Profile for Garnett:
I intend to live forever or die trying.
"Just what the hell did you mean, you bastard, when you said we couldn't punish you?" said the corporal who could take shorthand reading from his steno pad.
"All right," said the colonel. "Just what the hell did you mean?"
"I didn't say you couldn't punish me, sir."
"When," asked the colonel.
"When what, sir?"
"Now you're asking me questions again."
"I'm sorry, sir. I'm afraid I don't understand your question."
"When didn't you say we couldn't punish you? Don't you understand my question?"
"No, sir, I don't understand."
"You've just told us that. Now suppose you answer my question."
"But how can I answer it?"
"That's another question you're asking me."
"I'm sorry, sir. But I don't know how to answer it. I never said you couldn't punish me."
"Now you're telling us what you did say. I'm asking you to tell us when you didn't say it."
Clevinger took a deep breath. "I always didn't say you couldn't punish me, sir."
"That's much better, Mr. Clevinger, even though it's a bare-faced lie. Didn't you whisper that we couldn't punish you to that other dirty son of a bitch we don't like? What's his name?"
"Yossarian, sir," Lieutenant Scheisskopf said.
"Yes, Yossarian. That's right. Yossarian. Yossarian? Is that his name? Yossarian? What the hell kind of name is Yossarian?"
Lieutenant Scheisskopf had the facts at his fingertips. "It's Yossarian's name, sir," he explained.
"Yes I suppose it is. Didn't you whisper to Yossarian that we couldn't punish you?"
"Oh, no, sir. I whispered to him that you couldn't find me guilty-"
"I may be stupid," interrupted the colonel, "but the distinction escapes me. I guess I'm pretty stupid, because the distinction escapes me."
"W-"
"You're a windy son of bitch, aren't you? Nobody asked you for clarification and you're giving me clarification. I was making a statement, not asking for clarification. You're a windy son of a bitch, aren't you?"
"No, sir."
"No, sir? Are you calling me a goddam liar?"
"Oh, no, sir."
"Then you're a windy son of a bitch aren't you?"
"No, sir."
"Are you trying to pick a fight with me?"
"No, sir."
"Are you a windy son of a bitch?"
"No, sir."
"Goddamit, you are trying to pick a fight with me. For two stinking cents I'd jump over this big fat table and rip your stinking, cowardly body apart limb from limb."
"Do it! Do it!" cried Major Metcalf.
"Metcalf, you stinking son of a bitch. Didn't I tell you to keep you stinking, cowardly, stupid mouth shut?"
"Yes, sir. I'm sorry sir."
"Then suppose you do it."
"I was only trying to learn, sir. The only way a person can learn is by trying."
"Who says so?"
"Everybody says so, sir. Even Lieutenant Scheisskopf says so."
"Do you say so?"
"Yes, sir," said Lieutenant Scheisskopf. "But everybody says so."
"Well, Metcalf, suppose you try keeping that stupid mouth of yours shut,and maybe that's the way you learn how. Now where were we? Read me back the last line."
"'Read me back the last line,'" read back the corporal who could take shorthand.
"Not my last line, stupid!" the colonel shouted. "Somebody else's."
"'Read me back the last line,'" read back the corporal.
"That's my last line again!" shrieked the colonel, turning purple with anger.
"Oh, no, sir," corrected the corporal. "That's my last line. I read it to you just a moment ago. Don't you remember, sir? It was only a moment ago."
"Oh, my God! Read me back his last line, stupid. Say, what the hell's your name, anyway?"
"Popinjay, sir."
"Well, you're next, Popinjay. As soon as this trial ends, your trial begins. Get it?"
"Yes, sir. What will he be charged with?"
"What the hell difference does that make? Did you hear what he asked me? You're going to learn, Popinjay - the minute we finish with Clevinger you're going to learn. Cadet Clevinger, what did - You are Cadet Clevinger, aren't you, and not Popinjay?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. What did-"
"I'm Popinjay, sir."
"Popinjay. Is your father a millionaire, or a member of the Senate?"
"No, sir."
"Then you're up shit creek, Popinjay, without a paddle.He's not a general or a high-ranking member of the Administration, is he?"
"No, sir."
"That's good. What does your father do?"
"He's dead, sir."
"That's very good. You really are up the creek, Popinjay. Is Popinjay really your name? Just what the hell kind of name is Popinjay, anyway? I don't like it."
"It's Popinjay''s name, sir," Lieutenant Scheisskopf explained.
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I intend to live forever or die trying.
"Just what the hell did you mean, you bastard, when you said we couldn't punish you?" said the corporal who could take shorthand reading from his steno pad.
"All right," said the colonel. "Just what the hell did you mean?"
"I didn't say you couldn't punish me, sir."
