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Beverly Hillbillies 01: The Remedy free porn video
The Beverly Hillbillies 01): The Remedy
By Ron Dow75
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"Out! Out! You charlatan! How dare you come to me under false
pretenses! Some doctor you are; you don't know the first thing
about a simple thing like Banker's Headache!" Mr. Drysdale
slammed his office door in the face of a small, badly rumpled
oldish man who was in need of a barber.
"Well!" the woman sitting behind the desk in the outer office
said about the scene. She rose: "I apologize for his rudeness,
sir."
"He thought I was a medical doctor."
"And you're not, of course. Anybody can see that. The doctors of
Beverly Hills dress better."
The man sighed, "I know that. Perhaps I should have been an M.D.,
instead of a research scientist."
"Research?" Miss Hathaway asked. Her heavy Ivy League accent now
became thicker. "I have an interest in the higher forms of
learning. Literature and bird watching are my specialties, but I
do try to stay abreast of the current advances in our scientific
knowledge. Perhaps, as Mr. Drysdale's personal secretary, I could
prevail upon him to reconsider your business with him, or,
failing that, I can give you a recommendation to another banking
establishment."
"Well, I don't know about that. I haven't been having much luck
getting the money I need to complete the development of my
invention. All the grant money has dried up or fallen through.
And those that believe that my machine might do what I say it
could do threaten to have me arrested on morals charges."
"Morals charges!!" Miss Hathaway said, scandalized.
"Yes," the sad little man said. "You see, my work has identified
the matrix patterns etched into the spatio-temporal ether by
electro-magnetic repetitions."
"Unh-Hunh!" Miss Hathaway nodded.
"It is my theory that these matrix patterns can be copied or
moved, in whole or in part, from one spatio-temporal location to
another."
"Unh-Hunh!"
"Miss Hathaway..." Mr. Drysdale said, coming out of his office
with a handful of papers. When he saw the man, he said, "What are
you doing talking to that quack! Get back to work! We have
several important liens and foreclosures to take care of! You'll
have to work 12 hours today!"
"I always have to work 12 hours!" she said. "And on the weekends,
too!"
But he had already slammed the door shut.
"That egomaniacal, money-grubbing capitalist..." Suddenly the
light went on.
"You can transmigrate minds!"
"Well...the ethical use would be to transfer thoughts for the
purpose of--"
"To hell with ethics! Can you replace the mind of one person with
that of another?!"
"Well..."
"A man worth 60 million-plus dollars is a close, personal friend
of mine."
"Yes!"
***
A convertible pulled up in front of a stone mansion. A man
sitting on an ornate iron bench stood, but still held onto his
whittling.
"Well, Miss Jane, what brings you here?" a man who was as rustic
as the doctor was rumpled said. "And who did you bring with you?"
"Mr. Clampett, this is Dr. Marion Morrison," she said, getting
out of her side.
"Marianne? That sounds like a girls name," Mr. Clampett said.
"I know," the sad little man said, wondering if he, too, should
get out of the car.
"Oh, I didn't mean to sound rude. Come on, and stay awhile.
Company's always welcome."
"Thank you...Mr. Clampett."
"Jed... Jed! Take that mumbly-peg-maker of yours and cut me a
hickory switch!" a woman's voice said from behind the large
double doors.
"Not now, Granny! We've got company!" Mr. Jed Clampett called
back inside.
"Company!? Who?!" a small, wiry, wizened old woman said as she
came out into the harsh sunlight.
"It's Maryanne, something!"
"That's Marion," the stranger told her.
"Mary Anne!? That sounds like a woman's name. And a young one, at
that," she said, peering through her granny glasses.
The man who was closer to her age than Mr. Clampett's sighed,
"Everybody says that."
"He's a doctor, Granny!" a smiling Mr. Clampett told her.
"A DOCter!!" The semi-stooped woman snapped up straight.
"Granny! I'm sure he's not a Beverly Hills' doctor!!" Realizing
his mistake, Mr. Clampett tried to calm the little woman down.
"No, I'm not!" the little man quailed before her righteous anger.
"Beverly Hills or Bel-Air! He's still a part of the AMA: Against
Medical Advancement!"
"Granny, he's not a medical doctor!!" Miss Jane tried to assure
her.
"Then why is he calling himself a docter!? There's only one
reason to be a docter!! Tell me, young fella, what do you know
about conniptions, spotted quinsy, yeller dropsy!"
"Nothing."
"Then you're not a docter!!"
"Granny, Mr. Morrison is a scientist."
"So am I!" the old woman said proudly, puffing out her flat
chest. "Ask anybody who discovered that the cause of the blue
bloots was eating too many blue berries! Or who was it who came
up with the potion that will guarantee anybody will be cured of a
cold within ten days!"
"My field is ESP."
