Pilots Leaving Airports Need Experience.

I barge where I please, I don't give in Striped, stubborn, rage under my skin

As the fastest runner in the world, I really live up to my last name.

I sit and lie dormant prepared to burn. A knife in my gut, an explosion returned. Jam what is popped, my tail to the wall. Butter, jelly or cinnamon? Why not try them all?

I never grow old and I never decay, I was even found where the pharaohs once lay. A term of endearment your sweetheart might say, made by small gatherers that work hard all day. I'm stored in waxy hexagons, perfectly aligned, a geometric treasure that’s one of a kind.