Baughb has settled down on a stool to read a book (to pretend to read a book, anyway) and smoke a pipe. Biff is confused.

BIFF:
> She's not the son of a -- huh?

BAUGHB:
> Don't worry, Sgt. Biff. It doesn't have to make *sense* to *scare* them. Just the act of hurling expletives regardless of the actual meaning is *sufficient motivation*. It helps engender a *sense* of *danger*.

We see Filis, now wearing a large coat,  regaling the troops with a string of unprintable obscenties. Baughb continues to talk.

BAUGHB:
> Which is why I decided to take on the role of *civilian authority* and let Filis *swagger*. Filis can be *Patton*. I'm a bit too *Eisenhowerish*.

BIFF:
> Er -- is that another one of your obscure 20th century references, boss?

BAUGHB:
> I -- oh, yeah. I guess it *is*. Time travel has a way of playing havoc with your *contextual existence*.

Baughb leans back, thoughtful.

BAUGHB:
> Now that I think of it, I bet nobody but *me* got my joke about me wearing a *fake beard* on our *recruitment* poster. You know, the *Uncle Sam* bit.

BIFF:
> That was a joke? Maybe it would have been funny in the future?

BAUGHB:
> You never know. A good joke is *timeless*, but a dud joke can be *omnipresent*.

OFF-PANEL:
> Groan.

BAUGHB:
> Uh oh! Sgt. Biff! I already *forgot* that I *remembered* that I *forgot* to schedule the *medics*.

BIFF:
> No worries, boss. They're on the way.

Biff points.

BIFF:
> Two elf maidens volunteered to be *nurses*. Here they come *now*!

BAUGHB:
> Oh, good, because this guy *here* is in pretty bad shape --

Baughb stops, and takes off his reading glasses so he can get a better look.

BAUGHB:
> No. Not them. 

BIFF:
> Boss?

BAUGHB:
> Send them home.