M*A*S*H

Doctor, do you want me to hold that for you?

‐Uh, Nurse. ‐Doctor?

Scratch, please. Left interscapular.

Ah... bullseye.

Lucky shot.

Lucky shot, nothing. I know my anatomy.

I wish I knew your anatomy like you know your anatomy.

‐(B.J.) Anybody? Time. ‐About 0100.

0100? I worked around the clock.

Sure beats workin' around here.

I'm so bushed, I can't remember my last patient.

‐He had quintuplets. ‐Oh, yeah.

Silencio!

How can I operate with all this flapdoodle going on?

Where there's a war, there's a way, Frank.

Wipe.

‐How many more out there? ‐I counted 19 when I came in.

Nineteen? There were 19 two hours ago.

‐They restock the shelves when they run out. ‐I'm closing, Colonel.

A couple more minutes, and I can take over for you.

‐Why? ‐Why?

Well, you must be dog‐tired.

Yes, but why me more than anyone else?

Oh, because you're old.

Uh, older than the rest of us, sir.

And you look dead... uh, beat.

Major, I can match you incision for incision,

suture for suture,

clamp for clamp, patient for patient!

But not goof for goof.

Oh, mind your own kipper, Pierce.

Sir, I was only trying‐‐

I know what you were trying to do.

I was the first man in. I'll be the last man out.

If they have to carry me out.

‐Hi, Klinger. ‐What you got, Igor?

‐For Radar. ‐I'll give it to the fink when he gets back.

‐Why "fink"? ‐'Cause every time the fink gets a four‐day pass

I get stuck with the job.

I may look like the perfect secretary,

but I'd rather dig latrines.

‐Look at those nails. ‐Here, for you.

Do you know what this is?

This is the end to my brilliant military career.

‐You're crazy. ‐Not anymore.

I got something better than crazy.

If Frank Burns makes

any more patronizing cracks about my age,

I'll take him behind the motor pool

and let the air out of his tires.

He didn't mean anything by it, Colonel.

He was only trying to insult you.

Colonel, I've got to talk to you right away!

Klinger, go put on a dress.

Pardon me, sir, did you call me "Klinger"?

If you aren't Klinger, who the Sam Hill are you?

Sam Hill maybe.

I am Zoltan, King of the Gypsies.

You just made my day.

Zoltan, King of the Gypsies,

you're talking yourself into a court‐martial, soldier.

You can't court‐martial me. I'm not in the army.

‐Not in the army? ‐No, sir.

I'm not an American citizen.

I think he's on to something good here.

I wouldn't miss it for all the chipped beef in Korea.

Klinger, how can you be king of the Gypsies

when you're Lebanese?

Good question.

I was stolen from the Gypsies

by two ruthless Lebanese peasants who brought me up

as their own flesh and blood.

I like this.

Look, a signed confession from the culprits.

It's a signed confession, all right.

And I've been elected king of my whole tribe.

This is an urgent request to return and ascend the throne.

Sorry, I don't read Gypsy.

‐Take my word for it. ‐Of course.

I'll be waiting in my tent with my bags packed.

‐You'll have a long wait. ‐Sir, my people need me.

Klinger, if I bought this story,

they'd boot me out of the army.

It's true.

Now I know why the sounds of violins

set my blood on fire.

Why I'm so attracted to storefront windows.

Why, when I smell paprika, I face toward Budapest.

Why I have the urge to roam.

Zoltan, roam the hell outta here.

If you'd like your tea leaves read...

‐I prefer them green. ‐POTTER: Dismissed.

I think the king just gave himself a hernia.

No more rhubarb, Private?

‐All gone, sir. ‐"All gone, sir"?

I'd like to know how come rhubarb always disappears the minute I show up.

It's not just rhubarb, Frank. People disappear.

Stay out of this, Snooping Sam.

Frank, why do you always give me a bad time

every time I give you a bad time?

Aw, blow it out your bagpipe.

Hello, Major. May I join you for some pleasant conversation?

Sure, Major. Sit down and keep your mouth shut.

We just got a call from Korean Army Hospital 426.

They're screaming for supplies and surgeons.

