MASH - Sixth Season (M*A*S*H)

If it gets any darker in here,

we won't have to go to your place.

Now this one's going.

Klinger, a light bulb, on the double.

If I can find my way outta here, sir.

‐Ouch! ‐Gelfoam.

Easy on the Gelfoam, troops. We're running low.

We're running low on everything but customers.

Colonel, did those buffoons at headquarters give you

any reason why the supplies are late?

Yes, they said there's a war on.

There is? I can't see it.

I think they should call it on account of darkness.

That's subtracting some light from the subject.

Somebody must have shut the refrigerator door.

These are the most deplorable conditions I have ever seen.

I would operate in Braille if my fingers weren't frozen.

Sorry, Charles, we're all out of fur‐lined rubber gloves.

Not to mention the chinchilla shorts.

A pity we are not out of juvenile prattle.

Sorry, I got carried away.

I'd like to get carried away to somplace warm.

‐Got one, sir! Ow! ‐(clatter)

Klinger, in this light, you look just like Boris Karloff's sister.

Thank you, sir.

Where'd you get the bulb, Klinger?

From one of the tents, Colonel.

Good man. Somebody will just have to skip

writing home tonight.

Hope Mrs. Potter doesn't mind.

Oh, swell! What happened to rank has its privilege?

It went out with the bulb, sir.

‐4.0 silk. ‐We're out.

‐3.0 silk. ‐Out.

Well, what have you got?

Klinger's sewing kit.

All right, let me have some thread.

Anything in white. Hold the sequins.

Sorry, sir, the lab needs a bulb in a hurry.

Just a moment, Klinger.

Haven't I exhausted my quota of sacrifices for the day?

‐Take his bulb. ‐Oh, of course.

We wouldn't want to inconvenience you.

After all, a man of your delicate sensibilities

can't be expected to function under deplorable conditions.

Please, take this one. Yes.

‐Just a moment, Klinger. ‐Make up your mind, sir.

This climbing is murder on my hose.

Pierce, I hope you're not suggesting for a moment

that you're a better doctor than I am

under deplorable conditions.

No, just that your attitude is deplorable

under any conditions.

If that is a gauntlet you have just thrown down,

I take it up with relish.

One gauntlet with relish,

hold the mustard and onions.

Klinger, take my bulb.

‐Do I hear a rebuttal? ‐Klinger.

He's captain, I'm a major, that's an order.

I'm a corporal, this is a ladder...

and that's the bulb.

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

Attention. Supply truck now in the compound.

‐The supplies have arrived, Colonel. ‐Glory be!

I don't claim to know much about fashion, Klinger

but you look like the dog's dinner.

You try and color coordinate in the dark.

Ah. You, madam, if you can guess what this is

you win a lifetime supply of anchovy sherbet.

That's an ice cream churn.

Please, no prompting from the studio audience.

Those bird‐brains. Talk about coals to Newcastle.

At least coal we could burn.

Where are the light bulbs?

No light bulbs,

also no bandages, no Gelfoam,

no sutures, and no heating oil.

‐No kidding. ‐What's in all the crates?

Salt tablets, mosquito netting, insect repellent,

probably a thousand gallons of suntan lotion.

Peachy. You realize somewhere in the tropics, an outfit has just opened

several crates of parkas, snow boots, and light bulbs.

Ship me there, sir. I'll get to the bottom of it.

‐Freeze. ‐That's what I'm doing.

Driver, what ignoramus is responsible for this?

Any one of a dozen, sir. Would you mind signing this, please?

Sign nothing. We can't use any of this, Sergeant.

‐It's all yours now. ‐Mule fritters!

You've got to haul it back to H. Q.

I'm sorry, Colonel. I'm not authorized for returns.

Would you sign this, please? I'm overdue at the 8063.

Let them get their inflatable pool

and swim fins an hour later.

Didn't you wonder why you were delivering ice cream churns

to a MASH unit in the middle of winter?

