M*A*S*H

Come on in, Klinger.

Yes, I know. I didn't sign the morning reports.

Sir, it'd be easier if you remembered to sign them

instead of remembering you didn't sign them.

I'll remember that.

Wow! Look at you.

You must have dunked your whole head in brilliantine,

to say nothing of your shoes.

Just spiffed up a tad. We've got company coming.

Don't I know it, Your Beau Brummellness.

Boy, why would Clayton Kibbee want to come here?

Maybe he wants to write about us. Gee, you think so?

Wouldn't that be somethin'? Why, I can remember

reading Kibbee's "Report From the Front" during World War II.

Made it almost like being there.

Of course, I was.

What a day for us. I haven't been this excited

since Andy Varipapa came to Toledo

for a trick bowling exhibition.

You met Andy Varipapa? Met him?

He gave me an autographed copy of his biography

"Life Is a 710 Split."

Uhoh. Must be Kibbee. He's early.

How do I look?

Like Cesar Romero on a rainy day.

Good. Mildred likes him.

Now let's roll out the red tarp.

Thank you, son.

It's been a long time since I sat

behind the wheel of one of these things.

Check the timing. I think the engine was missing

when we flew over that last hill.

Mr. Kibbee? Welcome to MASH 4077.

I'm Colonel Sherman T. Potter, C. O. hereabouts.

How do you do, Colonel? And just call me Clay.

Oh. Well, thanks, Clay.

You can call me Sherman.

Oh, uh, this is Corporal Maxwell Klinger, our company clerk.

Sir, it's an honor.

Oh, that's Clay to you too, son.

Wow. You're even nicer than Mr. Varipapa.

You've had a long trip. If you like,

Corporal Klinger can show you to your quarters.

Fine. But I think first we ought to get some of my stuff on ice.

Oh, what do you got in the hamper?

Six pints of blood

donated by some of my loyal readers back home.

I thought it'd make a good story, you know,

follow each bottle from John Q. Public to G.I. Joe.

One sixpack on the rocks comin' up,

and I'll put your suitcase in the V. I. P. Tent.

Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, that's for V. I. P.'s.

I thought, since I was doin' a medical story

that I'd like to bunk with some of the doctors.

Do you suppose they'd mind?

Well, I'm sure it's all right. Well, why don't we ask 'em?

They're probably in the Mess Tent.

I'll bet you'd love a good breakfast about now.

I sure would, but I'll settle for what you folks eat.

These biscuits are as hard as golf balls. And guaranteed not to slice.

Who'd have thought I'd have a chance to meet a legend like Clayton Kibbee...

in a place like this? It seems only apropos. After all...

the man is the consummate war correspondent,

not to mention the ultimate sportsman...

confidant of kings... And so manly and rugged and virile.

Remember, Margaret, it's not nice to drool on the first date.

And this motley crew is the heart of a crack medical team.

Folks, I'd like you to meet Clayton Kibbee,

or Clay, as I like to call him.

And this vision of loveliness is...

Major Margaret Houlihan. How do you do?

Margaret, it's a great pleasure to meet you.

It certainly is.

He couldn't have said it better himself.

Mr. Kibbee, B. J. Hunnicutt. It's a pleasure to meet you.

As a kid, I lost some of my innocence reading your stories.

Ha! Well, I lost all mine writing 'em,

and call me Clay.

Clay, Charles Emerson Winchester III.

I've been reading your work since I was yay high.

Well, that makes one of us very old, Charles...

or can I call you Chuck?

Uh, you ccan. Gee, I wish you wouldn't.

I'm Hawkeye. I'm illiterate,

but B. J. reads to me every night.

Hiya, Hawkeye. How long are you gonna be around, Clay?

Oh, just long enough to finish my job.

While you're patchin' up these soldiers, I'm gonna write about it.

Clay is doin' a followup for his readers on six pints of blood they've donated.

What a marvelous idea. I think so. It'll let the folks back home

feel more involved in this campaign, and they'll donate more blood.

Listen, boys. Clay thought he'd like to get his medical info firsthand.

Okay if he bunks with you guys?

Sure. As long as my snoring is off the record.

I'd consider it a welcome respite to share my tent

with someone who actually appreciates the finer things of life.

Ah, you betcha. And tonight, you can all help me appreciate

a bottle of tequila I picked up in Juarez.

It'll knock the clocks right off your socks.

A man after my own liver.

Tequila. Heh, heh. Oh, bueno.

And when that's all gone, you'll love our bathtub gin.

