♪♪♪ (theme)
Testing. One, two, three,
four, five, six, seven, eight.
Testing.
A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H...
♪ I got a gal in Kalamazoo ♪
Give me that.
All right, attention.
Attention, please.
May I have the attention of each and every personnel, please?
This is your commanding officer Colonel Blake.
I thought it was Major Bowes.
Now, uh,
it's required that, uh,
everyone be given a routine medical checkup.
This is according to a new army regulation
which is, uh, your, uh, RP78/80778J,
uh, blah, blah, blah.
Now, accordingly, enlisted men will fall
into the mess tent to receive their physicals.
Officers will examine themselves
and vice versa in private.
Uh, is there anything else
that I should tell 'em, Radar?
Okay, tonight's movie is a double feature:
Godzilla and the Bobby‐Soxer
plus Ma and Pa Kettle Have a Baby.
Ohh.
♪ Zoo zoo zoo‐zee‐zoo ♪
Aah, aah, ah‐‐
Don't swallow the doctor.
You're a typical soldier, soldier.
Fine for the army, but not fit to be drafted.
Trapper, take a look at this.
Rotatory scoliosis.
Hmm, haven't seen many of those.
Nothing to worry about. You were born that way.
Your vertebrae are trying to pass each other on a hill.
What's a pretty girl like you doing in a war like this?
Klinger, are you a Catholic?
Your heart's playing "The Bells of St. Mary's."
Two degrees of temperature?
He's not a well woman.
I'm not the complaining type.
Since when?
Step over there, sir and/or madam.
‐Hi, Frank. ‐Hello, Frank.
That's your business.
Customers waiting.
Why do I always get stuck
with "turn your head and cough"?
You have the gift, Frank.
You have a perfect head for hernias.
You daffy‐doodles always have an answer.
Send 'em in.
Step behind the screen and drop your pants.
Step behind the screen and raise your skirt.
MARGARET: All right, girls. Attention, please.
Now, I will give you the preliminary exam,
and then the doctors will go to work on you.
Bear in mind that you are the cream
of American military womanhood,
serving your Uncle Sam and entitled to dignity.
No smart remarks,
no insinuations, sex or smut‐wise.
You are women, desirable women.
Most of you.
But army regulations forbid any doctor
to assist you from undressing into disrobement.
Further, they can do nothing, nothing,
when you are alone with them
but give you a good going‐over.
Now, when I call your name, please scream.
♪♪♪ (vocalizing)
New girl in town?
I'm giving Hot Lips her physical.
Does Frank know?
I was thinking of tying him in a chair
and making him watch.
He's scheduled to do my physical.
Fat chance.
I'll do you. I'm used to autopsies.
Nobody's examining me.
This place is medically medieval.
The lab equipment went up San Juan Hill
with Teddy Roosevelt.
Most of you guys wouldn't know a disease
unless it was social
and there's not a clean finger in the whole camp.
What? You get a package of hostility from home today?
That's how I feel. To hell with it.
You certainly woke up from your nap cranky.
Have a gargle?
Our kidneys, sir.
They were fun while they were alive,
and so were we.
It's got to be the worst.
Can't be. It's real gin.
Oh, terrible.
Does this mean my taste buds have been raped?
Am I condemned to drinking Vitalis on the rocks
for the rest of my life?
Wicked.
Let's make a pact about drinking.
‐All right. ‐Let's never stop.
I'm off to Hot Lips country.
If I'm not back in two days, alert intensive care.
(knock knock)
Hi. Doctor's here, darling.
Oh, yes, the physical.
Physical to you,
the house call of a lifetime to me,
you blonde palomino hussy.
Where do you want to start?
Aah!
Ah.
‐Ah. ‐Ah.
Attaboy.
Never had your tonsils out, huh?
Should I, sir?
Eh, just a thought.
They're big enough to be a baby's backside.
Glands okay.
Thank you, sir.
All right,
stand with your little feet together.
Close your eyes.
Extend your arm and touch the old nose.
Your nose, Radar. Your nose.
A few deep breaths, Margaret.
Breathe hard. Pretend I'm Frank.
I know how to breathe hard, Doctor.
