M*A*S*H

‐How's that stomach, Cochran? ‐Not too good, sir.

Well, that's not surprising,

considering all the iron I took out of you.

Every compass in Korea was pointing to your belly button.

His fever's still up, Doctor.

101.6? You're into the F. M. dial.

Let me take a look here.

I always like to admire my artistry.

Huh, my yellow period.

Okay, take a culture and pack it open.

Increase his I.V. To 150 c. c.'s per hour,

‐and start him on penicillin and streptomycin. ‐Yes, Doctor.

You got a little infection, but don't worry about it.

I'll give you a note to stay home from the war another two weeks.

‐Uh, can I, uh‐‐ You wanna‐‐ ‐Hmm?

‐Uh‐‐ ‐What?

Folks, we gotta have a little staff meeting

about all these staph infections.

‐Who is it this time? ‐Cochran.

And I've taken every precaution.

I even put a hospital corner on his bandage.

It's appalling. It's our own version of germ warfare.

Seems to me we've checked everything,

autoclave, anesthesia tubes,

suction machines, partridge in a pear tree.

Yeah, and I always wash at least one hand before I operate.

I know it's clean in here.

Everybody who comes close to these patients

has been checked out.

Well, if we eliminate, uh, post‐op,

we're inescapably left with "op."

Whatever's causing the infection has to be in the O. R.

We gotta stop letting all those sick people in there.

‐Pierce, save the jokes for the operating room. ‐(man groaning)

Kill off every germ in the place, you know?

Hey, De Simone, what's wrong?

You should be very happy. Your leg's doing beautifully.

Only one thing would make me happy now.

What's that?

If that shrapnel‐‐ how you say in America‐‐

killed me dead as a doorknob.

What a terrible thing to say.

Sorry. I cannot yet speak the fluent inglese.

No, what I mean is you have everything to live for.

Soon, you'll be returning to Italia.

Warm summer nights at the Trevi Fountain in Roma.

A gondola ride in Venezia. Firenzi, Genoa, Milano, Napoli‐‐

I know the cities.

Depression is very common for people in your situation.

You'll get over it.

My leg, I will get over, but today,

this has smashed my heart to figurines.

‐What's that? ‐A "Dear Giovanni" letter.

‐Oh, I'm so sorry. ‐My Angela, she left me.

She throw me up for another man. One with bigger lira.

Well, I think she made a big mistake.

I am a De Simone!

My Angela. How could she do this to me?

Believe me, you'll meet somebody else.

You're a big, strong, handsome man.

Si, but what good is it to be a Ferrari

if you are out of gas?

Ignazio, you must stop dwelling on the past.

‐You have to forget about Angela. ‐Yeah.

Any woman would be thrilled to have you.

What is it, your name?

‐Margaret. ‐Margarita.

Hey, Charles, why don't you get down here

where the germs can get a better shot at you?

Because I can see from here all that gunk between the cracks.

It's a veritable Shangri‐la for bacteria to breed.

Yeah, their very own backseat of a car.

Look at this stuff. One good draft in here,

and before you know it, the wounds get wind of it.

You know, Charles, this floor's a lot like you.

Filled with culture and breeding that nobody can tolerate.

Your temperature's almost normal, Private.

Does that mean I'll be back on real food soon?

No. I'm afraid you'll have to eat

what comes out of the Mess Tent.

Ignazio, how are you feeling?

Now that I see you, molto bene.

Ah, how Italian of you.

Always I'll be grateful to you.

When I was, how you say, beside myself,

you come and sit down next to me, beside myself.

I'm glad I could help.

I have some good news for you.

You'll be rejoining your unit the day after tomorrow.

Ah, then that day I have an empty room in the pensione of my life,

the one where Margarita, she used to live.

‐Ignazio. ‐If only I do not have to go.

Oh, but you do.

But we could spend long hours together.

Walks on the moonlight,

picnics at the country, sunsets in the beach.

‐This is Korea. ‐When you have amore,

there is no Korea.

Watch it, Ignazio. There are other people here.

You can't do that.

Capisco.

