Next thing we'll see is him claiming to be the pilot that shot down those Libyan MIGs years ago and his call sign was Maverick.
Except he was standing on the ground, holding a beer. He picked up a rock and instinctively hurled it in the air, using a formula his grandfather put together with Einstein, who it turns out could play a pretty mean dobro. Many was the night that Tom and Al would stay up all night, discussing quantum mechanics. Anyway, that rock hit the MiG square in its one weak spot, which he knew about because his aunt used to sleep with the guy who designed most Russian aircraft, which by the way that guy brought over the best vodka in the world, and Tom latched onto his secret, and he sells his own private label at $1000/bottle to friends in the wine country.