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"We still do," bragged Wintergreen.
"Eggs spoil," Milo ruminated pitifully. "And break. I'd rather have a shoe. Eugene, look it up."
"I'd rather have the plane," Wintergreen grumbled.
"But after the plane? Suppose there's no more danger of war?"
"I'll look it up."
"I'm not happy with the plane," said Yossarian.
"Are you thinking of leaving us again?" Wintergreen jeered. "You've been objecting for years."
Yossarian was stung by the gibe but ignored it. "Your Shhhhh! could destroy the world, couldn't it?"
"You've been peeking," answered Wintergreen.
"And it can't," said Milo, with heartache. "We conceded that much at the meeting."
"But maybe Strangelove's can?" Wintergreen needled.
"And that's why," said Milo, "we want the meeting with Noodles Cook."
Yossarian again was shaking his head. "And I'm not happy with the atom bomb. I don't like it anymore."
"Who would you like to see get the contract?" Wintergreen argued. "Fucking Strangelove?"
"And we don't have the bomb," conciliated Milo. "We only have plans for a plane that will deliver it."
"And our plane won't work."
"We'll guarantee that, Yossarian. Even in writing. Our planes won't fly, our missiles won't fire. If they take off, they'll crash; if they fire, they'll miss. We never fail. It's the company motto."
"You can find it on our fucking letterhead," Wintergreen added, and continued deliberately with a sneer. "But let me ask you this, Mr. Yo-Yo. What country would you rather see be strongest if not us? That's the fucking catch, isn't it?"
"That's the catch, all right," Yossarian had to agree.
"And if we don't sell our fucking war products to everyone who wants to buy, our friendly fucking allies and competitors will. There's nothing you can do about it. Time's run out for your fucking ideals. Tell me, if you're so smart, what the fuck would you do if you were running the country?"
"I wouldn't know what to do either," Yossarian admitted, and was enraged with himself for being bested in argument. It never used to happen that way. "But I know I'd want my conscience to be clear."
"Our conscience is clear," responded both.
"I don't want the guilt."
"That's horseshit, Yossarian."
"And I wouldn't be responsible."
"And that's more horseshit," countered Wintergreen. "There's nothing you can do about it, and you will be responsible. If the world's going to blow up anyway, what the fuck difference does it make who does it?"
"At least my hands will be clean."
Wintergreen laughed coarsely. "They'll be blown off at the wrists, your fucking clean hands. No one will even know they're yours. You won't even be found."
"Go fuck yourself, Wintergreen!" Yossarian answered irately, with raised voice. "Go straight to hell, with your clear conscience!" He turned away, sulking. "I wish you were dead already, so I could finally in this lifetime get at least a little bit of pleasure out of you."
"Yossarian, Yossarian," chided Milo. "Be reasonable. One thing you do know about me--I never lie."
