##['50s Pop]
[Sighs] I can't believe the Mayo brothers started this way.
Or even the Mills Brothers.
- Try reading something. - I read everything.
- Toss a ball. - I've tossed everything.
Including breakfast.
There's always trolling for nurses.
I trolled all the nurses.
Let's have a blast.
- We could drown the dull in booze. - It won't do any good.
My dull has learned how to swim.
Maybe I can get a note from my parents excusing me from the war.
[Man On P.A.] Attention, all personnel.
Due to conditions beyond our control, we regret to announce...
that lunch is now being served.
- They got a lot of guts. - And they keep serving them.
Do you realize this is an anniversary?
- They've given us liver or fish ten straight days in a row. - Eleven.
If they try to serve that to us one more time today...
- I'm gonna throw a fit. - You won't throw a fit.
All right then, I'll throw a berserk, with a strong resemblance to a fit.
It's somethin' to do. Gonna eat with your feet?
Only if they have corn on the cob.
- Terrific outfit, Klinger. - Like it?
I don't usually wear floor-length during the day, but once in a while...
you feel like bein' dressy.
You look like my dead aunt.
[Man On P.A.] Nurse Chetsberger, please contact the Red Cross representative.
How can you eat this slop?
My mouth is tone-deaf.
- Succotash, Doc? - Yes, please.
- Potatoes? - Fine.
- Creamed corn? - Thank you.
[Ladle Tapping]
- And for the entree today... - Here it comes.
Steady.
We have liver or fish.
I didn't hear you say that.
Because it isn't possible.
It's inhuman to serve the same food, day after day.
The Geneva Convention prohibits the killing of our taste buds!
- Easy. - I simply cannot eat the same food every day!
Fish! Liver! Day after day!
I've eaten a river of liver and an ocean of fish!
I've eaten so much fish I'm ready to grow gills!
I've eaten so much liver, I can only make love if I'm smothered in bacon and onions!
Are we gonna stand for this? Are we gonna let them do this to us?
"No!" I say, "No!"
We're not gonna eat this dreck anymore!
We want something else! We want something else!
[All Chanting] We want something else! We want something else!
Draftees of the world, arise!
You have noting to lose but your cookies!
We want something else! We want something else!
[Chanting Continues]
[Screams, Indistinct]
[Chanting Continues]
Just who do you think you are, Pierce?
I broke under the pressure, warden.
Eleven straight days, Henry.
Well, don't you think I tried for some "relieviation"?
- Yes, sir. - Radar... What happened to...
the frozen turkey I ordered you to order?
I put in the requisition, sir, marked "urgent."
- Well? - They sent us 5,000 athletic supporters
Marked urgent! [Laughs]
I don't find that such a rib-tickler, Mclntyre.
- Ribs. - All right, Radar. Why don't you get on the horn...
- Trade the athletic supporters. - And see if we can't trade those athletic supporters?
Barbecued spareribs, that's what I want!
- That's what I need! - What you need is a tranquilizer...
about the size of a horse's rump!
There's a place in Chicago near the Dearborn Street station...
I don't know the name of it... they served ribs...
the best in the world!
They had a barbecue sauce with it.
A flamboyant, devil-may-care yet introspective sauce.
- Spareribs? - Ambrosia.
The gods on Olympus, when they got tired of pizza, they sent out for these ribs!
Ha! Yum, yum.
I think he's gonna have an accident.
- Get him the barbecue ribs, Henry. - I don't just want ribs...
- I want those ribs. - Pierce, you're acting like one of my kids.
Henry, I'm all ribbed out.
I have barbecue deficiency. Don't you get the clinical picture?
Withdrawal trauma. Take blood, you'll see.
Half hemoglobin, half barbecue sauce from Chicago.
You're off your hinges.
Henry, they were sensational.
The ribs burned my upper lip. I had a little cut.
I kept the scar alive for a year. The pain was exquisite.
- What was the name of this place? - I can't remember!
It was near the Dearborn Street station.
Well, why don't you call the station and ask? The number's DEarborn 5-7500.
- How the hell do you know that? - I was born in Illinois.
I spent half my life at the Dearborn station.
It was the first place my mother let me go to the men's room alone.
Come to think of it, it's where I met my wife, Lorraine.
- I gotta have those ribs. - Sounds like you're ready to go into labor.
I'll get 'em. Somehow.
Pierce, I don't care what you do in private.
You want ribs? It makes me no never mind.
But as long as you're in this man's army camp, you behave yourself...
and you fly in formation!
- Yes, sir. - Radar? Let's get started on the inspection.
Yes, sir.
It was oregano in the sauce. And just the slightest suggestion of vinegar.
And the coleslaw tasted like heather.
But those ribs, those ribs!
I'm sure they came from pigs that were virgins.
You know? You know?
