Years ago I alighted my electric fighter jet for the final time, and said, "That'll do, pig." Traded my Nomex pajamas for dungarees and headed out to yonder grass strip.
TOLD the folks there I would be taking their tired old Cessna for the insane amount of shekels they asked, and if a young whipper-snapper needed to accompany me, so be it, better be the quiet type.
Upon entering the COCKPIT of said Cessna (flight deck my Aunt Sadie) I noticed something wet and foreign bobbling on the glare shield. Frightened as I was to see such an ancient sorceress from the sea, I ripped it from it's grip on my surly steed and threw it across the tarmac, shouting "If God had wanted an aviator to fly with reference to magnetic fields, He would surely have given Adam a digital Magnetometer instead of an apple bob!"
Young whipper-snapper, staring at me, quite agog, was ready to leave the COCKPIT at that point. "Don't worry, young friend, for I have brought forth with me the Stratux, complete with AHRS and GPS. All is well."
Magnetic demons having been sufficiently vanquished, we set forth upon our flight, slipping the surly bonds until such time we had to return, whence we reaped many carnal benefits as victorious warriors of the sky.
I later saw a hapless young warrior on the tarmac, arse over tea kettle, searching below the seats of his COCKPIT for some sort of paper, I know not why. Seeing such a noble warrior in such a state made me want to weep. But of course, I did not. I instead sought (and found) further carnal glory.
Huzzah!