Admiral Benson: Oh, by the way I would like to thank you for having us over for dinner the other night. Cheryl and I thought the stroganoff was marvelous.
Lt. Commander Block: But sir, we didn't have dinner the other night.
Admiral Benson: Really? Then where the hell was I? And who's this Cheryl?
Admiral Benson: Thompson wasn't that good a pilot, anyway. He only had a small family. The kids are a pain in the ass. The wife's on the sauce. Hell, poor bastard's better off dead. What size shoes do you wear?
Lt. Commander Block: A nine, sir.
Admiral Benson: Good. It's settled then. We'll send Harley to the front.
Lt. Commander Block: Every aerial photo and recon report indicate a defensive arsenal in the D, and perhaps negative C, categories. There's also some anti-aircraft squadrons. They can send up an ack-ack umbrella high enough to make any attack ineffective.
Admiral Benson: I don't have a clue what you're talkin' about, Phil. Not a fucking clue. I have a shell the size of a fist in my head. Pork Chop Hill. The only way I can make this goddamn toupee to stay on is by magnetizing the entire upper left quadrant of my skull, so you just go ahead and do what you do.
Topper Harley: Nice place.
Ramada Thompson: It's okay. The only problem is I have a nosy landlady. Well, I guess this is goodnight.
Topper Harley: I don't want to go back.
Ramada Thompson: You don't have to. I don't want to be alone. And by the way... I can go all night, like a lumberjack!
Topper Harley: What about your landlady?
Ramada Thompson: You can do her too.
Admiral Benson: Be seated! Ah... Many of you are wondering what's wrong with my pants, well they started running short on materials right before they got to the knees so don't give me any shit. Ah. I look out there on all you wonderful guys and I say to myself "What I wouldn't give to be 20 years younger... And a woman." You know, I've personally flown over 194 missions and I was shot down on every one. Come to think of it, I've never landed a plane in my life.
Admiral Benson: Pete 'Dead Meat' Thompson is dead. So is Mo Green, Tataglia, Barzini, the heads of all the five families. It is at moments like these, my dear friends, that we must ask ourselves: "How can this not be part of some larger plan?" Do good men like Dead Meat Thompson just blink out one day like a bad bulb? I mean, one minute you're in bed with a knockout gal... Or guy, and the next, you're a compost heap. Doesn't that bother any of you? Because it scares the living piss outta me!
Topper Harley: My father used to say that not playing to win is like sleeping with your sister. Sure she's a great piece of tail, with a blouse full of goodies, but... It's just illegal. Then you get into that whole inbred thing. Kids with no teeth who do nothing but play the banjo... Eat apple sauce through a straw... Pork farm animals.
Admiral Benson: Call down to the galley and order up some soup.
Lt. Commander Block: Yes, sir.
Admiral Benson: Ahhh... I love soup. At least I think I love soup. Blasted shell! It's either soup or duck. Which one do you shoot?
Lt. Commander Block: Duck, sir.
[Admiral Benson hits head on desk while ducking.]
Lt. Commander Block: Are you all right, sir?
Admiral Benson: Of course I'm all right. Why, what have you heard?