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Luke Freeman
Far better is it to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much because they live in gray twilight that knows not victory nor defeat.---Teddy Roosevelt
Far better is it to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much because they live in gray twilight that knows not victory nor defeat.---Teddy Roosevelt

Luke's posts

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The caption says it all...
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If the show "Cops" has taught me anything, it's to stay away from people with blurry faces. They're nothing but trouble. 

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There are no rockets or airplanes built by any government in the world that can accelerate, from a standing start, as fast as a Top Fuel Dragster or Funny Car.


One top fuel dragster
500 cubic inch Hemi engine
makes more horsepower
than the first 4 rows of stock cars
at the Daytona 500.

It takes just 15/100ths of a second
for all 6,000+ horsepower
of an NHRA Top Fuel dragster engine
to reach the rear wheels.

Under full throttle,
a dragster engine consumes 1-1/2 gallons of nitro methane per second;
a fully loaded 747 consumes jet fuel at the same rate,
with 25% less energy being produced.

A stock Dodge Hemi V-8 engine
cannot produce enough power
to drive the dragster's supercharger.

With 3,000 CFM of air
being rammed in by the supercharger on overdrive,
the fuel mixture is compressed
into a near-solid form before ignition.

Cylinders run on the verge of hydraulic lock at full throttle.

At the stoichiometric (stoichiometry: methodology and technology by which quantities of reactants
and products in chemical reactions are determined)
1.7:1 air/fuel mixture of nitro methane,
the flame front temperature measures 7,050 degrees F.

Nitro methane burns yellow.
The spectacular white flame seen above the stacks at night is raw burning hydrogen,
dissociated from atmospheric water vapor by the searing exhaust gases.

Dual magnetos supply 44 amps to each spark plug.
This is the output of an arc welder in each cylinder.

Spark plug electrodes are totally consumed during a pass.
After halfway, the engine is dieseling from compression,
plus the glow of exhaust valves at 1,400 degrees F.
The engine can only be shut down by cutting the fuel flow.

If spark momentarily fails early in the run,
unburned nitro builds up in the affected cylinders
and then explodes with sufficient force
to blow cylinder heads off the block in pieces
or split the block in half.

In order to exceed 300 mph in 4. 5 seconds,
dragsters must accelerate an average of over 4G's.
In order to reach 200 mph (well before half-track),
the launch acceleration approaches 8G's.

Dragsters reach over 300 miles per hour
before you have completed reading this sentence.

Top fuel engines turn approximately 540 revolutions
from light to light!
Including the burnout,
the engine must only survive 900 revolutions under load.

The redline is actually quite high at 9,500 rpm.

Assuming all the equipment is paid off,
that the crew worked for free,
and for once NOTHING BLOWS UP,
each run costs an estimate $1,000.00 per second.

The current top fuel dragster elapsed time record is 4.428 seconds for the quarter mile.
(11/12/06, Tony Schumacher, at Pomona , CA ).
The top speed record is 336.15 mph as measured over the last 66' of the run.
(05/25/05 Tony Schumacher, at Hebron , OH ).

Putting all of this into perspective:

You are driving the average $140,000 Lingenfelter 'twin-turbo' powered Corvette Z06.
Over a mile up the road,
a top fuel dragster is staged
and ready to launch down a quarter mile strip as you pass.

You have the advantage of a flying start.

You run the 'Vette hard up through the gears,
and you blast across the starting line
and you pass the dragster at an honest 200 mph.
The 'tree' goes green for both of you at that moment.

The dragster launches and starts after you.

You keep your foot down hard,
but you hear an incredibly brutal whine that sears your eardrums
and within 3 seconds,
the dragster catches and passes you.

He beats you to the finish line,
a quarter mile away from where you just passed him.

Think about it,
from a standing start,
the dragster had spotted you 200 mph
and not only caught,
but nearly blasted you off the road
when he passed you
within a mere 1,320 foot long race course.

...... and that my friend, is ACCELERATION


What Does a Hero Taste Like?

One of my law enforcement professors shared this article with us last year. I thought it was really good.

By Sgt. Bernie Moss

The department was all astir, there was a lot of laughing and joking due to all the new officers, myself included, hitting the streets today for the first time. After months of seemingly endless classes, paperwork and lectures, we were finally done with the Police Academy and ready to join the ranks of our department. All you could see were rows of cadets with hugs, smiles and polished badges.

As we sat in the briefing room, we could barely sit still anxiously awaiting our turn to be introduced and given our beat assignment or, for the lay person, our own portion of the city to “serve and protect.” It was then that he walked in, a statue of a man, six foot three, and 230 pounds of solid muscle. He had black hair with highlights of gray and steely eyes that made you feel nervous even when he wasn’t looking at you. He had a reputation for being the biggest and the smartest officer to ever work our fair city.

