Tim Conway walked into what was meant to be a harmless, by-the-book sketch — just window washing on a wobbly scaffold. Simple. Safe. Predictable. That plan lasted about five seconds. One slip turned into a swing, the swing turned into chaos, and suddenly Tim had completely hijacked the scene. Harvey Korman was pleading with him to stop — actually pleading — but Conway had found the rhythm, and there was no slowing him down. For 22 straight minutes, the script ceased to exist. The cast lost all control, the crew could barely breathe, and the audience laughed so hard it felt physical. Tim wasn’t following cues. He wasn’t driving the scene. He broke the show — and no one could stop him.