The Bottom Line
By Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie
Transcribed for JAG by Galaxy1001D
JAG is © Paramount Studios. This story has been written solely for entertainment. The views expressed herein do not necessarily express the opinions of Paramount Studios, the author, or this website.
Rear Admiral Albert Jethro 'AJ' Chegwidden frowned at the view through the open blinds of this office at JAG Headquarters. He turned and called in a dangerous tone: "Rabb, get your ass in here, right now!"
Lieutenant Commander Harmon Rabb Jr. marched in the door carrying a satchel case and saluted without setting it down. "Sir!"
"Rabb, what the hell am I gonna do with your ass?" the admiral growled.
Rabb seemed confused, but he continued standing at attention. "Sir?"
"Can you think one God damn reason why I don't kick your ass from here to New Mexico?" Chegwidden snarled.
"Well sir," Harmon Rabb stammered. "If this concerns—"
"You know what the hell it concerns, Rabb," Chegwidden interrupted. "It concerns your ass. What does it concern?"
"My ass, sir!" There was a hint of resignation in Rabb's declaration.
Chegwidden sat and leaned back in his chiar. "Do you recall what it was I said to you the last time you were in this here office?"
"Well sir if I recall you told me to move my ass, and to haul my ass, and not to sit on my ass, because if I did you would personally rearrange my ass."
"Wrong Mister Rabb," Chegwidden rose from his chair and closed in on the Commander. "I was going to boil your ass in a bag and have that ass for breakfast!"
"Have that ass for breakfast," Rabb nodded as the admiral walked past him while denying him personal space.
Chegwidden let Rabb continue to stand at attention facing the desk, even though the admiral was now behind him. "Read the sign on my desk, boy."
Rabb did so. "The buck stops at my ass."
Chegwidden came right up behind Rabb. "See that's why I got these here stars on my shoulder and you don't," he said as he tapped his epaulet. "'Cause my ass is on the line."
"The bottom line?"
"The bottom line."
"I understand sir."
Chegwidden walked slowly around his desk to his window. "Well I'm glad you got your ass straight on that Rabb. Now. I got me a problem," he announced as he closed the blinds to reveal the pattern of an American flag.
"Problem sir?" Rabb asked as the admiral sat himself behind the desk.
"Seems that some goddamn college boy on the fifth floor wants a piece of my ass." Chegwidden snorted as he sat at his desk.
"Your ass sir?" Rabb asked with a hint of surprise.
"You bet your ass, my ass!"
There was an awkward pause.
"Sir?"
"Mm-hm?"
"How does my ass fit into all this?" asked a confused Harmon Rabb.
"It's very simple Rabb," the admiral purred. "You are aware that your ass is mine."
"It is sir?"
"Oh yes sir!" Chegwidden crowed. "Your ass is mine mister! The day you joined the United States Navy, you signed your ass over to me."
An epiphany came over Rabb and he smiled and nodded in realization. "Oh I get it, sir."
"Oh you do?" asked a skeptical Chegwidden.
Rabb gestured as if going down a list. "This guy wants a piece of your ass, and since my ass is yours, you're thinking you can give him a piece of my ass as a way of saving your ass."
"Rabb."
"Yes sir?"
"Shut your ass. Nobody likes a smart aleck. Now. You got your ass with you?"
"Right here sir!" Rabb set his satchel on the desk.
Chegwidden jerked the bag up and down to test its weight.
"Sir, with respect," Rabb sighed. "Don't jerk my ass around."
The admiral opened the satchel and inspected the contents. "Hm," the admiral nodded, grudgingly impressed. "Nice ass."
The END