"When," asked the colonel.
"When what, sir?"
"Now you're asking me questions again."
"I'm sorry, sir. I'm afraid I don't understand your question."
"When didn't you say we couldn't punish you? Don't you understand my question?"
"No, sir, I don't understand."
"You've just told us that. Now suppose you answer my question."
"But how can I answer it?"
"That's another question you're asking me."
"I'm sorry, sir. But I don't know how to answer it. I never said you couldn't punish me."
"Now you're telling us what you did say. I'm asking you to tell us when you didn't say it."
Clevinger took a deep breath. "I always didn't say you couldn't punish me, sir."
"That's much better, Mr. Clevinger, even though it's a bare-faced lie. Didn't you whisper that we couldn't punish you to that other dirty son of a bitch we don't like? What's his name?"
"Yossarian, sir," Lieutenant Scheisskopf said.
"Yes, Yossarian. That's right. Yossarian. Yossarian? Is that his name? Yossarian? What the hell kind of name is Yossarian?"
Lieutenant Scheisskopf had the facts at his fingertips. "It's Yossarian's name, sir," he explained.
"Yes I suppose it is. Didn't you whisper to Yossarian that we couldn't punish you?"
"Oh, no, sir. I whispered to him that you couldn't find me guilty-"
"I may be stupid," interrupted the colonel, "but the distinction escapes me. I guess I'm pretty stupid, because the distinction escapes me."
"W-"
"You're a windy son of bitch, aren't you? Nobody asked you for clarification and you're giving me clarification. I was making a statement, not asking for clarification. You're a windy son of a bitch, aren't you?"
"No, sir."
"No, sir? Are you calling me a goddam liar?"
"Oh, no, sir."
"Then you're a windy son of a bitch aren't you?"
"No, sir."
"Are you trying to pick a fight with me?"
"No, sir."
"Are you a windy son of a bitch?"
"No, sir."
"Goddamit, you are trying to pick a fight with me. For two stinking cents I'd jump over this big fat table and rip your stinking, cowardly body apart limb from limb."
"Do it! Do it!" cried Major Metcalf.
"Metcalf, you stinking son of a bitch. Didn't I tell you to keep you stinking, cowardly, stupid mouth shut?"
"Yes, sir. I'm sorry sir."
"Then suppose you do it."
"I was only trying to learn, sir. The only way a person can learn is by trying."
"Who says so?"
"Everybody says so, sir. Even Lieutenant Scheisskopf says so."
"Do you say so?"
"Yes, sir," said Lieutenant Scheisskopf. "But everybody says so."
"Well, Metcalf, suppose you try keeping that stupid mouth of yours shut,and maybe that's the way you learn how. Now where were we? Read me back the last line."
"'Read me back the last line,'" read back the corporal who could take shorthand.
"Not my last line, stupid!" the colonel shouted. "Somebody else's."
"'Read me back the last line,'" read back the corporal.
"That's my last line again!" shrieked the colonel, turning purple with anger.
"Oh, no, sir," corrected the corporal. "That's my last line. I read it to you just a moment ago. Don't you remember, sir? It was only a moment ago."
"Oh, my God! Read me back his last line, stupid. Say, what the hell's your name, anyway?"
"Popinjay, sir."
"Well, you're next, Popinjay. As soon as this trial ends, your trial begins. Get it?"
"Yes, sir. What will he be charged with?"
"What the hell difference does that make? Did you hear what he asked me? You're going to learn, Popinjay - the minute we finish with Clevinger you're going to learn. Cadet Clevinger, what did - You are Cadet Clevinger, aren't you, and not Popinjay?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. What did-"
"I'm Popinjay, sir."
"Popinjay. Is your father a millionaire, or a member of the Senate?"
"No, sir."
"Then you're up shit creek, Popinjay, without a paddle.He's not a general or a high-ranking member of the Administration, is he?"
"No, sir."
"That's good. What does your father do?"
"He's dead, sir."
"That's very good. You really are up the creek, Popinjay. Is Popinjay really your name? Just what the hell kind of name is Popinjay, anyway? I don't like it."
"It's Popinjay''s name, sir," Lieutenant Scheisskopf explained.
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Best answers to questions:
» Heckles
Once in a place in South London
This guy, Stephen somebody, was not having a great time, due, in part, to some pretty inspired heckling. At one point he waited for silence, and said something like "You know, I came here to perform and I'm trying hard, so the least you could do is be polite". And in the ensuing silence, a guy in the crowd stood up and replied, "Stephen, we'd be ever so grateful if you would please leave the stage."
