Q: How did Jefferson Davis want to fight the war?

A: With a plan so ingenious, so original, so powerful, that the Union army would concede victory in a manner of days, allowing the gentleman and women of the South to govern themselves as they saw fit, free of the tyranny of Northern oppressors.

In Davis' plan, dubbed, "Operation Last Cavalry," the Confederate Army would create a new brigade, trained and led by masterless samurai, acquired in exchange for graphic photographs of war wounds and 500 barrels of peaches. These men were called "ronin," and were known for their lack of honor and mercenary lifestyle, but Davis called them, "my secret weapon," and would walk out of the room after making his pronouncement, ending all debate on the topic. Once the Confederate army learned the secrets of the samurai, such as their ability to hide in plain sight, their ability to kill foes at 100 paces with a thrown metal star, and the ability to disorient the enemy with smoke bombs, the South would emerge victorious and Davis would be named President and Automatic Pitcher for Life.

Unfortunately, Davis confused ninjas with samurai. He also confused China with Japan. When the boatload of Chinese immigrants arrived, simple farmers unfamiliar with even basic artillery, unable to hide even in the darkest of shadows, their whimpers and shakes and shouts of confusion always giving them away, Davis cancelled his plan and ordered all mentions of it stricken from the official record. Never one to admit defeat, Davis put these new troops to work in new capacity, but "Operation Ancient Chinese Secret," while producing the brightest whites in U.S. military history, achieved little in real results.

Q: What does the idiom just a hair off mean?

A: Usually, it means "Very close" as in, "a hair's width," as in, "you missed your target ever so sightly, but you shouldn't beat yourself up; in fact, you should feel proud for even trying."

But I meant it differently.

When you asked if you had successfully hit the target and I shook my head and raised my hand in front of face, holding my index and middle fingers an inch apart, and I looked at you through the space between my fingers and I said, "You were just a hair off," I was being sarcastic. That's why General McCloskey laughed, and why General Bailey laughed, and why President Percival laughed and then began to cry. Because I was being sarcastic. Because I meant the exact opposite.

Your mission was to bomb Damascus, in Syria. You bombed Cincinnati, in Ohio.

Soldier, you cost us a swing state.

Q: Do you have a Plastic Tank Repair kit?

A: I have the kit. And the experience. And the time. But before you hire me, you should know:

There's no fixing your plastic tank. Your tiny turret is beyond repair, your miniature army will never fight again, those treads will thunder down on enemy troops no more.

There's an old saying in the tiny military: When you wage war on the Chinese, use a real tank. If you are unfamiliar with that saying it might be because of your ignorance of tiny military history, or because I just now made it up. I can't speak to your brain. But the saying remains as true today as when it was first spoke seconds ago; in that saying lay the seeds of your defeat.

I can't fix your tank. If you wish to capture Mr. Ling's Chinese Buffet, seek other means, maybe something other than a toy tank. No matter what you decide, what tactics, what strategy, please remember this one thing:

I really want an egg roll.

Q: How thick is the ice of where the penguins live?

A: Now that I think about it, thick. Really thick. Probably six or seven feet.

In retrospect, we should have armed Lt. Ivers with more than a steak knife. He'll probably need a drill or something. Good thing we gave him that scuba tank with the extra capacity.

Why didn't we give him a scuba kit with extra capacity?

I swear we had one. What happened to it?

Now that you mention it, I vaguely remember losing it in a poker game, but thought that was a dream.  Oh, well, let's hope Ivers can hold his breath. I'm sure he can; Eskimos have the most amazing lung capacity.

Then which one is the Eskimo?

Well, then, we should probably recruit some Eskimos. Hard to expect me to wage a war on penguins without a single Eskimo under my command.

We aren't waging a war on penguins? Really? Then why did I send Lt. Ivers - oh, wait, I remember, that was the dream. Poker game, real. War on penguins, dream. I'm going to start writing these things down. Just as soon as I learn to write.

When you write the condolence letter to the family of Lt. Ivers, please don't mention the war on penguins. Or the poker game. Or all that money he loaned me. Or my drinking. Or my being dangerously unfit for command. Best keep it simple, something like:

                                Dear Widow,
                                I regret to inform you that your husband, Lt. Hamilton Ivers,
                                went mad and threatened to build a nuclear weapon, tunnel to
                                the center of the Earth and destroy the world. (Obviously he
                                also intended to create and build some sort of super tunneling
                                machine) We had choice but to drown him. You are welcome.

                                                                                                   Sincerely,
                                                                                                   America

Include a Best Buy gift card, and that autographed photo of Judge Judy we keep in the game room. I'm tired of her staring at me all day.

Now let's celebrate the life of Lt. Ivers in the only way I'll allow: a Russian Roulette tournament.

Q: How can the President persuade Congress to pass a bill?

A: Convincing Congress to set aside their partisan differences and actually do their job is one of the most difficult, and unfortunately, most common tasks required of the President. Luckily, there are a few proven methods.

Use eloquent locution to convince them that the nation needs this bill passed now, more than ever. All it takes is a few well-crafted sentences, some well timed pauses, and the occasional podium thump.

Use the power of the liberal media to shame them into passing the bill or risk months and months of negative coverage during the campaign. All it takes is a few calls to the New York Times.

Use backroom political maneuvering - good, old-fashioned glad-handing and arm-twisting - to get them to do your bidding. All is takes is a new missile silo here, a new bridge there and a severe cut in arts funding.

Yes, sir, you have any number of tactics at your disposal. You can do almost anything. Almost anything.

One thing you cannot do, sir, is use military force. That far exceeds your powers as Commander-In-Chief. It's illegal, immoral, and if I may be frank, sir, rather petty.

It doesn't matter what the Speaker called you, sir, you can't have Seal Team 6 take him out.

You can't use Robot Shark Team 6 either, sir. Even if they did exist. Which I cannot confirm.

Q: How important is a sergeant first class is in the army?

A: Very important. On a day to day basis, he's the most important member of the platoon. He executes the orders from command, he keeps morale up, he talks the Lieutenant out of sending us on suicide missions, he keeps us fed, rested and safe.

That's why we have to kill him.

He's making the rest of us look bad, with his shiny buttons and his pressed pants and his hand full of all fingers and his complete lack of shooting his best friend by accident while drunk. If command catches wind of him,  they're going to start expecting a lot more out of us. They're going to start hanging around and giving us orders and sending us on missions and wanting us to win this war. That's going to be a real drain on our business.

It's going to be awfully hard to smuggle heroin home in cadavers with a whole lot of Generals sniffing around.