M*A*S*H1972

Frank Burns:
[bombs heard in background] I hope we're giving it to 'em good, those little yellow reds.

Hawkeye:
Frank, you better take two yellow reds and go to sleep.

Frank Burns:
Oh, you like getting shot at, Dr. Goody Two-Shoes?

Hawkeye:
I just don't know why they're shooting at us. All we want to do is bring them democracy and white bread, transplant the American Dream: freedom, achievement, hyperacidity, affluence, flatulence, technology, tension, the inalienable right to an early coronary sitting at your desk while plotting to stab your boss in the back. That's entertainment!

Frank Burns:
Pierce, you are certifiably insane.

Hawkeye:
Gee, I can't understand why. Here I am, 20,000 miles from home working as an extra in a war movie with this guy's blood dripping into my boot. Nurse, you want to do something about that, or must I kiss you into submission?

Lt. Ginger Bayliss:
Right away, doctor.

Hawkeye:
That's not insane-making, Frank. Neither is bedding down every night with a flea circus, or eating food prepared by a cook who used to make box lunches for Kamikaze pilots, or getting so bored out my skull, I put on my dress uniform for a trip to the latrine!

Frank Burns:
Will you watch your language?

Margaret:
There are nurses present.

Hawkeye:
Oh, forgive me. I'd like to offer the nurses a blanket apology. Or even better, I'd like to offer them a blanket invitation.

Frank Burns:
Smut merchant.

Henry Blake:
Oh, pipe down, Burns.

Frank Burns:
Oh sure, always. You jump all over me, but he can say what he wants, and he gets away with it. Colonel's pet, that's what you are!

Hawkeye:
I'll get you at recess!