Which is all Godfather's been asking them to do, after all. Forget the girl, forget the naked photographs of the girl in unrealistic or humiliating situations, and fight for nothing real at all. "Wait, are you talking about like jerking off without using any hands?" asks Ray, because he is already a realist. "No, Dog! I'm talking about fucking any girl you want, all in your mind." Also a realist: Brad Colbert, who busily hands out humrats to the gunners and Lilley. "It's only fair! If the Iraqis can burn our supply truck," explains Ray, "We can partake in their humanitarian rations." Trombley's still obsessing on the whole handsfree Bluetooth masturbation concept, and Ray's like, "Yeah, you need one hand at last to hold the cock book." I have not heard this term "cock book" before. It seems like false advertising in this context. "Dog, I'm talking about the power of the mind! You don't need a cock book. You don't need shit!" Ray's not sold. "Need to meditate on the perfect fuck." Walt is about halfway to where Espera is talking about: "Wasik'll jerk off to anything. I seen him punishing his unit during a screening of Pocahontas at Mathilda." Brad pronounces this "tragic," musing hilariously, "I liked Pocahontas. Wonderful musical."
Espera goes right off. "Naw, Naw, Naw, Brad. You cannot say that you like Pocahontas. The genocide of my people is turned into a cartoon musical? With a singing raccoon? I mean, think about it, Dog, the real story of Pocahontas is about a bunch of white boys who come to my land, bribe the corrupt Indian chief, kill off all the warriors and fuck the Indian princess silly. Would the white man make a story about Auschwitz, where the inmate falls in love with the guard and they go off singing love songs with dancing swastikas?" Trombley, ever helpful and desperate to be included, and ever completely off-base: "My great grandfather killed Indians. Up in Michigan? For money." Ray is, once again, amazed by the world of Trombley.
Espera congratulates him on saying the most fucked-up thing, like, ever. "Trombley, you are the first white motherfucker to say something like that to me." Trombley is pleased, because he's so out of it he thinks it's a positive. And in Espera's racially questionable dialectic, it sort of is. "Back in the fishing village where I'm from, Los Angeles? Most white motherfuckers that talk about their people, they say they got a Native American ancestor. Pretend to be down with me. But here you are coming the other way."