If I locate your heart, do I get a finder's fee?
Hmm.
You're very fit, Major.
I guess that's 'cause you throw so many.
Could stand to lose about ten pounds, though.
What?
Stop grazing between meals.
Right in through there.
That should be posted as a slide area.
You're also getting a little flanky.
You're crazy.
Walking away from people, you look like you're wearing
two strange bulldogs in a bag.
Are you quite finished, Doctor?
Roll up your sleeve from the neck down.
We'll do it my way.
Pressure pooper.
Strip to the waist.
Bare naked, sir?
Radar, I'm not casting for the Ziegfeld Follies.
Yes, sir.
Radar, there is a you under there, isn't there?
I'm getting to me, sir.
Somebody naked scare you once?
My folks never took their clothes off, sir.
They said that the skin was the devil's slipcover.
For Pete's sake.
‐What's that? ‐That's my new tattoo.
It's an anchor.
Well, I mean, you're not in the Navy.
I tried to get a red cross, but it was a buck fifty.
This was only 50 cents.
Radar, getting one of those is very unsanitary.
Oh, I washed my hands first, sir.
Right. Right.
Let's audition your pump.
Can you make it go up and down?
No, not yet.
But I hum when I do it.
All right, McIntyre, time for your checkup.
Into your birthday suit.
Take a walk, Frank.
This is the army.
Then take a hike.
Are you refusing to take your physical
from a superior officer?
No, I'm refusing to take my physical
from an inferior doctor.
What's all the adrenaline for?
McIntyre's refused to take his clothes off for me.
Well, not everybody is Major Houlihan, Frank.
Which is a relief to us all.
Out, Frank.
Excuse me, sirs.
Remember that rotarian sillyosis thing
that guy had on his back before?
‐Yeah, yeah. ‐I got it.
Just had an X‐ray taken, sir.
Get out!
I just came in.
There is no room in this tent for perverts.
Shall we all leave alphabetically?
The ink is still wet where you touched it up.
I swear I got it.
I can't wear anything backless.
Out, Klinger! Out!
"Out, Klinger. Out."
All right, McIntyre, do I check you up,
or check you into the stockade?
Hold it, mouth.
Look, Trap,
I'd rather be strung up by my Achilles tendon
than agree with Major Disaster here.
Oh, fudge.
Refusing a checkup doesn't make sense.
It's basic.
There something you wanna get off your chest
or arms or legs?
(sigh) Okay.
Okay.
(sighing)
I got a problem in my belly,
but I don't want it diagnosed here
because I don't wanna be treated in this pigpen.
Pain?
Yeah, when I'm empty.
Feels better when I eat.
Wake you up at night?
(sigh) Yeah.
First I thought it was alcoholic gastritis.
You know, we've been hitting the sauce pretty good lately.
But the symptomology is wrong.
I got heartburn
that would light up the city of Toledo.
I've been taking this stuff here lately.
Antacid. Does that help?
A little, but not enough.
I think I got a duodenal ulcer.
What's the smile for?
Trap, it's not just an ulcer.
If you've got one, that's your ticket home.
You've got a million‐dollar hole
‐in your belly. ‐Hey.
Hey. Hey‐hey!
You see that crater?
That's the money, McIntyre.
Congratulations. You've just given birth
to a bouncing 1.2 centimeter ulcer.
You are going back to the world, my friend.
Before you know it, you'll be home sleeping on the couch
because you started talking in your sleep.
You know, I feel so terrible, I feel great.
You big, strong, dumb, silent types
can't handle the tension.
All cool on the outside, but inside
there's an acid factory in your belly.
Hey, we gotta have a snort on this.
A little something to, uh, irrigate the inwards.
‐Hear, hear. ‐Scotch or bourbon?
‐Right. ‐No, by me.
Good boy. Radar.
Radar, bring us some milk, will you?
Who died?
Yes, sir.
You better call home
and let your wife know you're coming.
Right, you don't wanna walk in on anything.
Some of those 4‐Fs run pretty big.
Ah, I can't tell you how much it'll mean to me
to get back and see my two girls.
Daddy's home.
Boy, I bet they've grown.
