For the Boys Page #3

he did ask me to tour with him once,

but I have a little boy and my husband

is a combat photographer in North Africa...

Are we really gonna do a comedy routine?

Piece of cake. Just read the cue cards and

when in trouble you throw it back to papa.

Yes, sir.

Boy.

That is quite a dress.

Well, this is me in my dress.

- You're gonna be sensational.

- Thank you.

Sam.

- Get me a backup.

- What's up? She looked nervous.

- Nervous? She was like a horse on fire.

- Well?

She's no Greta Garbo.

Sam, could you give us a minute, please?

- Eddie, Steel Pier, Atlantic City, 1931.

- Don't start.

You were wearing the check suit.

I said lose it.

You were doing I don't know what. I said

"We're gonna write you..." Look at me.

Who am I? Come on, Eddie.

The writer. Why do they call them writers?

Cos they're right, right?

You're a smug bastard.

I should have dumped you years ago.

- You still got the check suit?

- F*** you and your cousin.

Niece. And she's gonna go all the way,

with or without us.

- Damn. Look at this.

- What?

- I think I'm gonna puke.

- No. A couple of deep breaths.

- What is it, butterflies?

- Elephants.

Here, take the edge off.

Better?

- What is that?

- Nazi tank fuel.

Grows hair all over your pinamunda.

I know, I need some rest.

- OK, take a look.

- Oh, Loretta.

- I look human. Thank you. You're a genius.

- You're on next.

- What, now? Oh, God.

- Honey, it's a bunch of horny guys.

- How you gonna lose?

- In that case, let me at 'em.

- Maybe we can pin it.

- It's too far gone.

You're on next. Holy Moses!

What happened?

They're gonna take me outside

and shoot me like a deserter.

Larry! Stretch.

Someone who just flew

over from the States to be with us.

Let's give her a big welcome.

A great, great singer.

Miss Dixie Leonard!

- Guess what.

- What?

She's not ready.

Isn't that like a dame?

If you guys took this long getting dressed,

we'd all be speaking German by now.

- Don't you have another dress?

- Don't you wanna try and help?

- Captain?

- Who, me?

- Yeah, you. Hi.

- Hello.

Hello.

You know, there is one piece of

women's apparel I don't quite understand.

The one with the straps,

the buttons, the hooks.

- It's a brassiere!

- It's harder to get off than a parachute.

That's why I always offer to help.

Well, hi.

Hello.

Thought you'd never get here.

So sorry. Little trouble over

the Channel, you know, old pip.

Really?

Righto. We were halfway to Belgium when

we ran out of "gas", I believe you call it.

That's funny. You don't look like

you'd ever run out of gas.

Are you trying to get

into my flak suit, honey?

I'm just trying to debrief you.

So, a plane without any gas.

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