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: I slipped on a crab. Who put that crab there?
Lt. Commander Block: I don't see any crab, sir.
Admiral Benson: Don't tell me. There were two crabs. They work in pairs. I went to Annapolis for chrissakes!
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 alright, sir?
Admiral Benson: Of course I'm alright! Why, what have you heard?
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? Bah! Doesn't matter.
Topper Harley: You have the whitest white-part-of-the-eyes I've ever seen. Do you floss?
Kent Gregory: That flying stunt today was pure madness. If there wasn't a lady present, I'd tear you apart like Christmas goose.
Topper Harley: Yeah? Well, keep it up, you'll be carrying your face home in a doggie bag.
Ramada Thompson: What is this macho thing?
Topper Harley: He started it.
Kent Gregory: Did not.
Topper Harley: Did too.
Kent Gregory: Did not.
Ramada Thompson: You're behaving like children.
Topper Harley: He's bein' a jerk.
Kent Gregory: Am not.
Topper Harley: Are too.
Kent Gregory: Am not.
Topper Harley: Are too too too too too too too too too too too...
Kent Gregory: Not not not not not not not not not...
Topper Harley: Are too times ten.
Kent Gregory: [Shoving Topper] That's it...
Admiral Benson: My eyes are ceramic. Caught a bazooka round at Little Big Horn. Or was it Okinawa? The one without the Indians.
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.
Drill Sergeant #1: I don't care how many missions you've flown! I don't care how good you think you are! You're nobody, and for the next 10 days - nobody takes a crap unless I say so! Got it?
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: Those are some long legs...
Ramada Thompson: I just had them lengthened. Now they go all the way up.
[Admiral Benson comes into the briefing room in riding pants]
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.
Kent Gregory: Hey everybody. Drinks are on me.
Topper Harley: So... I guess you've been with a man before...
Ramada Thompson: I'm a virgin. I'm just not very good at it.
Lt. Commander Block: [greeting the arriving Admiral] Admiral Benson!
Admiral Benson: Really? That's my name too.
Reporter: Hey Topper Harley, now that you've killed the bad guy and made the world safe for democracy, what are you going to do to cash in on your new found fame?
Topper Harley: I'm goin' to Disneyland.
Admiral Benson: You risked the lives of some damn fine pilots... and that's *my* job!
Lt. Commander Block: How are ya, sir?
Admiral Benson: Hawaii? Goddamn it, Bill! I'm supposed to be in California.
Lt. Commander Block: No, sir, this is California.
Admiral Benson: Well, gotta run. Good luck.
Lt. Commander Block: But, sir, this is your command.
Admiral Benson: Oh, good. First before we get to the base, I need to use the men's room. I have a sensative bladder. Got part of it blown off at Guaducanal in 1942.
[Topper Harley is looking at the photos of Pete 'Dead Meat' Thompson's family]
Topper Harley: Cute.
Pete 'Dead Meat' Thompson: I like to stay in shape. Thanks.
Topper Harley: I could never find time for love. It's too heavy. It's an anchor that drowns a man. Besides, I got the sky, the smell of jet exhaust, my bike.
Pete 'Dead Meat' Thompson: A loner?
Topper Harley: No. I own it.
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. What do you think?
Admiral Benson: I don't have a clue what you're talkin' about, Phil. Not a fucking clue. I have a shell fragment the size of a fist in my head. Pork Chop Hill, 1953. The only way I can make this goddamn toupee to stay on my head is by magnetizing the entire upper left quadrant of my skull, so you just go ahead and do what you do.
Ramada Thompson: You were discharged from the service 18 months ago for willful insubordination. You disobeyed a direct order and lost a $13 million fighter in the process.
Topper Harley: Yes, I did. But I'm paying it off at ten bucks a week. And I wouldn't be doing that if I'd gotten that extra collision coverage.
Topper Harley: [Topper leans over her to press the button on the elevator and inhales] That's an interesting perfume.
Ramada Thompson: It's Vicks. I have a cold.
[Jets start their engines]
Admiral Benson: God, that's loud! My ear canals are very sensitive. They're stainless steel. Took a bullet at Corregidor, 1945. Passed straight through my head from one ear to the other. Here, look at this.
[Admiral Benson takes a handkerchief and inserts it in his left ear passing it through his head and out the right ear]
Air Controller: [air controller gets his earplugs out] We have these to hold down the sound, sir.
Admiral Benson: Oh, good. Thanks.
[Admiral Benson swallows the earplugs]
Admiral Benson: Let's hope they do the trick. Hand me the microphone, boy.
[the air traffic controller hands the Admiral the microphone, but it accidently hits the Admiral in the forehead]
Admiral Benson: Ow! Be careful! Ever since D-Day, 1944, this plate in my head has been sensitive.
Topper Harley: Mrs. Thompson, I know you must hate me right now but there's something I want you to have. I've been putting a little away for the past ten years. It's not much. 2500. I wish I could do more.
Mrs. Mary 'Dead Meat' Thompson: Why, Topper. That's so sweet. Why, with the three million that I won on this Lucky Lotto ticket, I can take this 2500 and just blow it all on hats.