It leaves a ring around your throat.

Oh! Come on. Wanna see where we live?

Looks like work before play.

What's up? Somebody run a light?

I found him on the side of the road.

Both him and the motorcycle got beat up pretty bad.

How is he? Compound fracture, abrasions and who knows what else.

Goldman, get a litter. On its way, Doc.

What do you want me to do with this heap?

Heap? This old beauty?

Do me a favor. Leave it here.

All you motorcycle nuts are nuts.

This bike is a classic. These and Sherman tanks

were the most important vehicles in World War II.

And the bikes were tougher. Is he gonna need blood?

Yeah, I think so. Looks like you got your first customer.

I guess I'm not much of a motorcycle rider, huh, Doc?

Your riding's okay. You gotta work on your falling down.

Where'd you get that bike, anyway?

I swapped a Korean 10 parkas for it.

Those things are great hill climbers.

Very big on the race circuit.

It's in pretty bad shape, but you might be able to fix it up.

Doc, I don't want anything more to do with it.

Are you kidding? Hey, that motorcycle almost killed me.

Tell you what, I'll be happy to take it off your hands. How much you want for it?

It's on the house. Consider it my thanks for your help.

If you can fix it up, more power to ya.

Great. Everybody should have a hobby.

By the way, yours should be resting.

What's the prognosis?

I predict complete recovery if the carburetor isn't shot.

Uh, McKegney's gonna be fine too.

Hi, Doc. Greetings.

As winner of our falling off the motorcycle contest,

you've earned a free interview with Clayton Kibbee.

How are ya, son? The Clayton Kibbee?

Shoot. I've read your stuff.

Well, how come you wanna talk to me?

Well, the blood you just got was donated by my readers back home.

I want them to know what a fine young man you are.

Who, me? Bet your buttons.

Hey, you've just received a wound in the service of your country.

That's news. I wanna hear all about it!

Now what kind of a mission were you on?

Well, my C. O. wanted some papers sent up to H. Q. Uhhuh.

I thought it would be fun to take my bike for a spin, so I volunteered.

And you went into a dangerous area?

Heh, are you kiddin'?

If that area hadn't been secured, I wouldn't have volunteered.

Well, how did you get injured? A sniper, infiltrator?

No. I hit a rock, and the bike came down with me under it.

Oh. Sorry, kid.

Sounds like the only place for this story is in Popular Pratfalls.

Don't worry. I'll do somethin' with it. What's your full name?

Thomas Anthony McKegney.

And will you mention I'm from Livingston, Texas?

Yeah. Sure. You betcha.

Well, thank you, Thomas. Good luck to ya.

Hang in there, soldier. Get some rest, huh?

So, uh, what's the headline gonna be?

"I Was a Klutz behind Friendly Lines"?

Hawkeye.

Ah, would you excuse me for one second?

Uh, it's, uh, a call to the wild.

Why, sure. Good luck.

Ah, Lieutenant Lacey. No doubt curious about tonight.

I got it all planned. We'll meet at the Motor Pool

at 8:00 and drive each other crazy.

Hawkeye, I'm afraid I can't make it. Can't make it?

No. I'm gonna have to take a rain check.

Your lips tell me "No, no," but there's "Please, please" in my eyes.

I'm sorry, but Clay invited me to have a drink with him this evening.

Clay?

A drink? Of what, prune juice?

Hawkeye, I figured you'd understand.

I can go out with you anytime.

Clay is only gonna be here for a few days.

He is so charming. He's known so many famous people.

Oh, I know, like Grover Cleveland, Voltaire, Pocahontas.

Don't tell me you're jealous. Jealous?

Please, I won't even dignify that with a comment.

Oh. Hoo! Marco Polo, Galileo, Rasputin.

Does it say anything in there about distributor points?

It's no use. These manuals don't say anything

about choppers except the ones that fly.

Well, you can close the book on this motorcycle. Stupid points.

Gentlemen, it's a beautiful evening. Why aren't you enjoying it?

Eh, this heap. I fixed the gas tank,

trued the wheels, jerryrigged the clutch.

but it needs points.

I haven't noticed an allnight parts store in the neighborhood.

Looks like this is one Indian that's headed for the happy hunting ground.

An Indian Scout. I rode one of those covering the march into Berlin.

Boy, was it fast. I'll bet.

Had the same problem too. The points were shot. No kiddin'?

Yeah. But I got my story in on time.

Had a little trouble with the M. P. s. Tagged for speeding, huh?