"What did you say!?" the little woman reared back her head and
shoulders in indignation.
"Granny...!" Mr. Clampett chided. "I'm sure it's nothing wrong
with it."
"Oh, yeah!? Then why does he have to spell it?!"
"Granny, "ESP" simply means 'Extra Sensory Perception'," Miss
Hathaway explained.
"What!?! What's the sense of dry rain?!"
" 'Per-ception', Granny," Miss Hathaway corrected gently.
"Dry rain!?! Yee-Ha! I heard about that!" a voice said from a
nearby tree.
"Jethro!!" Miss Hathaway said, watching a large boy-man shimmy
deftly down a tall tree.
"AAAA!! There you are, you vittle vacuum!" the little woman
cried, jumping up and down and shaking a small fist at the man-
mountain.
"Granny!" Mr. Clampett said, putting his hands on the bouncing
woman's shoulders. "We have company!"
"Then the company should tan his hide! There's barely enough left
in the house for the rest of the family, let alone company!"
"Elly doesn't eat much," Mr. Clampett said.
"Granny, that's why dry rain is so important!" Jethro said,
coming over to put the car between the small woman and himself.
"It makes the crops, and eggs, and everything huge!"
"Yer already big enough!! And your appetite is bigger than
Tennes-see!"
"But don'tcha see, Granny!?! They'll always be enough to eat. All
the collard greens, and turnip tops, and..."
"Jethro? Where'd you get this ludicrous idea about 'dry rain'?"
"Isn't it, though, Miss Jane?!" Jethro grinned to split his face.
"I saw all about on this movie."
"Say, Mister, do you also got a car that can fly? Can I have some
shoes that makes you bounce ten feet or more feets up in the
air?! ---Oh, wow! Can you just imagine what kind of a double-
naught spy I would be with that kind of stuff!?"
Miss Jane stared, stunned, again, at the depth of ignorance and
naivet? of her perfect specimen of the male gender.
"Miss Hathaway," the doctor asked, "Is he talking about what I
think he's talking about?"
"Yes," she had to admit. "I'm afraid he is."
Hathaway pulled herself out of her brain-freeze, "Jethro, Doctor-
-"
"Wh-aaa!?!" Granny warned.
"---Mr. Morrison studies such things as mind reading, and--"
"You're a mind reader!?!" Jethro cried, seemingly not at all
disappointed that the man wasn't there to fill his stomach.
"Really!?!" Now, Granny, too, was interested.
"We-ell-dog-gies!" Mr. Clampett said, smiling at the news as
well. "There was this traveling medicine man we saw once. He read
minds!"
"He had a great big ol' turban, with a peacock feather comin' up
off of it!" Jethro said, gesturing what it looked like.
"He knew I was a docter," the old woman said with a satisfied
expression.
"He said he was from India. And he had this special elixer that
had been passed down..."
"Mr. Clampett," Miss Hathaway interrupted gently, "Mr. Morrison
only studies mind reading, he doesn't--"
"I have a machine that does!" the man spoke up, seeing his
chance.
"Do tell!?!" Mr. Clampett smiled at him.
"Go on!" Granny waved him off. "You can't have a machine that can
do what only people do."
"It doesn't do the mind reading. It's like a telephone! Only you
think into it!"
"Can I use it, hunh, Mister?!" Jethro asked, sounding very eager.
"Excuse me," Miss Hathaway said, pulling the doctor aside. "Dr.
Morrison, it's not really like a telephone, is it? I mean, you do
not have to physically have the other person on the other end?"
"As I said in your office before, Miss Hathaway, it can copy the
other persons thoughts."
Satisfied, Miss Jane turned back to the family, "We would love to
give you all a demonstration, but unfortunately that is the
reason for our visit."
"Nothing unfortunate about it," Mr. Clampett said. Reaching out
his hand in a gesture, he said, "Come into the house and stay
awhile. You can tell us all about your mind reading machine and
anything else you care to share with us over dinner."
"AAAA!! Dinner!!" Granny was set off again. "The human gullet
there ate just about everything that couldn't run for its life!"
"That makes no never-the-mind," Mr. Clampett said. "When we were
poor mountain folk back in the hills, there were plenty of times
when we were down to our last piece of fatback...." (Miss
Hathaway encouraged Morrison to come with her into the house.)
"...The only time that wouldn't become soap was when we had
company. As the Good Book says, 'Cleanliness is next to
godliness.' but, 'Treat a stranger as if he were an angel.' He
just might be."
***
Coming into the kitchen, a very pretty girl with long and wild,
but naturally curly blond hair said, "Granny, I've been
practicing my baking."
"Baking!!" Granny cried. "Of all the time for her to practice her
bride-skills! We don't have enough food in the house for her to
go and make what little we do have into--"
"Granny!" Mr. Clampett warned.
