Well, maybe you do. :-) I'm now a hardcore warrior and old, tired, seasoned world weary admin and game modder. I've developed stand alone video games of my own, but for the purposes of this website, I'll stick to the massive mods I've done to Battlefield.

I've run highly modified Battlefield 2142 demo, 2142 full game, Battlefield 2 demo, and Battlefield 2 full game servers, all called CHOPPERGIRL's AIRWAR. Over the years I've pour thousands of hours into these heavily modified servers, all to make the game more hardcore, action packed, balanced, and intense.


My Gunship



This is the aircraft I fly in the game. Its called a gunship, but I call it a chopper. Its kind of a futuristic hovercraft version of an attack helicopter, using VTOL thrust instead of helicopter blades to keep it airborne and move it about. I prefer the PAC gunship as pictures above, because it has a prettier color scheme than the EU gunship, which is sort of a dark gun metal black.

People complain about one gunship being superior to another, with different characteristics, but I ignore all differences and fly them both the same with no thought. As far as I'm concerned they are identical weapons to me in combat: they both fly, they both shoot missles, and they both shoot TV guided missles. That's all I care about in combat. Everything else is irrelevant. If it can shoot anything I will use it.

Most combat aircraft have their strength and weaknesses compared to what the enemy is fielding in the sky, so you have to learn your aircraft's strengths and your enemy's aircraft's weaknesses, and steer combat into a situation where your strengths play to your advantage and avoid being at a serious and fatal disadvantage because of your aircraft's weaknesses. But in the game, both aircraft are so closely matched its irrelevant and anyone that whines otherwise is just full of it. You fly what you can get your hands on and make the best of it no matter what, even if its a cardboard box or a bathtub.






Epilog

I kind of think my hot mess of website, that just grew over time as I added more stuff to it for me to save, bookmark and remember, gives the wrong impression, so eventually I need to change it all some day. But if that never happens, and it probably never will, I add these final thoughts to clarify things.


I was and am for the most part by default a pacifist that just wanted to be left alone, so I could play by myself.

The world didn't leave me alone at all, it fucked with me with injustice to the extreme, so now I got a chip on my shoulder.

It's not that I don't love people, I do, I was such a happy kid, smiling all the time, I love to make friends, but did people have to be so god damn mean...?

I vented all my violence though in video games and it didn't hurt anybody, so... yeah. I created my own hardcore thunderdome to take myself from being a super shy kid to ultra warrior. The world better not fuck with me again or I will open my own personal can of hell upon you. No promises, no threats, no bluster, just violence.

At any rate, I don't smile any more. That kid is long gone. Or is she...

Now I just want to fly and see what it's like. It's what I wanted to do when I was 2 years old. Zooming around with my arms outstretched. So it's been a long, long, long, long, long wait. Too long, too damn long. You have no idea how long. A thousand million roads I have traveled, pain and agony I have known.

The longer this goes on, the more it comes down to... I just got to know. And nothing but wrenching directly on a plane lasar focused in the zone on my butt on the ground dragging myself around in chronic pain, is going get me to the answer. No amount of emails I answer, pictures I make, forum posts I write, shitstorm disasters I clean up.

What it's like, when I get down low and ride that magic carpet ride over the fields for miles and miles.

I don't ask for any money from any one.

I just want to fly...

I want to fly for miles and miles like this and find that river of forgetfulness...

Someday maybe someone will say, where's Choppergirl, I don't see her around here any more...

She got her plane flying and found her river, a warm place with no memory, and goes to swim in it every summer... you can color her gone...

I may not get there, but I'm damned to die trying... and go out like a warrior and not a little bitch, therefore...

ad mortem, ad finem... to the death, to the (bitter) end...


and in case I don't ever get there, down that long ass road still ahead, I already have...

in my dreams, and with every tear I cried...






 





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Contact & Website Administrator: choppergirl@air-war.org