Probably shaving now.
Is everybody all right?
I'm going home, Radar.
He's got an ulcer.
Wow! You lucky pup...
‐sir. ‐Join us, Radar.
Go get a sterile bottle and a clean nipple.
Oh, okay.
Henry, we gotta throw the kid a farewell bash.
Absotively.
A monster, embarrassing blowout.
You can come as your favorite lamp shade.
Here's to Auld Lang Syne.
Skoal.
A votre santé.
Keeps the doctor away.
‐(knocking) ‐Who's there?
FRANK: Just a little bit of heaven.
Come in, Frank.
Hi, sweets.
You realize what McIntyre's leaving means, don't you?
No, Frank. What does it mean?
He'll be gone and he'll be here.
They won't be them anymore.
‐They'll only be him. ‐Right.
From now on, Margaret, instead of two against two,
it's us against him, two against one.
Fine.
Of course, uh...
I prefer one against one.
Oh, please, Frank.
Well, why so irritable, princess?
I'm not irritable, Frank.
I'm just... fat.
You have a fat, fat princess.
That just means there's more of you to love.
So then you agree I'm fat?
No, Margaret. Not "fat" fat.
You're sort of halfway between fat and thin
leaning a little bit to the not fat
but rather the thin side of fat.
In other words, fat.
No, you're actually thin,
for a person that weighs as much as you do.
I'll tell you how thin I am‐‐ not very.
Margaret, you're what I like to think of as...
full‐bodied.
Is that what you like to think of, Frank?
All the time.
You're all nice and round and mushy and soft.
Unlike a certain person back home
on whom I used to cut myself.
Hey, Frank. What do you have to do this afternoon?
Well, I'm garbage officer.
‐The garbage can wait. ‐The garbage can wait.
Do you realize, you lucky bugger,
in a few days you're gonna be eating unpowdered food?
Wearing clothes made for humans?
Sleeping on clean sheets?
I don't think I can sleep on clean sheets anymore.
Why don't you take home a set of dirties?
The Garden of Allah.
And to think that I could call this home.
Fungus grows on you.
After you go, I'm having the place done over
in deep‐pile germs.
And I won't be here.
I'll make you a doggy bag of bacteria for the plane.
Here, take this. I've read it eight times.
Sirs, you're looking at a dying man.
I got 20 minutes to live tops.
My blood pressure is 200 over 310.
Stuffing cigars up your armpits again?
When it gets to 400, sell.
For now, exit laughing.
Sir, you're getting out on an ulcer.
How did you do it? What did you think about?
‐How did you get it? ‐I'm fertile, that's all.
And he just didn't take any precautions.
Bye, Klinger.
"Bye, Klinger." Every five minutes,
"Bye, Klinger."
Well...
it's all yours, Hawk.
Gonna move out?
Be a good chance to get away from Frank.
No, I'll stay. I wouldn't want a room without a Bible.
Thanks, Trap.
What?
You made it bearable.
I was lucky.
You were honest and open...
and let me lean on you.
No charge.
And if I'm ever back this way...
I'll keep a light burning for you in a bedpan.
Uh, yes, sir. I'm writing it down.
Well, not really shorthand, sir.
Sort of a long shorthand.
Yes, sir.
Hey, the troops are really doing it tonight, huh?
Hey.
Where's Radar? Anybody seen Radar?
Afraid somebody will step on him?
(chuckling)
I got something for you, sir.
Save the present for the party, Radar.
Oh, no, it's a message from H. Q.
They, uh, got your X‐ray and your medical file
and they approved your ulcer.
Oh, that's damn nice of them.
Uh, yeah.
Well, uh, you report to Tokyo General
for three weeks of therapy, antacid,
planned diets, tranquilizers,
the works.
Is this some kind of an army screw‐up?
I'm going home.
No.
They said they don't send you home with an ulcer.
After you're cured at Tokyo General,
they ship you off to another unit.
I could wind up in a place worse than this?
There's no place worse than this.
Well, they give you the choice of staying
where you are and being cured.
This place gave me the ulcer.
It gave me the runs.