Yeah, I used to wonder about stuff like that,

but it was keeping me up nights,

giving me worry lines, so I cut it out.

‐Very wise. ‐You know, Colonel, if I was you,

I would try and look on the bright side.

‐There's a bright side? ‐Oh, yeah.

Summer is just six months away.

Ah, there's something we can use‐‐ an empty mailbag.

Wrong, sir. There's a package in it.

‐It's for you. ‐For me?

‐Finally, an air conditioner. ‐No, it's a book.

‐A book? ‐Yeah.

You mean a real book,

between covers, with words and everything?

I wonder if I still know how to read.

It's a mystery. The Rooster Crowed at Midnight.

"Another brain‐teasing, spine‐chilling whodunit

from the prize‐winning pen of Abigail Porterfield."

‐Dibs! Me next! ‐Come on, B. J.!

‐Finally! ‐I beg your pardon?

It took you six minutes and three decks of cards to read that page.

Two pages, one on this side, one on that side.

That still comes out to 78 cards a page.

Nobody reads that slow.

I'm not reading, I'm savoring.

Savor faster. I'm desperate.

I'd trade my soul for a laundry list.

Go over to the mess tent, read the alphabet soup.

How would you like a club in the mouth?

Relax, I'll be finished with this, Tuesday latest.

‐Tuesday? ‐Wednesday?

Look, I'm sitting here reading your shoe size‐‐

and not believing it, I might add.

I'll never make it till Tuesday.

Hunnicut, what page you on?

‐21. ‐21?

At the rate you read,

the murderer would have escaped to Venezuela by now.

Give him a break. It doesn't have pictures.

I could let Charles read it first, you know.

Beej, I'm begging you.

Here, chapter one.

Ho, ho, ho!

Reading!

This just might be better than sex.

Certainly takes longer around here.

How would you know?

Charles, please, I'm savoring.

Here, read a shoe.

Thank you.

"A sleepy spaniel ambled across the lawn

past the gardener dozing on his rake."

This is so exciting.

You don't understand!

We're running out of everything!

Somebody cut up my best petticoat to make bandages!

The colonel wants to know when do we get our supplies.

That's not good enough, bimbo.

Oh, yeah? Well, don't be surprised if you wake up

at the bottom of the Yalu River wearing a cement kimono.

Same to you, fish bait!

‐(clatter) ‐Ow! Wow!

Open‐toed shoes! Oh! Oh!

‐Who's there? ‐It's Charles.

Oh, I'm busy, Major. What is it?

Are you too busy for chapter three of

The Rooster Crowed at Midnight?

No, no! Come in!

Whew.

Brought this over just as soon as I was finished.

‐How sweet. Thank you. ‐Not at all.

It's going to difficult to read in this light.

Would you like me to read aloud to you?

‐No, no. ‐No trouble at all, Margaret.

The Winchesters have always had extraordinary eyesight.

Particularly at night. I can see a cat before he sees me.

‐(laughs) ‐I'll be happy to.

Of course. Here.

Well, all right.

Here.

"Chapter three, The Rooster Crowed at Midnight,

Abigail Porterfield."

Yes.

"As the wind howled through the stately old elms,

"Jessica's heart ached with longing for the young Randolph.

"She could best be described as a prize thoroughbred‐‐

"swift, hot‐blooded,

and highly responsive to the whip."

"And yet Randolph was her equal and a raging stallion.

"To call him merely virile

"would be to damn with faint praise.

"Jessica remembered that exciting interlude in his garden

"when he suddenly appeared through the hedge.

"'Wench, you make my blood boil', he whispered‐‐

"He whispered passionately.

"'Ever since I first laid eyes on your silken limbs

"'and your ripe, golden bosom, I vowed to make you mine'.

"Jessica knew in her woman's heart that if it weren't

"for Lord Cheevers' cold‐blooded murder

"she would at this very moment be standing before the panting Randolph,

"her flimsy black negligee in tatters,

"her nakedness a golden tinted paradise,

illuminated only by flickering candlelight."

That's just amazing