M*A*S*H1972

Klinger:
I couldn't sleep, sir. The heat, sir.

Col. Sherman T. Potter:
That's one I can buy. It must be extra tropical for you, toting around that permanent vicuna coat. [Klinger has dismantled the P.A. system] Perhaps you would explain the fall out from the Motorola plant.

Klinger:
I took the P.A. system apart, sir.

Col. Sherman T. Potter:
What in blazes for? We need that contraption.

Klinger:
I know that full well, my bleary eyed boss. I figured the middle of the night would be the perfect time to get some on-the-job training for my new mail-order course.

Col. Sherman T. Potter:
In what? Office demolition?

Klinger:
No, sir, electronics. Some day this little shootout is going to end, and when this Johnny comes marching home, it will be with a screwdriver in his hand.

Col. Sherman T. Potter:
You gonna fix radios?

Klinger:
No, sir, television. The wave of the future. Which, thanks to good old Yankee know-how, will mean busted sets by the millions. And Max Klinger will be there to reap the whirlwinds of outrageous repair prices.

Col. Sherman T. Potter:
Mark this, Marconi: when Reville blows, this system better be working or you'll be spending the rest of this war on the roof, screaming messages at the top of your furry lungs.