The Battle of Airman Billings

Yak! Yak! Yak!

Squadron Leader Marmite: Yobbles! We’ve been hit, chaps. Kraut’s banter’s got us in the upper crust.

Pilot Wiffle: Mayday! Mayday! Flowers and poles!

Gunner Shirley: I’ve still got a crate of backyard beauties if we need them sir?

Squadron Leader Marmite: Drop your knickers chaps and lets show the Kraut just what mutton we’re made of.

Pilot Wiffle: Chaps, I’ve just deciphered a message from HP Sauce: “If great gatsby and sugar batters means friends with which to play petanque and croquet, you’re on.”

Gunner Shirley: Crates and Stilton cheese away! Dresden will hum tonight.

Squadron Leader Marmite: Damn shame, chaps. Damn shame, chaps. Damn shame, chaps, in the midst of life we are in debt, etc, etc.

Gunner Shirley: The Smiths, old chap. A welcomed toddy to whet the black minstrel.

Pilot Wiffle: Bloody shame chaps, that Saxony’s got to burn. I love cabaret and Romanesque architecture and heffalumps.

Squadron Leader Marmite: Confirm target and reply to HP Sauce that we’ve got the Kaiser Chiefs on the turntable and I’m lifting the needle.

Pilot Wiffle: Roger that, Sir.

Gunner Shirley: Roger’s here?

Pilot Wiffle: In the dressing room trying on his mother’s apron.

Squadron Leader Marmite: Bloody damn Roger of the old chap. What with this bloody war going on.

Yak! Yak! Yak!

Squadron Leader Marmite: Damn and blast, chaps. Some Germanic tongue has just taken out our left wing.

Pilot Wiffle: Mother!

Gunner Shirley: Roger!

Squadron Leader Marmite: Hans Muller!

Fade to flak.


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