COLE: This is fucking boring.
MAYHEW: Shut up, Cole, you little bitch.
STRAITHAIRN: Man, why you have to be like that? We’re on duty. Show some respect.
COLE: I’m serious, you guys, plus my belt is all grungy or something.
MAYHEW: It’s nothing personal, Straithairn.
COLE: I mean, it’s like, got crud on it, or whatever. How does this happen? This crud? On my belt?
STRAITHAIRN: What do you mean it’s not personal? You called him a little bitch. How is that not personal?
COLE: We should shoot a torpedo at something.
MAYHEW: Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, homo.
COLE: Like a battleship. We could totally sink a battleship with a torpedo. Like, like, C-4! Bla-dow!
STRAITHAIRN: Okay, ‘homo’ is definitely personal.
MAYHEW: Your belt is probably cruddy because you, uh, keep it up your ass, or something. Homo.
COLE: Man, I’m off my belt. Forget the belt. The belt is from a year ago. I’m on to blowing up some destroyers with a torpedo now.
STRAITHAIRN: Is that a characteristic of gays, Mayhew? That they keep belts up their asses? Also, explain how his wanting to shoot a torpedo makes him a homo. I know it’s supposed to be innuendo but it doesn’t actually make any sense.
MAYHEW: What is he, your boyfriend?
COLE: Hey, captain! Can you hear me? Is this radio on? Is it even a radio? There’s too many buttons.
STRAITHAIRN: Use the telephone.
CAPTAIN: Fucking don’t bother me, Mayhew, I’m trying to get the Braves game on our dish.
MAYHEW: All I’m saying is, he wants to, you know. Shoot. A torpedo. Like, up something. Like up the butt.
COLE: We have a dish?
STRAITHAIRN: So, undersea munitions technology was part of the gay conspiracy since day one.
CAPTAIN: I assume we have a dish. I mean, we have to, right? This sub cost, like, a billion dollars.
MAYHEW: You said it, dude, not me.