M*A*S*H

We've been here forever.

How many more have we got dying to get in?

We're almost through. Only four left.

If time heals all wounds, they should be okay by now.

If we get out of here before we lose our looks,

we could meet in the storage room

and take inventory of each other.

Wear your rubber gloves.

I love watching you take them off.

No, thanks, Hawkeye.

Hey, you can't blame a guy

for trying to get into your gloves.

No gloves, no storage room, no date.

I'm not gonna spend another night to remember

with moldy crackers, sloe gin, and fast talk.

Good heavens! Six hours for eight patients.

Ever since the army forbade our use of curare,

the pace around here would put a snail to sleep.

We've gone from forbade to worse.

I've noticed the work goes a lot faster with curare.

Colonel, why is that?

Because anesthetics like nitrous oxide can go just so far.

They put the brain to sleep,

but the muscles are still awake.

It's much quicker opening and closing a patient

when his innards aren't doing loop‐de‐loops around your scalpel.

I see. Well, then, why did the army forbid its use?

They decided that too many people were dying

because curare wasn't being used properly.

By that same logic, they should outlaw cars.

What enrages me is that in trained hands such as ours,

the drug poses no problem.

A few rotten apples have put us over the barrel.

What starches my socks

is that only Uncle Sam's got the spirit of '86.

All the other countries think it's a wonder drug.

Makes you wonder, doesn't it?

Hey, I have a totally original idea. You'll love this.

‐We'll go to the motor pool‐‐ ‐Let me guess.

We'll make popcorn, sit in a jeep,

and pretend it's a drive‐in movie.

Thanks, but no thanks.

You couldn't be further from the truth.

For your information, I was gonna bring pretzels.

Ah.

Hold it down. We can't hear the war.

Do I detect a Canadian accent in that horn?

Right you are.

And I'll bet that you are Corporal Max Klinger, eh?

With any luck, soon to be promoted

to civilian Max Klinger.

How did you know?

The Montreal Royals

could whip the Toledo Mud Hens

with their bats tied behind their backs.

Wait a minute. I know that voice.

You're the company clerk at that Canadian unit.

Right. Colin Turnbull,

Second Princess Pat Battalion, at your service.

What brings you here to Chez Misery?

I was taking some supplies back to my unit,

and I got detoured by the enemy artillery,

so I decided to stop in,

meet you, and maybe grab a bite.

You picked the best diner on the detour.

All the truck drivers throw up here.

So, uh, this is the 4077, eh?

Yeah. Place is like a blind date.

Sounds better on the phone than it looks in person.

I could pick you up around 8:00...

We could go to Rosie's bar for a beer, you know‐‐

Forget it, Hawkeye.

Don't you know you should never

end a proposition with a sentence?

Excuse my grammar.

Go ahead and finish, then I'll turn you down.

No. Forget it. I got a better idea.

We'll meet in the shower tent. Two bodies, one bar of soap.

Better find somebody else to sponge off of.

What happened? Has my aftershave curdled?

I've been there before, Hawkeye.

I mean, Gone With the Wind is a great movie,

but after you've seen them burn Atlanta 50 times,

it's not so hot anymore.

So much for that old flame.

Wow. Real powdered eggs, eh?

‐And this porridge looks first‐rate. ‐Head wound?

Canadian.

Wow, this stuff is really great. You eat like this every day?

I wouldn't take so much. Your eyes may be bigger than our garbage can.

Are you kidding? You should see what we have to eat at the British Mess Tent.

Couldn't be worse than this.

It's about the worst I've ever eaten.

‐You know why the English have such stiff upper lips? ‐Nah.

It's the only way they can keep their lunch down.

Hold it. Let's sit over there.

I owe that guy five bucks.

Imagine, a face like mine and he won't take my check.

Mm. Lucky for me I stopped by today, eh?

Me too. Leaves less for the rest of us.

Mmm! This fruit cocktail's the best I've ever eaten.

What's sauce for the goose is slop for the gander.

Turnbull, hold it!

Don't tell me. You didn't.

Yeah. Fruit cocktail, packed in its own natural muck.

I had Igor shovel some of it in a doggie barrel for you.

‐Well, thanks, Max. Thanks. ‐Thanks aren't necessary.

Just remember me in your will.

And if you're smart, you'll write it up before you eat.

My friend, I want you to have this bottle of wine.

Hey, thanks! I think I flunked this language in high school.

‐That's French. ‐French?

Oh, this ought to be great

if it's anything like their toast.

I got it at our P. X. About three dollars.

The British always keep the best spirits in stock.

They think if they keep us drunk,

we won't notice the food.

Colin, I'm gonna treasure this

from now until I open it.

Let's keep in touch, eh? Maybe we can be of service.

You bet. You never can tell

when we're gonna need a hockey puck.

Drive careful.

And if the enemy gets too close,

throw the fruit cocktail at them.

The hell with the Geneva Convention.

I see you, Klinger.

No, you don't. It's just a mirage.

Listen, you desert deadbeat, I need my five bucks.

I'm busted. I'd be bankrupt

except I can't afford the lawyers.

The only thing I have to my name right now

is this imported Canadian wine.

All the upper‐class Eskimos drink it. Worth ten bucks.

That isn't Canadian wine. It's French.

Okay, five bucks.

Probably the closest I'll get to my five dollars.

Well, I gotta get out of the cold now.

I've just been fleeced.

Oh, I'm available if you need someone to wine and dine.

And I won't press you on the dining.

Finally, somebody throwing themselves at my feet.

Pretty soon I'll be staggering at them. Where'd you get it?

‐Klinger. ‐No doubt made from the finest grape leaves.

With a great nose.

Why don't you open the bottle and let it cough?

Ah, Charles, you're just in time for the wine tasting.

No, thank you.

Perhaps later, if I need something to put on my salad.

Hello. What's this? Hold that.

You have a '47 Margaux.

No, I have a '47 DeSoto. I always buy American.

No, no, this, you chimney sweep.

This is an individual with a life all its own.

Little chilly.

Born of the loins

and suckled at the bosom of the Haut Medoc.

Sounds like what went on in the backseat of your DeSoto.

Oh, thank you.

Will you two stop prattling?

This is a rare nectar.

People would give their lives for this.

I'll give you $20.

$20 for that stuff?

All right, 25.

Please. I wouldn't trade this for love or money.

Well, definitely not for money.

Then where, pray tell, did you get this ambrosia?

From what cunning connoisseur?

Klinger.

Max? Klinger?

Same man who eats peas with a knife

and sucks in his spaghetti?

‐That's right. ‐The old spaghetti sucker himself.

Oh, my. Yes. I must find him.

Oh, Max?

Come on, Hawk. No time to waste.

This stuff is already four years old.

‐Get yout hands off my wine. ‐Hey, wait!

I don't have to give any of this to you.

I sleep with you every night.

Come on, read it out loud.

I love the sound of my own skulduggery.

"Savor a vintage evening with Hawkeye Pierce.

‐Trade your boredom for some Bordeaux." ‐Huh?

‐"The epitome of the vintner's art." ‐Yeah.

"In 100 words or less,

tell why you should be in a glass by yourself."

A glass by yourself. I love that.

That's pretty good, isn't it? Huh?

"Please sign a code name

"so that your anonymity may be preserved.

‐The decision of the judge will be fine." ‐Yeah.

What if there's a tie?

Duplicate Hawkeyes will be awarded.

Hawk, I never thought

I'd use this word in a negative manner,

but you're depraved.

Why not? I come from the land of the free