M*A*S*H

Ooh, what a card.

Right in the old labonza.

Labonza.

Ahem. Go ahead, cuddles.

‐Take a card. ‐Don't rush me.

That's against the rules.

Frank, you slapped my wrist.

Dear Dad, the war goes on.

And on and on.

Our biggest enemy is boredom.

We don't know what to do with ourselves.

I've taken to writing obscene prescriptions

and throwing them into the nurses' tent.

You know it's boring around here

when Trapper and Frank Burns do anything together.

Gin. Ahem.

You cheated!

Of course I did. How else could I win?

Just don't talk to me for the rest of the war!

How about the next war?

That'll be okey‐doke with me, fella.

Fine, we don't talk for this war

and World War III.

Moron.

Even though we don't get along personally,

we do manage to have a professional animosity.

The O. R. continues to be a very funny place

if you can learn to laugh as you throw up.

It's like smorgasbord in the slaughterhouse.

Everything looks so bad.

Let's do the sigmoid colon

before we go into the bladder.

‐Okay? ‐Okay.

Now, in India's sunny clime,

Where I used to spend my time

a‐servin' of Her Majesty the Queen,

Of all that black‐faced crew,

the finest man I knew

was our regimental bhisti Gunga Din.

Tho' I've belted you an' flayed you

by the livin' God that made you,

You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din.

‐Metzenbaum scissors. ‐Metz.

Are we going to have poetry in surgery now?

There was a young lady from Kent

who took off her‐‐

Steady, Henry.

How you doin'?

Okay, Doc.

Okay, that about does it.

But we need another unit of plasma.

For me?

Yeah, we got a special this week.

You take a pint of blood and then we give you

six free highball glasses that break easily.

Gimme a bottle of your best stuff, Ginger.

Yes, Doctor.

Hey, make sure I get the right color blood,

‐eh, Doc? ‐Huh?

I wouldn't want any of that darkie stuff, you know.

Oh, yeah. Sure.

Colonel?

Yeah, just a minute.

Collins. Yeah.

Sir, you'd better look at this.

Where is this guy?

He's in the scrub room.

Radar, you can't let anybody in here

with a grenade in his pants.

He's not wearing pants, sir.

Holy cow.

Collins, take over. Jones, you assist him.

Houlihan, we'll need your help.

I want a spinal tray, a major pack,

and some bone instruments.

You'll need some more light in there.

‐Outta here, Radar. ‐Give me that spot.

Pierce, look at this.

The kid's in the pre‐op. Let's go.

Occasionally, Dad, we get a kid comes in

with an unexploded grenade

that's been shot into his body‐‐

something they neglected to tell us about

in med school.

The procedure is simple.

You operate on a human time bomb

while your life flashes in front of you

and you promise God anything He wants

if He'll keep your patient

from blowing up in your face.

There must be an easier way for a surgeon

to make $413.50 a month.

All right, Pierce, there's...

Get another glove, honey.

Gimme some towels.

‐Towels, towels. ‐Right, what'd I miss?

Atta girl. All right, now you get outta here.

‐All your nurses. ‐Everybody clear outta here.

‐Let's go. ‐Forget the sandbags. Just get outta here.

I think that's long enough.

Well, we'll soon see.

Scalpel.

All right, take it easy.

Gimme some scissors.

I think that's long enough.

Well, don't shake him.

Sponge.

‐Excuse me. ‐Sponge.

Boy, this is one hot potato.

This kid can't be 18.

Let's see if we can get him to 19.

Sponge.

There it is.

Who's gonna lift it out?

How about the late me?

Gimme some retraction.

‐Got it? ‐Yeah.

Then steady.

Easy, easy.

Okay, get it outta here.

I'm glad to report that the patient

and the doctors survived.

There followed another operation

which we natives here call The Happy Hour.

It's a chance to meet your neighbor.

It's a chance to do a little better

than meet your neighbor.

This is nice.

Mmm...

I bet we could dance great together, too.

It really doesn't hurt?

I've done a hundred hernias.

You think I should have it done, huh?

Absolutely.

Take off your dress and say Ah.

‐Radar. ‐Hmm?

Can I ask you a question?

Sure.

Everybody says you're a virgin.

Is that true?

I really don't know.

This guy's a one‐star general.

Thirty years a doctor.

Patient's in pain.

Guess what his orders were.

"Give him a coffee enema."

Oh. My word.

Then I had to open my big mouth and say

"With cream and sugar?"

You're kiddin'.

He was afraid he'd get the wrong‐colored blood?

Damned fool.

I was on a plane for Korea in twelve hours.

I mean, I shoulda done it.

The‐The‐The coffee was already brewed.

I mean, what would it have cost me, huh?

Well, the enema's loss was our gain, Colonel.

Why don't we pay Condon‐‐

that's his name‐‐

a little nocturnal visit?

Nothing violent.

Just a bit of reverse prejudice.

Capital idea.

A hernia?

No, it doesn't hurt at all.

Honest?

Snip, snip, it's over.

Ooh.

I understand you're in need of a medical man here.

I see you couldn't find one.

Where's Condon?

Number 9 with the bedpan marked "For whites only."

Got the magic mixture?

Yes, master.

Right this way, Igor, I will show you.

Ah, terrific.

Still sedated?

Just enough.

Cotton.

Cotton.

Somebody's gotta pick the cotton.

What'd you use?

Tincture of iodine.

It should last a couple of days.

Perfecto.

Mind if I dab along?

You do his hands.

Coming to you from the mess tent now.

Not a bad place to eat if you like cold dishes

like steak, lamb chops, stew, soup, coffee.

Makes you long for home.

But then almost everything does.

Which brings me to Colonel Henry Blake.

He's a lovely man, our Henery,

but if this weren't a war,

he'd surely be arrested for impersonating an officer.

How are we coming, Radar?

Almost, sir.

You sure you know how to work that gizmo?

Oh, yes, sir, you just feed the leader through,