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'Sure, Blackie. My friends call me Yo-Yo. Blackie, I--'

'His friends call him Yo-Yo,' Colonel Korn sang out to Colonel Cathcart. 'Why don't you congratulate Yo-Yo on what a sensible move he's making?'

'That's a real sensible move you're making, Yo-Yo,' Colonel Cathcart said, pumping Yossarian's hand with clumsy zeal.

'Thank you, Colonel, I--'

'Call him Chuck,' said Colonel Korn.

'Sure, call me Chuck,' said Colonel Cathcart with a laugh that was hearty and awkward. 'We're all pals now.'

'Sure, Chuck.'

'Exit smiling,' said Colonel Korn, his hands on both their shoulders as the three of them moved to the door.

'Come on over for dinner with us some night, Yo-Yo,' Colonel Cathcart invited hospitably. 'How about tonight? In the group dining room.'

'I'd love to, sir.'

'Chuck,' Colonel Korn corrected reprovingly.

'I'm sorry, Blackie. Chuck. I can't get used to it.'

'That's all right, pal.'

'Sure, pal.'

'Thanks, pal.'

'Don't mention it, pal.'

'So long, pal.' Yossarian waved goodbye fondly to his new pals and sauntered out onto the balcony corridor, almost bursting into song the instant he was alone. He was home free: he had pulled it off; his act of rebellion had succeeded; he was safe, and he had nothing to be ashamed of to anyone. He started toward the staircase with a jaunty and exhilarated air. A private in green fatigues saluted him. Yossarian returned the salute happily, staring at the private with curiosity. He looked strangely familiar. When Yossarian returned the salute, the private in green fatigues turned suddenly into Nately's whore and lunged at him murderously with a bone-handled kitchen knife that caught him in the side below his upraised arm. Yossarian sank to the floor with a shriek, shutting his eyes in overwhelming terror as he saw the girl lift the knife to strike at him again. He was already unconscious when Colonel Korn and Colonel Cathcart dashed out of the office and saved his life by frightening her away.

Catch-22

Snowden

'Cut,' said a doctor.

'You cut,' said another.

'No cuts,' said Yossarian with a thick, unwieldy tongue.

'Now look who's butting in,' complained one of the doctors. 'Another county heard from. Are we going to operate or aren't we?'

'He doesn't need an operation,' complained the other. 'It's a small wound. All we have to do is stop the bleeding, clean it out and put a few stitches in.'

'But I've never had a chance to operate before. Which one is the scalpel? Is this one the scalpel?'

'No, the other one is the scalpel. Well, go ahead and cut already if you're going to. Make the incision.'

'Like this?'

'Not there, you dope!'

'No incisions,' Yossarian said, perceiving through the lifting fog of insensibility that the two strangers were ready to begin cutting him.

'Another county heard from,' complained the first doctor sarcastically. 'Is he going to keep talking that way while I operate on him?'