Admiral Benson: God, I love a good funeral!
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.
Ramada Thompson: The chafing dish is not yours.
Kent Gregory: Yes, it is.
Ramada Thompson: No, it isn't.
Kent Gregory: OK, I don't want it.
Ramada Thompson: Just take it.
Topper Harley: I'll take it.
Ramada Thompson: You stay out of it.
Topper Harley: I've fallen for you like a blind roofer.
Ramada Thompson: I'm sorry?
Topper Harley: My heart is falling down around my ankles like a wet pair of pants. My whole life, all I've wanted to do is fly. Bomb stuff. Shoot people down.
Admiral Benson: Gentlemen, we've waited a long time to hear this. In exactly five hours and 17 minutes, we hit the enemy toast.
Lt. Commander Block: I think that's the "enemy coast", sir.
Admiral Benson: Huh? Coast? That'll take a little more planning. But it doesn't matter. Our assignment is to knock out the nuclear-weapons plant here at Falafel Heights. The plant goes on line in 12 hours and is heavily defended. Now, if you have trouble hitting your objective, your secondary targets are here and here: an accordion factory and a mime school. Good luck, gentlemen. Blink, take over. Oh, there's one more thing...
[the Admiral accidentally gets hit on the head by a metal pipe which makes a loud ringing sound]
Admiral Benson: Never mind, I'll get that. It's probably for me.
Jim 'Wash Out' Pfaffenbach: Looks like enemy aircraft at 12 o'clock.
Admiral Benson: Really? 12 o'clock? Well, that gives us about...
[checks his watch]
Admiral Benson: 25 minutes. Think I'll step out for a burger.
Lt. Commander Block: American planes will always be superior as long as there are wonderful men like you in the cockpit. And German parts.
[Pushing "Dead Meat" through the hospital to emergency]
Doctor: Quick, nurse check his penis. See if it's longer than mine.
Pete 'Dead Meat' Thompson: I'm in a hospital! What could go wrong?
Ramada Thompson: What do you do with an elephant with 3 balls? Walk him and pitch to the rhino.
Jim 'Wash Out' Pfaffenbach: I just got kicked out of the unit. My flight status has been withdrawn. I'm through, Dead Meat!
Pete 'Dead Meat' Thompson: What happened?
Jim 'Wash Out' Pfaffenbach: It's my eyes. I've got walleye-vision.
Pete 'Dead Meat' Thompson: Isn't there something that can be done?
Jim 'Wash Out' Pfaffenbach: Well, there's a delicate corneal inversion procedure... a multi-opti-pupil-optomy. But, in order to keep from damaging the eye sockets, they've got to go in through the rectum. Ain't no man going to take that route with me!
Lt. Commander Block: Yankee Doodle Floppy Disk, this is Foxtrot Zulu Milkshake, checking in at 700 feet, request permission to land.
Jim 'Wash Out' Pfaffenbach: Roger that, Foxtrot Zulu Milkshake, you are cleared to land. Welcome to the Mediterranean!
Kent Gregory: Wash Out, is that you?
Jim 'Wash Out' Pfaffenbach: You bet, they put me in charge of radar! From now on, I'll be your eyes on the ground!
Jim 'Wash Out' Pfaffenbach: Alpha Velveeta Knuckle Underwear, you are cleared for take-off. When you hit that nuclear weapons plant... drop a bomb for me!
Lt. Commander Block: Uh, Sphincter Mucus Niner Ringworm, roger!
[Wash Out can't read the number on the runway he's landing on]
Jim 'Wash Out' Pfaffenbach: I need clearance to land on runway thirty... thirty... something!
Air Controller: Thirtysomething's been cancelled.
Admiral Benson: [while standing on top of the aircraft carrier, his cap blew off and landed in the ocean] Holy Cow! My cap blew off! Swing her round. We'll pick it up.
Officer: But, sir, we're on the mission.
Admiral Benson: Good thinking. We'll pick it up on the way back. We gotta mark the spot, though. Put Robinowitz in a life raft. Have him row in circles until we return.
Officer: It could be days.
Admiral Benson: Then put some food in the life raft, for god's sake, man. Do I have to think of everything? We'll tape his favorite shows, he won't miss anything.
Kent Gregory: [to the crowd assembled on the flight deck cheering for their successful mission] Uh we're landing, do you wanna get out of the way?
Topper Harley: Kent, your nostrils are flaring...
Jim "Wash Out" Pfaffenbach: You've got six bogies heading toward you!
[sneezes on the radar screen]
Jim "Wash Out" Pfaffenbach: Oh my God, a dozen more of them! And a blimp, a big, shiny blimp and it's slowly moving south!
Pete 'Dead Meat' Thompson: [after being hit by ambulance] Wendy, I can fly!
Drill Sergeant #1: Your ego's writing checks your body can't cash.
Topper Harley: You've got to be joking!
Ramada Thompson: Look, if I were joking, I would've said "what do you do with an elephant with three balls? You walk him and pitch to the rhino".