The real inspiration for this was really asking asking myself "what would be fun to see the kids at MASH do?" This is the direct result. It was as if they were all back in the mess tent, using the cook's newest concoction for the only plausible (and palatable) way they could think of-- ammunition. The day had started peacefully enough, a gathering of war buddies at a small ranch in Hannibal, Missouri. A get-together of old friends, it seemed harmless enough. It *was* harmless enough, at first.  The whole lot of them gathered on the porch, sitting, talking, watching their kids play ball. All of them had kids now, except for one eternal bachelor by the name of Hawkeye Pierce. Know one had really expect good ol' Hawk to be married up with 2.5 children, a collie, and a Colonial, so to them it was of no big deal. I wish I could say the same of Hawkeye. Watching them, sitting and talking and watching their kids play, it was driving him crazy. How well-educated adults such as themselves could be entertained by people throw a baseball back and forth, back and forth Hawkeye did not know. By dinner, it was killing him. The mucus infested little one, the crying babies, the irreverent teenagers and the whiny in-betweens, how he hated them. This group was once a family of kids with Potter as their father, yelling at them for teasing their siblings.  Now they *had* kids and *were* yelling at them for teasing their siblings. And Frank! Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Frank! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose, shriveled his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his eyes red, his thin lips blue; and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice. A frosty rime was on his head, and on his eyebrows, and on his wiry chin. He carried his own low tempature always about with him; he iced his office in the dog-days; and didn't thaw one degree for* this auspicious occasion. Okay, Frank was very few of those things above but he was a real jag-auv. And today his jag-auvularity was in full effect. Maybe it was him being or maybe he too was annoyed with all the brats running around but Frank's voice was breaking the whine-o-meter. Putting Frank and Hawkeye in the same room was like putting an Israeli and a Palestinian in a cage to fight it out, so, obviously, they were placed right next to each other at the dinner table. After an hour of bumping heads and bumping elbows (who knew Frank was a lefty?) Hawkeye was what lesser-men would call "pissed". And "pissed" he was. The game began small at first, yet the occupants of the were very much entertained. They're heads would bounce from each speaker like spectators at a tennis match. *Now Frank has the ball and sending it back with a "pinkos" front-hand, Hawkeye's hitting it back with a "two syllables, very good" back-hand.* The wise old man, Potter, watched and when the balls were going a little too hard and a little fast he piped in a, "Now see here." It was of no use. They hadn't listened to him in Korea, why should they now? Besides this was very entertaining. Entertaining it was, but Potter must have forgotten how bad it could get. See, Hawkeye was very good with his word and very much enjoyed the attention he received for them. But when plain, old words weren't enough Hawkeye was pushed to go way too far. Secrets. If Potter would've remembered (I did say he was an old man) this he would've done something to stop this horse hockey. Especially, being that Frank was Hawkeye's competitor in this dual. See, Frank has many, many, many skeletons in his closet and Hawkeye took great joy in exploiting them. And that's exactly what Hawkeye did that day. "Oh, and I'm sure the patients you've treated at the VA hospital would be glad that they were a sub for a Section 8! Although, I doubt that they thought that running around Tokyo, chasing two innocent kids on a date would really be the proper action for promotion." Frank sat there dumbstruck and humiliated, without a comeback. Luckily, Trapper, his... ahem, comrade-in-arms-if-you-know-what-I-mean, has a lot quicker of a wit. "Funny you should say that because I remember one Daniel Pierce recalling his son, Hawkeye's 'rest' before the cease fire." Now it was *everybody's* turn to be dumbstruck. Trapper and Hawkeye were best friends, why Trapper betray Hawk to save *Frank*. Little did they know.... "Speaking of crazy, I think something that you and Frank was a little offish." The little company clerk, who was not so little anymore, halted his eating and perked up his ears. Was Hawkeye gonna? With their wives and kids right there? They'd be ruined! He *had* to do something. But what? No one, no one could stop one of Hawkeye's rants. No words could interupt them. No.... That's it! A half a second later, a piece of pineapple upside-down cake splashed right on Hawkeye's face, stopping his rant, just in time. Hawkeye threw a piece of his cake back at Radar, the clerk, but it missed and hit Father Mulcahy, the camp's old chaplain. Mulcahy tried to nail Hawkeye* with his pie but missed and hit Rizzo and that sprung the greatest food fight of all time. Amidst the flying pastries Hawkeye could see that they were still the same family, despite homosexual relations, the children, and the miles between them. Family.    FOOTNOTES The passage on Frank was taken from A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickins. Guess who it describes? The Mulcahy nailing Hawkeye part that was for you, iolanthe!