M*A*S*H

Okay! Okay! Listen up! Mail call!

Get 'em while they're hot!

What's the story with the newspapers?

I ain't seen a Wall Street Journal for two weeks.

Nothing's changed. There's still no secondclass mail.

(all groaning, overlapping chatter)

Don't start up with me again.

Snow and sleet is one thing,

kneeing the mailman is a federal offense.

Hold your water, folks.

There's no reason to kill the messenger.

He's been calling all over

trying to track down those periodicals.

Besides, this is nothing. Back in WWI,

I went 19 Saturdays without an Evening Post.

Thank you, sir. That story never fails to move me.

So what's the poop? The only lead so far

is that all secondclass mail to South Korea

might have been sent to South Dakota.

Leesman.

Look, we're all suffering from this.

For me, the worst of it is

that Li'l Abner was just about to pop the question

to Daisy Mae.

For all I know, they're already postnuptializing

in the honeymoon suite

of the Dogpatch Hilton. Papazian!

Mercer, Foytack, Margolese.

Oh, Major Winchester, package for you, sir.

Ah! Klinger, your timing is perfect.

What's in there, sir? Ahahah.

Curiosity killed the clerk.

Moran. Potter.

Sounds like those macaroons

the missus promised you, sir.

Thank goodness they're not rerouting the vittles.

If only these were fortune cookies,

we'd have something to read too.

Yarborough!

Charles!

Morning, Hunnicutt. Trust you slept well.

I'm not finished yet, so stop slurping

and snapping your newspaper.

Newspaper?

Great!

We're back on the army's paper route again.

I'll finally get last month's issue of Nude Volleyball.

Any minute now,

I'll see Brunhilda come bouncing in here.

Put your libido on hold, Pierce.

I'm afraid your secondclass mail

is still stacked up over NoMan'sLand.

How come you got a newspaper?

Because the Boston Globe

does not travel second class.

I have a week's worth sent from home

parcel post by my sister Honoria

along with other necessities of life.

A week's worth? Imagine, Beej.

Little us, actually tent mates with a great humanitarian

with newspapers to share.

He's more than a humanitarian, he's a saint.

He's more than a saint, he's a fast reader.

I got dibs on the sports section.

I want the crossword puzzle. Gentlemen!

Hey, hey, hey! Or should I say "children"?

When, and only when,

I have finished this entire newspaper

you may have it.

That should be in about an hour, two.

That's fine. It'll probably take us that long

to read all these others over here.

No one will touch any newspaper

until I have read it first page to last.

And I read one, and only one, per day.

Charles

What is this, the Korean newspaper torture?

You can read one a day.

Just let us read these others first.

Gentlemen, tea and an unthumbed newspaper

are among the few remnants of civilization

that enable me to face the day

here in hell's outhouse.

I refuse to give them up

simply because you suddenly find yourselves

with nothing to read.

You have a choice:

one per day or none per day.

Oh, great!

I suppose we'll have to scrub before we read them.

That'd be ludicrous.

All I ask is that this remain our secret.

We don't want to be disturbed by hordes of little readers.

You will excuse me.

I have an appointment with Joseph Alsop.

MAN (on P. A.): Attention all personnel.

Triage in the compound. We have the finalists

in the shrapnelcatching contest.

Sorry, Charles, we'll have to interrupt your newspaper

for some latebreaking bones.

Well. Emergency!

Emergency over here. Bandages over here.

Nurse!

Another North Korean. Bad chest wound.

Hi, there!

I hope the fact that I'm on the side that shot you

won't strain our doctorpatient relationship.

Good morning, Doctor and Mrs. America and all the ships at sea.

Dateline, Dogpatch.

Highly placed sources at ICorps have learned

that Li'l Abner and Daisy Mae have tied the knot!

Rats.

I've missed the wedding of the century.

Well, come on, Klinger. Fill us in.

It's seems Li'l Abner vowed he would only get married

if his ideal, Fearless Fosdick, would do it first.

What, pray tell, is a "Fearless Fosdick"?

Everybody knows he's the gumshoe

with the ventilated head, doofus.

And you call yourself wellread?

Well, anyway, Fearless got married,

so, naturally, Li'l Abner did too.

But the next day, it turned out

that Fosdick's marriage was a dream.

Unfortunately, for Li'l Abner, it was real.

Oh, no. I'm sure it's for the best.

That Daisy Mae is a woman of quality.

I'll bet she even had her feet shined for the wedding.

Did your highly placed sources tell you

where our lousy newspapers are?

Sorry, folks, there's no news tonight.

But fear not. For your reading enjoyment,

I'm hot on the trail

of a complete unabridged library of army manuals.

Okay. It's okay. It's nothing. Believe me.

If I don't get something to read soon,

I'll go crazy.

Now, Major, in times of stress we have to,

you know, tough it out.

Beej, have you noticed how really well

Charles is bearing up under the strain?

Isn't he amazing?

He doesn't make an issue. So relaxed.

He's really showing us what he's made of.

Gentlemen, I suggest

that both of you tend to your knitting.

Do you read me?

Uh, retraction.

Not you.

Ha! Father!

Ha! Imagine running into you

sitting here reading my paper.

Oh, yes. I was walking by and, to my surprise,

I saw it lying there on your bunk.

Couldn't resist catching up on the news.

I hope you don't mind. Mind? No Mind?

Why on earth should I mind?

Perhaps you'd be more comfortable inside.

Light's better. Oh, no.

It's such a lovely day.

That's why I came outside.

Say, how did you get hold of this?

The paper? I received some fish.

It was wrapped up in this.

Why don't you come inside, Father?

I'll make you some tea.

Oh, well, that would be lovely.

Father!

Where did you get that newspaper?

Could I have the fashion section?

Well, actually,

it belongs to Major Winchester,

but I'm sure he wouldn't mind parting with it.

Would you, Major?

It's funny, you know?

It doesn't even smell fishy.

Well, lookee here!

It's been so long, I wouldn't swear to it

but that looks a lot like a newspaper!

It's Major Winchester's. He was kind enough

to ask us in to browse through it.

Well, mighty Samaritan of you, Winchester.

Don't mind helpin' myself to the funnies.

Here. Ho! Ha!

Hey, look at this! A newspaper!

Hey! Where'd they get a newspaper?

Hey, give me the classifieds! I need a job.

Let me see Louella Parsons.

Enough.

That's enough! Enough!

This is my newspaper.

I will not have it passed around

like a bottle of cheap wine.

Major! Surely, if you're fortunate enough

to have a newspaper,

you're not going to withhold it

from these people.

Yeah!

All right! All

All right. Since you've asked so nicely,