A De Simone is nothing if not discreet.

What in the world?

Ignazio.

What‐‐ Corpsman De Simone, what are you doing?

‐Margarita‐‐ ‐Get in here.

Ah, si, si, si, si.

Ah, Margarita, mi amore.

I'm not your mi amore, and you're supposed to be in post‐op.

How can I be in post‐op when my heart is here?

Well, your heart is off‐limits, soldier.

Why for you drive me crazy like this?

You say I cannot kiss you with other peoples around, so I come here.

You drag me into your tent,

and say I cannot kiss you with no other peoples around.

You are toying with me like a cat with a dead moose.

No, you misunderstand.

I wasn't trying to encourage you.

A De Simone does not need encouragement.

You have filled the tank of my Ferrari.

No, you're just on the rebound from Angela.

Oh, she is nothing. She is a child.

But you, you‐‐

You are a woman. My bellissima.

No, no, no! As an officer of the United States Army,

‐I am ordering you to bed. ‐Ah!

No, no, no, your bed!

I see. You make a test to find out

how deep my love, she is for you, huh?

Get out of here.

I do not understand, but all is right.

A De Simone, he does not need to understand.

Buona notte.

Aha, all right. Well, there you have it, folks.

The special of the day, staph under glass.

Cochran's running with a bad crowd.

Gentlemen, as long as the germs have the floor,

we are engaged in an exercise of futility.

You know, I hate to put the knock on wood,

but if we just lay the same kind of floor,

we've got a new home for old germs.

‐Yeah. ‐We need something more concrete.

Boys, I hate to throw cold sarsaparilla on your scheme,

but every time I've put in for one, it's been red‐lined.

Good grief, all we're asking is for the corps of engineers to lay down a cement floor.

I've been down that road before, and believe me, it ain't paved.

‐They never run out of ink for their "no" stamp. ‐Oh, what nonsense.

Colonel, what would you say if we make the call ourselves?

‐This time it'll be our nickel. ‐All right.

You've got carte blanche, troops.

Believe me, nothing would thrill me more than to have you lads succeed.

But the way the engineers look at it, we're a MASH unit.

They won't give us anything we can't fold up

and carry or stuff in a duffel.

They never let us forget "M" is for mobile.

I know the "M" is for mobile, but we haven't moved in five months.

Because we like it here.

It's near shopping and transportation and wounded.

Look, look, wait a minute.

What is so difficult about a floor?

All you have to do is just come and slip it under the door.

No, no, no, don't. No, no, no, just‐‐

Hello?

‐When's it coming? ‐We wanna be sure somebody's home when they deliver it.

Once again, the army proves Darwin's theory

of survival of the "twittest."

You guys are going about this all wrong.

You gotta learn to think like the army.

If you want sugar, you gotta say, "Pass the salt."

We want concrete. What do we ask for, feathers?

Close. Let me demonstrate, O Outranking Ones.

Hello, Quartermaster? How are the kids and Mrs. Master?

And they say we do all the operating.

This is MASH 4077. Your buddy Klinger here.

A three‐star is coming to visit next week.

Intelligence has it that the general loves barbecued pig.

Right. Got the bricks for the barbecue,

but what we don't have is the cement to mix the mortar

to hold the bricks to the barbecue to cook.

‐The Genghis of Con. ‐We're in the presence of Sitting Bull.

A huge barbecue with a little patio around it

for the general's chaise lounge.

Thank you, Sergeant.

You're a credit to your uniform.

Your cement is in the bag.

If there's any left over, I'm erecting a monument to you.

I don't wanna cast aspersions on your dishonesty,

but when they get here and find out that

this barbecue is a concrete slab in the O. R.,

what makes you think they'll still put it in?

Who said they would in the first place?

I was talking to quartermasters, not engineers.

Engineers build. Q. C. just delivers and dumps.

Dare one inquire what that means?

You have to put the floor in yourselves.

‐(laughs) ‐Us, put in cement?

We're doctors, not dentists.

The closest I get to building anything is when I make my bed.

Gentlemen, once again our trusty Arab

has led us to a mirage.