“Yeah, we’ll be at some ball somewhere and some bastard will come up and try to cut in,” the soldier said.
“Yeah and that’s when I kill the motherfucker. What the fuck do you think you’re doin’ I’ll ask him? You think you’re gonna dance with her? You’re not dancing with her,” he said, sounding very Italian. “Do I look like the sort of motherfucker you can cut in on?”
“You best get out of here while you can still walk you asshole and don’t think for one second I won’t rip that tuxedo cummerbund motherfucker right off your waist and wrap it around your neck because I will do exactly that.”
“Tuxedo cummerbund motherfucker? Some manners you’ve got.”
“Yeah, manners. I’ll tell ’em, me and P? We will clear this fuckin’ dance floor for you if you want so you best move your sorry ass along and do your cutting in on some other man. One less likely to kill you for even thinking you can dance with his girl. Yeah P. There is only going to be one name on your dance card – mine!”
Mars speaks. P snorts.