[Laughing] They were terrific. Mm!
- Mm. - [Muffled Groaning]
I gotta have 'em.
I gotta have 'em, Trap.
- [Bangs] - Halt!
- What's the password? - Out of my way, or I'll split your head open.
Close enough.
[Softly] Radar?
Radar, it's Hawkeye. Let me in. I gotta use the phone.
- [Knocking Continues] - Radar! Come on, wake up! The war's over. We won, 8-5.
[Sighs Deeply]
- Radar! Get on the phone. - Don't shoot!
- Who's calling? - You are. Get out of bed...
or I'll take your tonsils out through your armpits.
Come on, we're calling Chicago. DEarborn 5-7500.
- Chicago? - "The Toddlin' Town."
Home of the stockyards. Mrs. O'Leary's cow.
The White Sox. The Cubs. Carl Sandburg!
Who's he pitch for?
The poet. "Chicago."
"Hog Butcher for the world, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat...
"Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling, City of the Big Shoulders..." [Clicks Tongue]
Sandburg knew, Radar.
"Spare-ribber for the Universe!
Maker of Meat-on-a-Bone. The home of the 'Pig-sicle'."
- "Give me your tired, your poor, your coleslaw." - Sparky?
Yeah, it's-it's Radar.
Yeah, listen, I really... I know it's late, Sparky...
but can you patch me through to Tokyo, Honolulu, San Francisco?
Yeah, I'm headed for Chicago. I'll hold.
Radar, I'll let you lick my fingers for this.
- Are these ribs really that great? - Ah.
- Better than sex. - I don't know how good sex is.
No woman could follow them. Especially the big ones.
The ribs, not the women.
They come in a sheet about that size!
- Wow! - It's like making love to a xylophone.
He's got Honolulu asking for San Francisco.
Good man, that Sparky. There may be a knighthood in this for him.
- With sparerib clusters. - Okay, pal! I'll take it from here!
- Thanks. You done terrific. - You did terrific.
That's what I said he done.
Hello... Hello?
[Shouting] San Francisco? Right. Can you speak up a little louder, please?
I'm calling from Korea.
Korea! Rhymes with "di-a."
Right. The place that Bob Hope comes to all the time.
Listen, this is official military business. Priority one!
Uh, can you put me through to Chicago?
Chicago!
Y-Yeah, the place with the big shoulders.
- DEarborn 5-7500. DEarborn 5-7500. - DEarborn 5-7500.
Right! They're dialing.
- I love her. - It's a he.
- I love him. - It's ringing.
[Shouting] Dearborn station? Yeah? Hold on!
Uh, hello, this is Cranston Lamont...
of The Chicago Tribune.
I'm over here in Korea doing a story on our star-freckled spangled fighting boys.
- Wow! - I'm doing a backgrounder on a Windy City boy...
and I need to know something:
Across the street from the station, down the block...
there's a five-and-ten... and right next to that...
there's a dry cleaning and dyeing place.
And right next to that, there's this place that sells ribs.
What's the name... Adam's Ribs! That's it. Adam's Ribs.
A-D-A-M-S R-l-B-S.
- That's it. That's it. Mm! - You'll smear it.
I got it engraved on my tongue. Listen, you got a telephone book there?
Uh, all right... I want you to look up the number for me!
Look, I know you're busy, mister.
Um, what is your name, please? For the article.
Resnick? Bernard Resnick?
Is that with an "S" or a "Z"?
Uh, thank you, Mr. Resnick.
That's a lovely name. One of my daughters is called Resnick.
You got it? All...
DEarborn 5-2750. [Softly] 5-2-7-5-0.
Wait, wait, wait! D-Don't hang up!
Get the operator for me.
Thank you, Mr. Resnick. God bless your choo-choos.
Operator? I want DEarborn 5-2750.
This is it, Radar. We're approaching nirvana.
Is that near Chicago?
Hello? What do you mean, busy?
Operator, I'm a soldier. I'm a wounded man in Korea.
I'm trying to reach my family from a foxhole!
[Imitating Shell Whistling, Exploding]
[Imitating Cannon Firing]
[Rifles Firing]
Hello, Adam's Ribs? I'd like to place a takeout order, please.
All right. Have you got a pencil?
I want twenty pounds... No, make that forty pounds of your best ribs.
The jumbos. And I want some barbecue sauce.
A gallon.
Yeah, we're having a party. My mother's out on parole.
All right, now look. Now don't cook 'em.
I just want them packaged. Name of Pierce. B.F. Pierce.
Somebody'll pick 'em up. Good. Okay. Thank you.
- Couldn't have done it without you, Radar. - Thank you, sir.
- Oh! Damn it. - What?
- I forgot to order the coleslaw.
Hello?
Step one: Spareribs ordered. Check.
