M*A*S*H

All right, just to make it interesting,

anybody can open with a pair of 10s,

but only if you're wearing civilian boxer shorts.

Oh, don't be ridiculous.

You can't set a rule like that.

No, it's dealer's choice, Major.

Will you accept a civilian panty girdle?

10s and boxer shorts.

That is the most absurd rule I've ever heard.

Can anybody open?

I'll open for 25 cents.

I told ya! I told ya!

You owe me a buck and a half.

I'm out.

I blew everything last night on Radar's cockroach races.

He had the winner, but it come in riderless.

‐Riderless? ‐The fly fell off.

I'm in. B. J.?

I'm in.

Father, you wanna sit in the game?

Huh? Oh, yes.

Oh, my. I had the most extraordinary dream.

I was a cardinal in Rome,

and the Pope had a bad cold.

What do you suppose that means, Sidney?

You're the skull jockey.

Well, Freud said every dream is a wish.

One time my uncle dreamt he was dancing with a whale,

and when he woke up, our cow had eaten his pants.

Do you wanna bet, or do you want Sidney

to tell you what that means?

Oh, geez, I'm sorry.

I didn't know it meant anything.

You want a loan, Sidney?

No, I think I'll write a letter.

I've been putting it off for some time.

‐You all right? ‐Yeah.

What do I‐‐ How do I look?

Cheerful. I'm worried.

‐All right, what do you want? ‐Two.

‐Who the hell took my cards? ‐Here they are.

‐Oh. You? ‐Mm‐hmm, two.

Dear Sigmund,

I've been feeling somewhat frustrated lately,

and so I came to a kind of spa.

The waters are pretty good here.

And the inmates have

an interesting defense against carnage.

Too rich for me.

Insanity in the service of health.

Let me see your openers, Margaret.

Here.

I'm not talking about your cards.

Never mind.

Did you hear that?

That's great. Can you do a dog?

Who deals?

One of them is particularly good at it.

‐Who am I holding cards for? ‐Name of Hawkeye.

Couple of weeks ago, he made rounds in post‐op

with a personality that had split two for one.

Good evening, ladies and germs.

I'm sorry I'm late, but my watch stopped.

It had to. It's been running fast all week.

Is this the first time you've been pregnant?

How long have you had that throbbing in your wrist?

Nurse! Nurse!

Did you call me, doctor?

Why should I call you doctor? I'm the surgeon.

Give him his medication. Somebody's 15 minutes late.

Well, your feet seem to be coming along just fine.

It's my head, Doc.

Oh, yes! For a minute there you had athlete's scalp.

Come on, give us a little smile.

Three bucks.

I swear to you, these earrings go

for $7.50 at the Tokyo P. X.

Klinger, don't you think hoops are a little trashy

before breakfast?

If I thought it'd get me out,

I'd wear hula hoops in my ears.

‐$2.50? ‐I'll take 'em for $2.50.

Sold.

I hope I win 'em back.

I don't want the holes in my lobes to close up again.

Klinger's an interesting case, Sigmund.

He's found more ways to go crazy

than you ever dreamt of.

Sir. Sir, there's been a terrible accident.

‐What happened? ‐He got hit with a chopper blade, sir.

Wait a minute. If Klinger got hit by a chopper blade,

he'd look like a malted milk.

It was slowing down, sir.

Look what it did to his helmet.

How come it's got tire tracks on it?

‐How's that? ‐Ever since he came to,

he only speaks in Arabic, sir.

Gee, what a strange thing.

‐Smaha! Smaha! ‐What'd he say?

‐He said, "Smaha! Smaha!" ‐Thank you.

Yeah!

It's not gonna work, Klinger. Yeah!

Looks like a relapse.

His eyes have gone back in his head, sir.

He looks like that every day right after breakfast.

‐He's shaking! ‐Private Habib,

Radar found me a can

of smoked herring for breakfast,

and right now I'm deliriously happy

cleaning my horse's toenails.

Don't spoil it!

Sir, I'm really scared.

‐(Klinger whimpering) ‐Klinger, wake up!

Aah!

He's ranting, sir.

He wants his father's cheese from the windowsill.

You can have a piece of my herring,

but you're not going home.

Well, thank you very much.

Sophie, how about that Klinger?

Is he a pistol?

I guess what draws me to these people is that,

faced with aggression in its most brutal form,

they've regressed to a state of antic,

if not lunatic, pleasure.

There's been a rash of practical jokes lately.

Whoever the perpetrator is,

he or she is becoming a folk hero.

‐Aah! ‐(laughter)

Rank makes no difference.

No one is safe from the mad joker.

I'm sorr‐‐

As you pointed out, Sigmund,

there's a link between anger and wit.

Anger turned inward is depression.

Anger turned sideways is Hawkeye.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! Hiya, pal.

Hey, you got any way to get back

to civilization from here?

If this isn't civilization,

why am I standing in a bomb crater?

Thank you, buddy.

You, uh, lost from your unit,

or are you trying to see the world on five dollars a day?

No, actually, I‐I jumped out of my airplane.

Such a nice day, you thought you'd walk?

My engine was on fire.

But I managed to drop my load before I bailed out.

How lucky for you.

Come on, I'll take a look at your leg.

Oh, are you a doctor?

That's what they all think here.

Actually, I just like legs.

Is there a phone here?

I don't want my wife to worry

when I don't show up at home tonight.

You go home every night from the war?

No, only weekends.

Got a little place in Tokyo.

Yeah, I tell ya, for me,

the war's been something that lasts about...

30 minutes a day.

Then it's back to the base

and dinner at the officers' club.

Well, listen, it's only a war.

‐I mean, why kill yourself? ‐Yeah.

My gosh, will you look at those boots?

What a mess.

What have you been walkin' in, red clay?

No, blood.

That must be kind of rough on you guys, isn't it?

Well, I tell ya, if I couldn't fly,

I wouldn't touch this war.

You fly much?

I was shot out of a cannon once

by the irate husband of a bearded lady.

It's beautiful up there.

At 20,000 feet, the sky is a brilliant blue.

You fly for a while in that stillness,

then you take a reading,

press a button, and drop your load.

You mean you've never seen the people you've been bombing?

Nah, never.

I'm a really lucky guy.

Flying so high with your head in the sky.

Yeah.

I can't understand

why you call this place the Swamp.

We were thinking of calling it the Latrine,

but that name was taken.

That's a private letter.

Then why'd you leave it under your pillow?

Can I have that, please?

I want to erase anything nice I said about you guys.

Uh, Sidney, you're a psychiatrist.

Don't you think, uh, writing a letter

to Sigmund Freud is a little crazy?

Who better than he would understand?

Well, now that makes sense.

Uh‐huh. We couldn't help but notice that you came