by Peter Byrne
(Swans - June 18, 2007)
He: What time did you say he comes on?
She: Who?
He: The guy with the dope on Iraq.
She: The same time as usual.
He: And that's when?
She: You should know. You're always careful to miss him.
He: It's going to be big tonight. They've got a new plan.
She: That was last night.
He: No, it's tonight. I read it in this morning's paper. An adjustment.
She: Adjustment?
He: Don't think clothes. It's a policy adjustment.
She: That's tomorrow. I heard it on the kitchen radio. Something about a refreshening.
He: Refreshening? Are you sure that wasn't a commercial?
She: Refreshening a policy. Don't think after-shave.
He: That means a big boy's getting canned.
She: Uh huh. But the new man always has the same uniform.
He: It's not the same uniform.
She: Who irons those things?
He: Come on. Don't talk like a housewife.
She: Well, that's what I am.
He: Look, you can count the stars on the general's uniform. That's how you tell generals apart.
She: But they call them all five-star generals.
He: Where have you been? There's an admiral now too.
She: Doesn't he have stars?
He: Anchors. But that's not the point. There's a sure way to tell one general from another.
She: You ask the little woman who's ironed his kit?
He: No need. You look at his haircut.
She: And?
He: The new man always has the sharper haircut.
She: Sharper? You mean more stylish?
He: No, just sharper. More determined.
She: That stands to reason, I guess. He's fresh. But why isn't the uniform of the guy going out ever crumpled?
He: It can't be. They're all top men.
She: Why don't they put in a ten-star general and finish the thing?
He: Ha! There you go with your vacuum cleaner again. The stars have to stop somewhere. Do you expect a dozen-star general?
She: Why not? He would really be a top man without a wrinkle.
He: Look, sweetheart, there's top and over the top.
She: I suppose you're right. But that would be first-class surgery.
He: Surgery? You get everything wrong out there in the kitchen. It's surge. They're doing a surge. Surgery is a strike when they don't kill the wrong people.
She: Okay. I'm going to bed. Or shall I take the pooch for a spin?
He: That's a man's job. Leave it to me.
She: By the way, you've missed the guy with the new dope on Iraq.
He: Ah, well, I'll catch him next time.
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