He had been in the department for longer than anyone could remember, and those years of service had made him into a legend. The new guys, or the “rookies” as he called us, both respected and feared him. When he spoke even the most seasoned officer paid attention. It was considered a privilege when one of the rookies got to be around when he told one of his police stories about the old days. But we knew our place and never interrupted for fear of being shooed away. He was respected and revered by all who knew him.

After my first year on the department, I still had never seen or heard him speak to any of the rookies for any length of time. When he did, all he said was, “So you want to be a policeman, do you, hero? I’ll tell you what, when you can tell me what they taste like then you can call yourself a real policeman.” I had heard this particular phrase dozens of times. My buddies and I had bets about what they tasted like. Some believed it referred to the taste of our own blood after a hard fight. Others thought it referred to the taste of sweat after a long day’s work.

Being on the department for year, I thought I knew just about everyone and everything. So one afternoon I mustered up the courage and walked over to him. When he looked down at me, I said, “You know, I think I’ve paid my dues. I’ve been in plenty of fights, made dozens of arrests and sweated my butt off just like everyone else. So what does that little saying of yours mean anyway?”

With that he merely said, “Well, seeing as how you’ve said and done it all, you tell me what it means, hero.” When I had no answer, he shook his head and snickered, “Rookies,” and walked away.

The next evening was to be my worst call to date. The night started out slow, but as the evening wore on, the calls became more frequent and dangerous. I made several small arrests and then had a real knock down drag out fight. However, I was able to make the arrest without hurting the suspect or myself. After that, I was looking forward to ending the shift and getting home to my wife and daughter.

I had just glanced at my watch and it was 11:55, five more minutes and I would be on my way to the house. I don’t know if it was fatigue or my imagination, but as I drove down one of the streets on my beat, I thought I saw my daughter standing on someone else’s porch. I looked again, but it was not my daughter, but a small child about her age. She was probably only six or seven years old and dressed in an oversized shirt that hung to her feet. She was clutching a rag doll in her arm that looked older than me.

I immediately stopped to see what she was doing outside the house at such an hour. When I approached, there seemed to be a sigh of relief on her face. I had to laugh to myself, thinking she saw the hero policeman come to save the day. I knelt beside her and asked what she was doing outside. She said, “My mommy and daddy had a big fight, and now Mommy won’t wake up.” My mind was reeling. Now what to do? I instantly called for backup and ran to the nearest window. As I looked inside I saw a man standing over a lady with his hands covered in blood…her blood. I kicked open the door and pushed the man aside and checked for a pulse, but was unable to find one. I immediately cuffed the man and began CPR on the lady.

I then heard a small voice behind me say, “Mr. Policeman, please make my mommy wake up.” I continued to perform CPR until backup and medics arrived, but they said it was too late. I looked at the man, who said, “I don’t know what happened. She was yelling at me to stop drinking and go get a job and I had just had enough. I shoved her so she’d leave me alone and she fell and hit her head.”

As I walked the man in handcuffs out to the car, I again saw that little girl. In the five minutes that passed, I went from hero to monster. Not only was I unable to wake up her mommy, now I was taking her daddy away too. Before I left the scene I thought I would talk to her, tell her I was sorry about her mommy and daddy. But as I approached she turned away, and I knew it was useless, I probably would make matters worse.

As I sat in my locker room at the station, I kept replaying the whole thing in my mind. Maybe if I would have been faster or done something different, just maybe the little girl would still have her mother. And even though it might sound selfish, I would still be the hero.

It was then that I felt a large hand on my shoulder, and I heard that all too familiar question again. “Well, hero, what do they taste like?” But before I could get mad or shout some sarcastic remark I realized that all the pent-up emotions had surfaced, and now a steady stream of tears cascaded down my face.

At that moment, I realized what the answer to his question was. Tears.

With that he walked away but then stopped. “There was nothing you could have done differently, you know. Sometimes you do everything right and the outcome is still the same. You may not be the hero you once thought you were, but now you are a policeman.”

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Very true

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Far better is it to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much because they live in gray twilight that knows not victory nor defeat.---Teddy Roosevelt, 26th president of the US. 

ALL FOUR VERSES OF THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER.  My personal favorite is the 4th verse.  I personally think it should be the primary verse.  What's your favorite?

Oh, say can you see, by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

 On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines on the stream:
'Tis the star-spangled banner! O long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

 And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion
A home and a country should leave us no more?
Their blood has wiped out their foul footstep's pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave:
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

 Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved homes and the war's desolation!
Blessed with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: "In God is our trust."
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

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My tie has a tie!!! Tieception. 

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How To Lose Your Girlfriend Like A Boss! 
This sounds like the best thing to ever happen to the guy.
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