I sexually Identify as a Supermarine Spitfire. Ever since I was a boy I dreamed of soaring over England dropping hot sticky loads on disgusting Krauts. People say to me that a person being a WWII fighter plane is Impossible and I'm -blam!-ing retarded but I don't care, I'm beautiful. I'm having a plastic surgeon install Browning .303 machine guns, a Rolls-Royce Merlin 45 engine and a lightweight monocoque chassis on my body. From now on I want you guys to call me "Spitfire MH434" and respect my right to kill Krauts. If you can't accept me you're a planephobe and need to check your vehicle privilege. Thank you for being so understanding.
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As a P-51-F Mustang, I've felt some of the same discrimination you may have. I know what it's like to not be approved at parties and social events. [i]"Uberfonzie, you need to stop making that buzzing noise!" "Uberfonzie, quit trying to shoot down the neighbors Volkswagen!" "Uberfonzie, you can't fly! Stop trying!"[/i] Blatant privilege of those with mainstream identifications.