Summary : Just a random look at Seasons 1 to 3, with the help of another great trilogy...

Trapper and Hawkeye saw Radar attacking yet another tray of mess tent mystery. McIntyre felt compelled to comment.

"Uh, Radar? Didn't you have what our chef insists on calling breakfast only an hour ago?"

O'Reilly shrugged.

"So? This is second breakfast."

As they walked away from the nearsighted vacuum, Pierce gave his two cents.

"You ever wonder if Iowa is actually populated by a species of small, always-hungry people, just like Radar?"

"Hawk, hopefully there's no one else just like Radar. Besides, where would they live? By definition, half of them would be smaller than him. What kind of housing are we talking about?"

Pierce raised an opened hand.

"They live---in holes in the ground."

McIntyre glowered.

"Holes in the ground? Try again."

Pierce shook his head.

"They're very stylish holes. Very comfortable. I bet they get written up in---"

Trapper started to walk away before Hawkeye could say 'Better Holes & Gardens'.

Klinger had crossed a line. It took a lot to get Father Mulcahy angry, but somehow he had managed.

"Corporal---get out of that priest's uniform. Right now."

"But Father---I'm just gonna go out and minister to the poor. The poor in Toledo. C'mon, nobody's gonna wanna stop a Padre. Its my perfect way out. Now step aside--my parish at Packo's Hot Dogs is waiting."

Klinger made it into the jeep, and turned it over. But Mulcahy calmly-albeit with a stone look on his face--opened the vehicle's hood and tore out a handful of wires. The jeep stopped dead, and the Padre disgustedly threw the wires at Klinger's feet.

"YOU--SHALL--NOT-PASSSS!!!!!"

Having obtained the files she needed from Radar, Margaret offered a then-rare compliment.

"Very good, corporal. You know, I mean it when I speak of who really runs this camp. If it weren't for you, Colonel Spine-ecteme wouldn't have a prayer."

Radar took offense, but couched his words.

"All respect, Major, but I don't think you ought to talk about him that way."

"I won't anymore--on the day that Frank Burns--a real man--is permanently running this camp."

Radar shook his head.

"Well, if you're planning on knocking out Colonel Blake, then why don't you just run the place yourself, Major? I mean, it seems like you do anyway, anytime Major Burns is in charge."

Rather than correct or yell at O'Reilly, Margaret felt intrigued by this notion. She looked at the CO's desk.

"I could take it, couldn't I? But then, you wouldn't have a rubber man or an iron man in charge, would you?"

Margaret grinned.

"You'd have an iron lady!"

Abruptly, she calmed down.

"No. Its not for me. I could never truly fit myself behind this desk."

Radar pshawed this.

"Ah, Gwan! We could always widen it for ya, if that's a problem."

Radar ran very far and very fast that day, and a result missed both elevenses and luncheon. Margaret, for her part, barely missed hitting him with various objects found around the compound.

Frank grabbed it up before it could fall from Margaret's shelf.

"Honeybun, be careful! I only have the one ring."

An angry Margaret stuffed his wedding ring back into his hand, and bid him leave.

"Frank, how many times have I asked you to either not wear the ring, or at least to keep it hidden? It reminds me of things best not contemplated--like ending our relationship. Now I want it and you to just disappear!"

Knocking outside her door seconds later, Frank did what he did best.

"Margaret--let me back in. Please, Margaret. Please, my precious girl. My precious, precious girl. Open up, precious. Pre---eee--cious?"

In a shock to nobody but Frank Burns, standing within earshot were Pierce and McIntyre. Trapper chuckled.

"Frank? You didn't tell us Hot Lips was precious."

Hawkeye nodded.

"Yeah. So what's her listing on the commodities exchange?"

Burns sneered and pointed.

"I hate you two. I HATE YOU Forever!!"

As he stalked off, Trapper smiled.

"Frank hates us forever. And here I thought that this would be a bad day."

Hawkeye heard the Swamp door slam, and contemplated.

"You think if we returned Frank to the hospital in Indiana where his mother gave birth, we could get a refund?"

"Frank wasn't born in a hospital. They forged him in a volcano. That's why he's always making an ash of himself."

This time, Hawkeye walked away.

Henry was further past listening to Flagg than usual.

"Your people, Blake--are contributing nothing to the security of this sector. We're wide open for an attack from the enemy at any time."

"Look, Colonel Flagg--my people are medics, not counterspies. Plus, in case you haven't noticed, we deal with enemy attacks all the time."

Flagg slammed his palm on the desk.

"Not like this. Blake, the unblinking, all seeing Red Eye of the Enemy is always watching for signs of weakness!"

Blake whistled.

"Unblinking? Boy, I'll just betcha that stings like the Dickens, come noon on a good sunny day."