Here's the World War flying ace high over the newly formed Republic of San Francisco in his Sopwith Camel searching for the infamous Gay Baron. I must bring him down! Suddenly anti-straightguy fire bursts beneath my plane. The Gay Baron has spotted me.
Nyahh, Nyahh, Nyahh! You can't hit me!
Actually, tough flying aces never say Nyahh, Nyahh...
Drat this fog! It's bad enough to have to fight the Gay Baron without having to fly in weather like this. All right Gay Baron where are you? You can't hide forever!
Wait the moon has broken through. I see him there over the Golden Gate...or should I say Golden Gay Bridge. It's a Fokker Triplane and the guy flying it is one bad mother Fokker.
I've got you this time Gay Baron. Auggghh he's diving. Going down... You've tricked me again Gay Baron. Curse you and your kind. Curse the evil that causes all this unhappiness.
Here's the World War flying ace back at the aerodrome in Amarillo. He is exhausted and yet he dows not sleep, for one thought continues to burn in his mind.
Someday I'll get you Gay Baron.
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