The Fatigues

Well, I like Gabe Kaplan.

It's not a valet, it's a protégé.

What makes them think you're a risk-management expert? I guess it's on my résumé.

Books on tape have ruined me, Jerry. I need that nice voice. This book has my voice. I hate my voice.

Am I going? It was three nights ago.

Give me a break.

Hey, Copernicus.

I am so sorry, but I'm afraid we're gonna have to... promote you.

Well, it can't be any worse than the pointless drivel we normally churn out.

I'm not Jewish. Well, neither am I. Well, why are you going? I'm not. I'm running it.

Lomez is Jewish? Oh, yeah, yeah. Orthodox, Jerry. Old school.

At the Knights of Columbus?

Do you like tsimmes?

I'm not really a duck fan. The skin seems sort of human.

Kenny Bania.

Bania?

The best, Jerry.

Tell me about it. These things have ruined me for Braille.

I take an eye test, I flunk it. The next thing you know... I am swinging to the sweet sounds of risk management.

Marsala? Piccata.

If anything, I should be dating a mentor... and Bania should be setting pins at a bowling alley.

What are you, in an athletic sweat suit?

You're right. That's a lot of pupiks.

Cook? No. I don't know any cooks. I don't know anything about cooking!

Shell-shocked? Oh, yeah. But that has nothing to do with it.

It's a hot night. The mind races. You think about your knife... the only friend who hasn't betrayed you. The only friend who won't be dead by sun-up. Sleep tight, mates, in your quilted chambray nightshirts.

Well, if he's doing that bad, maybe he's in line for another promotion.

I'll give him another office on another floor, and he can sit there... with his nice title and his bayonet... and stop freaking me out.

You're a very handsome man, by the way.

What the hell is going on here?

Look out!

I got brisket going at Newman's, I got kugel working at Mrs. Zanfino's... and this is kreplach.

Eat, eat, you're skin and bones.

The recipe was for four to six people. I had to multiply it for 183 people. I guess I got confused.

It tastes like dirt. Well, I also dropped it on the way over.

I can't peel, I can't chop, I can't grate, I can't mince. I got no sense of flavor, obviously.

I think there's a dead animal in the elevator. My stuffed cabbage.

Have you seen his act? He's got a 12-minute bit about Ovaltine.

He's a pug, a patsy, a hack.

Cynthia would not date a hack. Would. Does. Is.

As far as I'm concerned, you and your deranged protégé... can run the catalog by yourselves. I quit!

This guy sounds just like me. This is horrible. Stop it. Stop it. Shut up!

In my mind, there's a war still going on.

I was the best cook Uncle Sam ever saw. Slinging hash for the fighting 103rd.

I went too far. I overseasoned it.

I can still hear the retching and screaming.

I sent 16 of my own men to the latrines that night. They were just boys.

All that kid wanted to do was go home. Well, he went home, all right. With a crater in his colon the size of a cutlet.

They had to sit him on a cork for the 18-hour flight home.

It's like getting beaten with a bag of oranges.

He just thinks that anything that dissolves in milk is funny.

It's tough keeping your feet dry... when you're kicking in a skull.

Like 'strolling through a dewy meadow.'

It's dry. That's the way I always make it. Well, it sucks.

Your meatloaf is mushy, your salmon croquettes are oily... and your eggplant parmigiana is a disgrace to this house!

I'm back, baby!

Maybe I am a complete hack. I'm the absolute worst. The worst, Jerry.

You got that Bosco bit, then you got your Nestlé's Quik bit. By the time you get to Ovaltine--

Why do they call it Ovaltine? The mug is round, the jar is round. They should call it Roundtine.

That's gold, Jerry. Gold.

Let's just replace 'hail of shrapnel' and 'scar tissue'... with 'string of pearls' and 'raspberry scones.'

About what? How to calculate 5 percent of a restaurant check?

I don't think I wanna date a protégé whose mentor is a Costanza.

What's with the fatigues and all the psychotic imagery, huh? I don't wanna talk about it. Come on. Don't be a baby.

Well, it's tough meeting somebody you like... let alone somebody Jewish.

That risk-management stuff you wrote for me is killer. It's gold, Jerry. Gold.

You know, you could take a break. No breaks. I feel reborn. I'm like a phoenix rising from Arizona.

No! No! Don't eat it. It's no good. No good. No good. No way.

Why do they call it Ovaltine? They should call it Roundtine. You know what I'm talking about.

He's my protégé.