They're up to their scalpels in casualties.

‐They need our help. ‐Well, for criminy sakes!

‐We're surgeons, not supermen. ‐You can say that again.

Oh, are you comparing us to your Colonel Penobscott again?

‐Huh? ‐If Donald were here,

he'd be the first one to volunteer.

That's how he became engaged. She asked for volunteers.

I heard that.

‐Here's your rhubarb, sir. ‐Oh, sure.

I'll volunteer, sir. Just say the word.

Sorry, Major. They didn't ask for nurses, and I'm not offering.

I'm dispatching two surgeons

and all the supplies a jeep can carry.

Oh, now how do we pick the two surgeons?

‐Alphabetically is fine with me. ‐FRANK: Oh, sure!

Captain Pierce begins with a "P,"

and that puts Major Burns with a "B" right at the top.

‐Really? ‐Don't blow your top yet, Major.

‐It won't be alphabetical. ‐I suggest straws, sir.

Two shortest out of three

‐pulls the duty. ‐Where do you get three?

Well, Burns, one, Pierce, two, Hunnicutt, three.

‐Potter, four. ‐You, sir?

Yes, me.

But, sir, you're a grandfather.

Yes, a grandfather, but not Whistler's mother.

Well, you're spry for your age, Colonel.

I mean, anyone can see that.

But as commanding officer and senior member

of the surgical staff,

shouldn't you put your junior officers on this detail?

‐How do we shut Junior up? ‐Suture his lips.

Burns, I may not be a colt,

but I'm not an old, gray mare either.

‐She's right. ‐I'm just as fit for this detail as you are.

Maybe fitter!

We'll settle this right now.

Frank, how would you like to be our first kamikaze surgeon?

It's simple, Frank. You just do a lobotomy on yourself.

Ah, stick it in the freezer.

May I commandeer this deck for one minute?

Oh, but, sir, look.

Holy cow!

Sorry, son.

Two low cards go for a ride.

‐Mm‐hmm. ‐Hunnicutt.

Ten. I guess I get to wave bye‐bye.

Burns.

Five. I do better with straws.

Three. Looks like a marriage, Frank.

I know I can do better, but at my age, can I wait?

‐Deuce. ‐Well, that's a jip.

That means you go and I stay. Oh, that's good.

Well, Frank, looks like you've been jilted again.

It's you and me, Pierce.

Burns, load the jeep with supplies

and don't forget my Geritol.

Gowns, masks, sterile cotton, tape...

Tape. What did you do with the tape?

Here. Just 'cause I'm a Gypsy doesn't mean I stole it.

Today you're a Gypsy. Yesterday you were a ballerina.

Don't scoff, sir. Your fate is an open book to me.

‐You're daffy. ‐We read the future.

So can I. In about five seconds, I'm gonna bust your nose.

Don't bite off more than you can chew, sir.

Believe me, the future is written in the palm of your hand.

Oh, yeah? What does it say?

‐It says... (gasps) ‐What is it? What do you see?

‐Let me be the first to congratulate you, sir. ‐Somebody die, leave me money?

‐No, sir. You're gonna cover yourself with glory. ‐I am?

‐Oh, Yes. You've got a strong glory line. ‐Go on.

You're about to go on a trip, sir, a mission of mercy,

to a hospital many miles away.

I see‐‐ I see‐‐ a medal. It's gold.

‐A gold medal? ‐

‐It's turning green. ‐Green?

It says, "For your total disregard of danger,

"for operating above and beyond the call of duty,

for insisting to go on this mission instead of Colonel Potter."

Oh, buzz off, goofball!

I know what your little game is, and it won't work.

Sir, you're 20 years younger than the colonel.

So? The old and the weak get knocked off.

The young and the strong survive.

It's the law of the jungle.

‐(door slams) ‐A lion should eat your face!

Where does this go, sir?

There's room up front, Your Highness.

Ah, good idea.

The Colonel can use it as a footrest.

I'll rest my foot on your butt.

Climb in, Pierce. Where's your gun?

Sulking under my cot.

We're not on speaking terms.

Go kiss and make up. You're taking it with you.