As they drive, the men loudly and merrily sing a song to the tune of "Glory, Glory, Hallelujah." The chorus goes as follows:

Gory, gory what a helluva way to die!
Gory, gory what a helluva way to die!
Gory, gory what a helluva way to die!
He ain't gonna jump no more.

The men sing with vigor, harmonizing and occasionally shouting. They love this song. For them, it's Top 40. For me, it beats half the Top 40 crap assaulting us today. Nixon scowls in the back seat of his jeep. "You okay, Nix?" shouts Winters. Nixon grunts that he's doing just fine. "She hates that dog," he mutters. Winters smiles. His boyfriend is free and clear and ready to embark on a new life without needless estrogen. Conceding to the mood of the moment, Nixon half-heartedly sings along with the rest of the men.

"It's gonna be good times, Web," Liebgott says. We cut to the truck, where Webster is chowing down and listening to Liebgott wax rhapsodic about his post-war plans. "First thing I do is get my job back at the cab company in 'Frisco," he begins. "Make a killing off the sailors coming home. Then, I'll find me a nice Jewish girl with great big, soft titties and a smile to die for." He wants to marry She of the Chest Pillows and buy them a huge house for all the MiniLiebgotts they'll conceive. Webster doesn't look too interested, but Liebgott doesn't notice, grinning elatedly at his little plan. Across the truck, Luz asks Janovec about the article he's reading so intently. "It's about why we're fighting the war," Janovec replies. "It seems that the Germans are bad. Very bad." Luz deadpans, "You don't say. Germans are bad, huh? Hey Frank..." He passes the newsflash down the line. Aw, I laughed out loud. But we switch back to Liebgott, who asks Webster to share his dreams for the future. Webster totally acts uninterested in being social, which sort of sucks for this man's real-life family, because the book portrays Webster as being enamored of the sense of fraternity engendered by the men of Easy. Here, though, Webster looks like he's tempted to scalp himself rather than chat. He does choke out something about finishing college, and Liebgott immediately stops him, amazed that with all his tales of Harvard, Webster somehow glossed over the wee detail that he isn't yet a graduate. "I haven't told you anything!" Webster fumes. Liebgott backs off, sensing he's gnawing on a very sensitive nerve. "It's just the way you always talked, you know? We all figured that..." Liebgott begins, but he sneaks another peek at Webster's face and retreats anew. "Hey, you know what? So the fuck what," he amends, changing course and asking what Webster studied. "Literature," Webster smarms. He doesn't expect a peon like Liebgott to understand a four-syllable word. "Get outta here! Are you serious? I love to read!" exclaims Liebgott, happily. "Dick Tracy, Flash Gordon, mostly." Webster cocks his head and regards Liebgott with amusement, and more than a little condescension. Damn this show for making fun of Liebgott! I want to force-feed Webster my fist.