"Ah... Mishter Edwards..." slurred the Admiral, annoyed that Nelles has mislabelled the bottle.
"Right... some queshtions..."
"First... one about your shkills as a pilot..."
He was obviously holding the gentleman's form upside down. Nevertheless, he, apparently miraculously, continued.
"You say here that you preferably wouldn't fly a bomber in combat... can you tell me, in three words or less, when you would fly one?"
He shuffled his papers, turning them around more than was necessary, then noticed some weird, large furry thing that had entered afterwards.
"Secondly... why the hell did you bring a dog in here? This isn't Sputnik, dammit! And why is it wearing clothes!? Only complete and utter wankers dress their pets!"