[about his uncle]
Klinger: He'd kill for me. He'd kill for you. For $100, he'd kill for anyone.
Hawkeye: [Hawkeye has just been told that the mess tent is serving liver and fish for the eleventh straight day] 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! 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!
Hawkeye: [after getting off the phone with Adam's Ribs] Oh damn it! DAMN IT!
Hawkeye: I forgot to order cole slaw.
Henry: [after Hawkeye starts a riot in the mess tent over the food] Just who do you think you are, Pierce?
Hawkeye: I broke under the pressure, warden.
Trapper: Eleven straight days, Henry!
Henry: Well, don't you think I tried for some relieviation?
Radar: Yes, sir?
Henry: Radar, what happened to the frozen turkey I ordered you to order?
Radar: I put in the requisition, sir, marked "urgent."
Radar: They sent us five thousand athletic supporters.
Trapper: Marked "urgent!"
Henry: I don't find that such a rib-tickler, Mclntyre.
Radar: [to Sparky] Thanks, you done terrific!
Hawkeye: DID terrific.
Radar: That's what I said he done.
Radar: [confused as to why Hawkeye wants to place a phone call to Chicago in the middle of the night] Chicago?
Hawkeye: That toddlin' town. Home of the stockyards. Mrs. O'Leary's cow. The White Sox, the Cubs, Carl Sandberg.
Radar: Who's he pitch for?
Hawkeye: The poet. Chicago. Hog butcher for the world. Toolmaker. Stacker of wheat. Player with railroads and the nation's freight handler. Stormy, husky, brawling, City of the Big Shoulders. Sandberg knew, Radar. Spareribber for the universe! Maker of meat on a bone! The home of the pigsicle! Give me your tired, your poor... your cole slaw.
Master Sgt. Tarola: What's in the package?
Hawkeye: Ribs and sauce from Chicago.
Master Sgt. Tarola: Adam's Ribs?
Hawkeye: You know it?
Master Sgt. Tarola: Are you kidding? I'm from Joliet. I'd walk to Chicago on my knees in the snow for a takeout order.
Trapper: He's one of you.
Master Sgt. Tarola: How many you got?
Hawkeye: 40 pounds.
Master Sgt. Tarola: I'll take twenty, and a quart of sauce.
Hawkeye: Ten, and a pint of sauce.
Master Sgt. Tarola: Twelve, and a pint and a half. And coleslaw.
Hawkeye: We didn't order any cole slaw.
Master Sgt. Tarola: You sent all the way to Chicago, and no cole slaw?
Hawkeye: Forgive us, we're draftees.
Hawkeye: Right now, I'm thinking of bigger things.
[Looks at Klinger]
Hawkeye: Don't you come from Chicago?
Radar: [Klinger was about to talk] No, he's from Toledo.
Klinger: But I get my lingerie from Chicago.
[Trapper is cleaning a glass]
Trapper: And it's beautiful.
[Hawkeye, Radar, and Klinger stares at him]
Trapper: I hear.
Klinger: [Klinger stands guard at night when Hawkeye walks by] Halt! What's the password?
Hawkeye: Outta my way or I'll split your head open!
Klinger: Close enough!
Hawkeye: This is it, Radar. We're approaching Nirvana
Radar: Is that anywhere near Chicago?
Trapper: I knew a girl in Chicago once.
Hawkeye: You did. Whould she help us?
Trapper: What was her name? Oh yeah, Mildred. Mildred Feeney.
Hawkeye: What she do you a favor?
Trapper: She already did.
Master Sgt. Tarola: Can I see your form S47 stroke 19J?
Hawkeye: We don't have an S47 stroke 19J.
Master Sgt. Tarola: We don't go to the latrine without without an S47 stroke 19J.
Hawkeye: Draftees of the world, arise! You have nothing to lose but your cookies! We want something else! We want something else! We want something else!
Trapper: [on phone, with an old girlfriend] Mildred, this is John McIntyre. That's right, Big John.
Hawkeye: [smiles] Lucky!
PA Announcement: Attention all personnel: Due to conditions beyond our control, we regret to announce that lunch is now being served.
Trapper: They've got a lot of guts.
Hawkeye: And they keep serving them.
Klinger: How can you eat this slop?
Radar: My mouth is tone deaf.