Step two: Ribs must be picked up.
Step three: Ribs must be paid for.
Step four: Ribs must be flown to us here in Paradise Valley.
What a picture you are of gluttony, greed, lust.
- Oral sensation. - You're seeing the real me.
As a child, I once ate twelve banana sandwiches.
I slept in the bathroom for a week.
- Charming. - Now, Inspector, I figure that the same person...
who picks the ribs up can pay for them...
and take them to the airport in Chicago.
- Elementary. - This as-yet-unknown person gives them to a pilot...
or a stewardess, who delivers them to Military Air Transport in San Francisco.
- The rest is downhill. - So is your head.
They all laughed at Christopher Columbus when he said the world was round.
But he went on to write a great song.
You keep this up and the squirrels are gonna bury your head somewhere.
Pilots and stewardesses love to do us favors.
I once did a stewardess a great favor.
I didn't scream while she forced herself on me.
- [Trapper] There's an interesting couple. - [Hawkeye] Tillie and Mac.
Sir, I've got a bone I'd like to pick with you.
Wait a minute, Klinger. First bones first. Any luck, Radar?
Oh, I checked the personnel roster and all the patients...
and nobody lives in Chicago.
- What a great time to steal it. - Rats!
- Double rats! - Sir! In the riot you caused by going off your noodle...
you got succotash on my stole!
I apologize, Klinger, from the heart of my bottom.
And liver too, you got on it!
Don't say liver! You say that word again and I'll set your teeth on fire!
I'll have your skunk cleaned.
Right now, I'm thinking about bigger things.
- Don't you come from Chicago? - No, he's from Toledo.
But I get my lingerie from Chicago.
And it's beautiful. I hear.
- Do you know anybody in Chicago? - I got an uncle there.
This could be something. Does he like you? Would he do you a favor?
Favor? He'd kill for me. He'd kill for you.
For $100, he'd kill for anybody.
Why don't you put out a contract on the spareribs?
Would your uncle handle a package for me?
- Sure, for a price. - He doesn't have to kill the package.
Just pick it up and deliver it to the airport in Chicago.
It's done. Won't cost you a dime.
Lady, you're a real gentleman.
All you gotta do is sign my psycho discharge papers... you and Captain Mclntyre.
Klinger, that paper has to be signed by three doctors. We're only two.
- Nobody else wants to be three. - Okay. The deal's off!
- Wait a second! - No discharge, no package.
And I expect you to "un-succotash" my stole, sir!
- [Trapper] So emotional. - Meanwhile, my ribs are sitting there...
like barbecued orphans.
- Gee, I wish I could help. - I wonder how you'd taste charcoaled.
- Hey! - You know, I just remembered.
I knew a redhead in Chicago.
Oh, boy. You talk about your ribs.
- Yeah, yeah? - What was her name?
Mildred. That's right. Mildred Feeney.
- Would she do you a favor? - She already did.
She could pick up the ribs. She could pay for them and put them on a plane.
- I'd send her a check. - You're hallucinating.
I haven't seen her in years. It was a one-night stand.
No, it was a two-night.
No, I think it was three!
Radar, prepare finger. Ready to dial.
Hello? Yeah, Mildred Feeney?
Uh, right. Hold on. Go.
Hello, Mildred? This is John Mclntyre.
That's right, "Big John."
- "Big John?" - Lucky!
Look, honey, I know it's been a lot of years, but, uh...
No, I'm not actually in Chicago now. A little bit west of there.
I'm in Korea, to be exact. Well, I got called up into the war...
and uh... I got to thinkin' about you.
What? The war, Mildred.
- The war! - [Imitating Bomb Exploding]
Come on, you guys, take it easy. You're worse than the real thing.
- Lay it on her, will ya? - What, baby?
- Me? Married? Married? - Of course I'm not married, Mildred.
- Come on. Cut it out. - Wh-Who could follow you?
- Hey, we could lose this line. - Lay it on her, will ya?
Uh, honey, look. I want ya to do me a favor.
There's a package under the name of"Pierce"...
at a place called "Adam's Ribs" next to the Dearborn Street station.
I want you to go in there and pay for it and take it to the M.P. S...
at Midway Airport.
Yeah, I'll send you a check for it.
Uh, mark the package "Dr. B.F. Pierce...
"4077 MASH, Korea.
Rush: Medical Supplies."
What? It's ribs and sauce.
- Yeah. We use 'em for, uh... - Anatomy practice.
Anatomy practice, right.
Well, they don't allow us to work on real people.
The sauce? Well, uh, they don't let us use real blood, either.
You understand?
Boy, she's smart.
Thanks a lot, Mildred. Right, honey. Bye-bye.
- [Whispering] Come on, come on. - Mildred, I can't keep the war on hold.
I gotta go. Bye-bye. [Kissing Sounds]
- [Cackling] Radar. - Yeah?
