Dance Commander

The first four measures of 'Smells Like Teen Spirit'  emanate form the Gravitron on endless loop. The aroma of spilled beer and corndog batter envelopes the grounds like a cheap rest stop cologne. Slightly stoned teens line up for thrills via mechanically dubious vomit comets as the carne's look on and cackle. Yep, it's state fair time again. Time to pin the blue ribbon on the prize pig and hammer down fried Twinkies and elephant ears until your innards revolt. And amidst this American tradition an idea birthed. A graphic to at once revere and revile. Twirled up from the sociopathic cotton candy machine that is Team Icon and dusted with ...dust. An Airframe like none other. Harkening back to a simpler time when girls wanted to be marine biologist. When Wham was waking us up before we go go'd. And when the Gipper held a strong pimp hand on the Nuke button. The Airframe Dance Commander - a breath of fresh air transported from a bygone era. Rossi has nothing on this.

The Unicloud stands majestically on his blue cumulonimbus...

...while leaping dolphins frolic in the warm Gulf Coast shore break

For the record - we forced Garage31 into painting this helmet at knifepoint - he thought it was a grotesque mockery of all things decent and tasteful. We expressed our agreement by stabbing him in the eyeball (figuratively).