(whooping in distance)
Look, Radar, don't say anything about this
to anybody, okay? I'll take care of it.
Oh, sure.
Listen, I'm sorry you're not going home, Trap.
‐But I'm glad you're back. ‐Thanks, Radar.
♪♪♪ (jazz)
(cheering)
I'm driving down to Seoul tomorrow night,
if that's of any interest to you.
I don't go out with married men, Colonel.
Well, neither do I.
Henry's at 6,000 feet and holding.
You could do an appendectomy on him
without an anaesthetic.
‐Hey. ‐Hey.
Here's the graduating class. (laughing)
Pierce, we're losing our boy.
Well, we knew he'd leave us one day.
One of the best darn cutters in the whole shootin' match.
Both of you. Won't be the same without you.
He's leaving.
You, either.
Uh, Margaret, I should warn you.
Alcohol is quite fattening.
It's all right, Frank.
I plan to throw up later.
Could you do me a favor when you get stateside, sir?
I need a black evening bra.
No man should be without one.
I'll pay for it.
I got my mad money here someplace, sir.
Hold on to it, Klinger.
‐Beat it. ‐Yes, sir.
There you are, you.
You "aminal."
The major's a little snoggered.
How can you tell?
Well, McIntyre. I guess this is it.
I, uh, just wanted you to know
I've always admired you.
‐Always liked you. ‐Thanks, Frank.
But I'm glad you're going.
Quiet, Frank, or I'll tie you to Emily Post.
‐Frank. ‐Hmm?
We're having a little entertainment later.
Oh, good.
I understand you play "America, the Beautiful"
on the spoons.
(chuckling) Oh, well.
It's nothing, really.
I'm sure.
If you come to my tent, I'll keep my flaps up.
I've been waiting a long time to tell you something,
Captain Trapper John‐Intyre.
Really, Margaret?
I always watch you. You wouldn't know that.
And every time you look when I'm looking,
I watch something else so that you can't see
that I've been looking when you're watching.
I see.
Especially when you play football
in your bathing trunks.
And now you're leaving.
And I'm stuck with needle‐nose.
(knocking)
Hold it down, everybody.
Let me have your attention.
‐Henry. ‐Yo.
(record scratches)
As you all know,
this is Trapper John's last party with us.
While we're all saddened that he's leaving,
we're gladdened that he's going home
to the land of the all‐night generator.
(laughter)
Good friend, good companion.
He's taken a lot of the rottenness out of the war
for all of us.
We'll miss his stupid laugh.
We'll miss his two good hands.
HENRY: Honey, marriage has nothing to do with sex.
Now a few presents for the bar mitzvah boy.
(cheering)
From the nurses...
(women cheering)
‐Hey! ‐Ha ha ha ha ha!
From the nurses, a pair of all‐weather pajamas,
‐tops only. ‐Hey.
You'll get the bottoms a week after you're home.
Oh, you know what I mean?
From the enlisted men,
a matched pair of cockroaches
bronzed and suitable for use as cuff links.
You just killed my cuff links.
And from the hospital staff,
a record album for those quiet evenings
after the day's surgery has been botched.
Sonja Henie Sings Figure Eights For You.
(cheering)
Speech!
‐Speech! ‐Speech!
Speech!
Thanks.
Thanks, really. I, uh...
I appreciate it.
But as someone once said,
no good deed ever goes unpunished.
(chuckling)
I'm staying.
‐Hmm? ‐What?
(murmuring)
That's right, no joke.
The army, in its infinite insanity,
says I can't go home.
They've given me, uh, several options,
the least objectionable of which is staying here
with‐‐ with you idiots
in this upholstered men's room.
(whooping)
And as for you, Margaret,
I'll see you tomorrow night.
Trap, you're kidding.
I can kid better than that.
I'm buying.
Milk for everybody.
(cheers, applause)
Awful. That's awful.
Time for your medication.
(groaning) Yeah.
Three more weeks, that's all.
You'll be up and playing the violin again.
Swell, and I'm a ballerina.
What's that?
Tranquilizers.
They make you relax completely.
They don't work.
They do so. Try it.
You first.
(sigh)
(laughing)
♪♪♪ (theme)