Two stories.
Friend and i were flying around, I was PIC, he was right seat navigating. We were flying without a GPS turned on, working on dead rec navigation should the unfortunate ever occur that we HAD to fall back on those skills. After about an hour of silence from my friend and ever growing fact that we were approaching the western beaches of Florida, my buddy turns to me, looks at the map, repeats a few times then asks "Where the Hell are we??"
My brother was flying from Sun N Fun this year heading to San Antonio where he's stationed, driving a Cessna 150 no less. At one point he's passing through an a hot MOA that ATC had given him clearance through. In this particular MOA, Guy (my brother) was amongst B-52's, and the controller was firing off directions like a mad man to keep everyone from flying into each other. At one point he gets his call signs crossed up and calls my brothers number thinking he's talking to one of the Buffs and instructs Guy to slow to 300 for passing Cessna traffic. Before Guy gets a chance to break in and explain calmly that a C-150 traveling at 300 kt either is falling like a brick or has a rocket attached to the tail and in either event the plane would have the wings following well behind, the B-52 pilot gets in first and says, "If there's a C150 out there flying at 300 then I'm getting out of his damn way"
KW