Wire the M.P. S at Midway Airport.
Tell them that the package is for Captain Benjamin Franklin Pierce.
- Yeah. - General MacArthur's personal physician.
MacArthur. Wow. I've never been in the stockade before.
Then wire the, uh, Military Air Transport Service, A.P.O. San Francisco.
- "A.P. O..." - Tell them that it's urgent. Critical medical supplies.
- "Critical..." - "Handle with Care. Highly Infectious."
Uh, mark it, "Quickest possible.
Do not spill. Keep refrigerated."
Way to go, "Big John."
- Sir. Wake up, sir. The spareribs are here. - Where? Where?
They're in a supply depot down in Ouijongbu.
- Uh, they're hung up in channels. - Who hung 'em?
Well, I talked to a Major Pfiefer.
- He wouldn't even talk to me when I talked to him. - What'd he say?
He started with, "Drop dead." And then he got rude!
We'll get him, even if we have to call Klinger's uncle.
- Trap? Wake up! - [Mumbling] Mildred...
- Me and the ribs, we're all in Korea! - Let's eat!
Come on, Dan. It's on the way to Seoul.
No room. I gotta take this kid down for X ray.
Unless you want to use the rumble seats.
- Okay! You got it! - Gimme your hand.
Climb under. Watch your head.
Okay, get him in.
"4077 MASH..." Oh yes, talked to some...
cocky little nurse at your outfit.
- Radar. - Tried to muscle me on the phone.
She's a tough little cookie.
There it is. "One box, medical supplies. Marked urgent."
- Figures. - We're doctors. We need that stuff, Major.
- It's important. - Yeah, it's a new wonder drug.
Top shelf.
Keep those code numbers to the front, so we can read them.
Oh, sorry. It's only our first day on the job.
- What about our package? - You know what I've got to process?
Twelve Sherman tanks, 2,000 blankets, 100,000 rolls of toilet paper.
A trainload of semiautomatic corn poppers and baby A-bomb components.
- They're delicious with popcorn. - Whatever it is, I've got it.
And you want me to find one insignificant little box of med supplies.
We sometimes use them in our work.
You think because you save lives, it's important.
Move this over there.
Sure.
- Another box of hernias, huh? - [Grunting, Sighing]
Major, you're not gonna cooperate, huh?
If I help one person, I have to help everybody.
You can't run a war on cooperation.
All right, fine. We'll go up the line.
- Who's your boss? - My sergeant.
- Where is he? - Look, he's very busy, and I don't want him upset.
We're not gonna upset him.
He's over in Admin. Sergeant Tarola.
Please don't tell him I sent you.
Thank you, Major. You've been a tower of Jell-O.
Nobody cut requisition orders on this.
Emergency medical shipment, Sergeant.
There's no S-47/19- J accompanying.
I told you we should have got an S-47/19- J accompanying, but you wouldn't listen!
- That's necessary? - Necessary?
We don't go to latrine around here without an S-47/19- J. Sorry.
I wasn't gonna say anything, but this little supermarket of yours isn't all that clean.
Yeah. Ideal breeding environment for cholera.
- The plague. - You're kidding.
Do you always sweat in 40-degree temperature?
- I'm not sweating. - You should be.
Nothin' wrong with me. I feel sensational.
Ah! There it is. Say that again, will ya?
I feel sensational?
- Definite slurring of the "S." - Classic early symptom.
- Followed by the eyes blinking in an up-and-down motion. - Mm-hmm.
You know if there's plague here, we'll have to close the place.
Post it as a contagious area.
- Give you a chance to be reassigned. - You're probably anxious...
to get up to the fighting war anyway, aren't you?
[Scoffs] What's in the package?
Spareribs and sauce from Chicago.
- Adam's Ribs? - You know?
I'm from Joliet. I'd walk to Chicago on my knees...
in the snow for a takeout order.
He's one of you.
- How many you got? - Forty pounds.
I'll take twenty and a quart of sauce.
Ten, and a pint of sauce.
Twelve, and a pint and a half. And coleslaw.
We didn't order any coleslaw.
You sent all the way to Chicago, and no coleslaw?
Forgive us, we're draftees.
##[Wolf Whistle]
Shall we give thanks?
Praise the Lord and pass the sauce.
[Man On P.A.] Attention all personnel. Attention.
Ambulances in the lower compound. Choppers on the upper pad.
- [Helicopter Whirring] - Incoming wounded. Repeat, incoming wounded.
All O.R. Personnel report on the double.
- Come on! - [Man On P.A. Repeating]
No! No, that's not fair!
- Come on. - No, no, wait! It's not fair! We got ribs now!
Adam's Ribs from Chicago! We lied to Mildred!
I had to send her a check! [Continues, Indistinct]