Thoracic Animus (17)

   
   "Thoracic Animus (17)"
   
   Maybe needing Winchester the 3rd for thoracic surgery due to cardiac disturbance, Mutt bit his lips as the B-25 Mitchell hit 275 MPH @ 15,000 feet.  Doc was screaming:  "Yee-Haw!!!"
   Mutt pondered the only brave Nation in NATO, knowing Saint Joan of Arc was a noble beast of beauty on the battlefield, uttering:  "Je vous salue, Marie . . ."
   Doc was like:  "Boy, just sit back and enjoy this Millennium Falcon's thrust; I've added a few special modifications myself after the CIA kicked me out before NAM for smuggling PLAYBOY magazines to the officers who sat back, not giving a shit about the grunts.  Not their fault, society makes a strange Totem Pole.  Anyhow, we almost at Cape Horn boy--gonna get cold when we refuel and hit the Lost Continent of Antarctica.  You sure you up for a Jedi's war?"
   Mutt was like:  "Heck, I'm half a dog and a partial man at best, I'll manage."