(Fri 7th Apr 2006, 11:33, More)
Once in a place in South London
This guy, Stephen somebody, was not having a great time, due, in part, to some pretty inspired heckling. At one point he waited for silence, and said something like "You know, I came here to perform and I'm trying hard, so the least you could do is be polite". And in the ensuing silence, a guy in the crowd stood up and replied, "Stephen, we'd be ever so grateful if you would please leave the stage."
(Fri 7th Apr 2006, 11:33, More)
» Customers from Hell
Insurance scam with something missing
I work for a council. I guess you could say the residents are our customers.
One called up last week to make a claim on the Council's building insurance. Their house had burnt down.
I call the neighbourhood officer who tells me it's understood to have been a deliberate fire and that the resident is clearly trying an insurance scam.
The problem with that being that the residents are responsible for their own building cover.
The numpty has torched their own house for an insurance scam without any insurance.
(Sat 6th Sep 2008, 10:35, More)
Insurance scam with something missing
I work for a council. I guess you could say the residents are our customers.
One called up last week to make a claim on the Council's building insurance. Their house had burnt down.
I call the neighbourhood officer who tells me it's understood to have been a deliberate fire and that the resident is clearly trying an insurance scam.
The problem with that being that the residents are responsible for their own building cover.
The numpty has torched their own house for an insurance scam without any insurance.
(Sat 6th Sep 2008, 10:35, More)
» Fire!
When we didn't have any matches in our student house
and I wanted to light the hob, rather than walk all the way down to the shop at the end of the road (wasn't sure if it would even be open so early on a Saturday afternoon), I decided man must be able to start fire without them.
So I crumpled up some foil and crafted a crude crucible into which I tore some kitchen towel.
Then, with dead match in hand, I whacked it in the microwave, turned it on and withdrew to arm's length.
Sorry - no hilarious results: The sparks from the foil ignited the kitchen towel, I quickly opened the door and lit the dead match off the small fire, and lit the stove.
Felt like how the cavemen must have felt.
Ray Mears stand aside. Drop me anywhere, and, with nothing more than a gas stove, microwave, gas and electricity supplies, some two-, or three-ply tissue and a used match, I could cook anything someone else may be able to catch. Grrrr.
(Thu 3rd Nov 2005, 11:36, More)
When we didn't have any matches in our student house
and I wanted to light the hob, rather than walk all the way down to the shop at the end of the road (wasn't sure if it would even be open so early on a Saturday afternoon), I decided man must be able to start fire without them.
So I crumpled up some foil and crafted a crude crucible into which I tore some kitchen towel.
Then, with dead match in hand, I whacked it in the microwave, turned it on and withdrew to arm's length.
Sorry - no hilarious results: The sparks from the foil ignited the kitchen towel, I quickly opened the door and lit the dead match off the small fire, and lit the stove.
Felt like how the cavemen must have felt.
Ray Mears stand aside. Drop me anywhere, and, with nothing more than a gas stove, microwave, gas and electricity supplies, some two-, or three-ply tissue and a used match, I could cook anything someone else may be able to catch. Grrrr.
(Thu 3rd Nov 2005, 11:36, More)
» Shame
Was once woken up by the DIY-mad neighbour next door
Drilling at 7.30 in the morning. Not impressed. Constant bloody noise that got me out of bed in the end. Mentioned it to my mum who gratifyingly seemed geniunely interested and came up to my room to listen to the drilling. We couldn't tell if it was coming from the first floor (level with my parents' room) or the second (level with mine) and we spent a few minutes trying to work it out. Mum pointed out it was odd because it sounded like it was so close it could almost be in my room. She even looked around a bit. It was when she started to look under my bed that I realised the source of the noise. My girlfriend's vibrator. Under the bed. Just where mum was about to look. (Still don't know to this day how it switched itself on). I managed a lame effort to cover it up, and mum went downstairs, and every time I think about it, it takes a healthy dose of willing suspension of disbelief on my behalf to pretend she didn't see all...
(Fri 25th Nov 2005, 12:31, More)
Was once woken up by the DIY-mad neighbour next door
Drilling at 7.30 in the morning. Not impressed. Constant bloody noise that got me out of bed in the end. Mentioned it to my mum who gratifyingly seemed geniunely interested and came up to my room to listen to the drilling. We couldn't tell if it was coming from the first floor (level with my parents' room) or the second (level with mine) and we spent a few minutes trying to work it out. Mum pointed out it was odd because it sounded like it was so close it could almost be in my room. She even looked around a bit. It was when she started to look under my bed that I realised the source of the noise. My girlfriend's vibrator. Under the bed. Just where mum was about to look. (Still don't know to this day how it switched itself on). I managed a lame effort to cover it up, and mum went downstairs, and every time I think about it, it takes a healthy dose of willing suspension of disbelief on my behalf to pretend she didn't see all...
(Fri 25th Nov 2005, 12:31, More)