"Oh, we have company," the girl smiled sweetly.
Marion Morrison was enchanted. "Yes. I want hers," he said in his
bedazzlement.
"Did you say something, Mr. Morrison?" Miss Hathaway asked.
"Uh, nothing," Marion said, catching himself. "I was just dazzled
by this girl's beauty."
"Everybody is," the plain Jane Hathaway said, unenthusiastically.
"Yer wasting your time," Granny said. "You're too old fer her."
"Granny, that was uncalled for," Mr. Clampett chided.
"Well, she's thirteen, and he's got to be at least 60!"
"Thirteen!?!" Marion said in utter disbelief.
"Actually, Elly May is well past 18," Jane Hathaway said to him
behind her hand.
"Phew!" Marion sighed in relief.
"How old are you?!" the little woman demanded.
"Granny, that's not something you ask company," Mr. Clampett told
her.
The timer chimed.
"They're ready!" Elly May beamed, opening the oven door.
"What did you ruin, I mean, make this time, child?" Granny asked
in her best company sweetness.
Elly pulled out the pan with her oven mitts, and held it up for
them all to see, "Cornbread!"
"AAAA!!" the sweetness was gone. "Of all the provisions to
waste!! That could have been put to use making rheumatiz
medicine!"
"You use corn in rheumatism medicine?" Morrison asked.
"Mr. Clampett, about Mr. Morrison's invention."
"I'd love to hear about it," the man said, heading to the table
in the large breakfast nook. "We don't get much company way out
here in the hills. The people of these parts are none too
friendly."
As Morrison followed Mr. Clampett, Miss Jane paused beside the
other two women, "Granny, doesn't your rheumatism medicine simply
require basic fermentation?"
The little old woman looked down at the pan that her grandchild
had deposited on a counter beside the sink; her look was one who
was mourning the passing of a dear pet, "You can't ferment
something after it has turned to stone. All the goodness has been
leeched out of it."
"Gee, Granny! I'm sorry!" Elly May sounded as if she wanted to
cry.
"That's all right, my dear," Granny said, patting her back. "It's
not your fault. It's ours for letting you run wild, instead of
rearin' you up like a proper girl. Sometimes I think it would be
easier on you, if'n you didn't have to grow up and be a woman."
Jane Hathaway was beginning to feel very uncomfortable,
"Aaa...(Ahem!) What happened to Jethro?"
"I'm right here!" Jethro announced, clanking through the swinging
door.
"Jethro! You're wearing your double-naught spy outfit!" Miss Jane
cried.
"That's right!" the big galoot grinned. Underneath one of his
hillbilly hats was a matching steel cast; and under that was a
private-eye overcoat, with steel plates sewn inside; and beneath
that were hung just about every conceivable homemade weapon his
fervid but feeble mind could come up with.
"Double-naught seven's got himself Q. But I've got me my own mad
scientist!" the simple fellow declared, limping forward, his arms
forced out by the bulk he was toting. Apparently the battery of
the transistor radio he kept strapped to the bottom of his boot
had expired.
"That is why you want to read minds?" Miss Jane said,
discovering, yet again just how much of an innocent this
magnificent example of manhood was.
"Heck, yes! Just think how fun a fight's going to be, when I
knows ahead of time what the other fella's going to do!"
"Fun!!? I'll show you fun!" Granny cried, jumping up and down,
and putting up her arms like a pugilist.
"Whoa-Oh-Oh!!" Jethro cried, trying to turn tail. "Granny, you
know I can't run in my double-naught spy coat!"
"Miss Hathaway, I did not give you permission--" He bumped right
into Mr. Drysdale, just coming in.
Jethro lost his balance, and fell on top of Mr. Drysdale. Squash!
There were groans and moans, and the clanking of a metal fish
caught up on dry land.
"Don't move him!" Granny told everybody, jumping up and down for
joy, now. "I'm a docter! Elly, go get my docter's bag. And boil
lots of water!"
"Yes, Ma'am!"
"Quick! Morrison...," Jane Hathaway cried, running for the
kitchen table. "Do you at least have a demonstration model!?!"
"Yeah," Mr. Clampett smiled at the thing he was holding in his
hands. "It does sort of look like a model, doesn't it? Of
something."
Jane stopped in her tracks, and found herself stupefied yet
again. "That's it?"
("Here's your bag, Granny!")
It was three cylinders with a cat's-eye semiprecious gem between
two of them, and a star sapphire between two others on the
opposite side.
("Thanks, child! Let's hope we're not too late!")
And it was small enough to fit in the inside pocket of a man's
coat.
(There was the sound of a cork being pulled from a jug as the
seal was broken.)
"You charlatan!!" she cried. "How dare you call yourself a
doctor, you quack!"
("Get off of him, Jethro, so I can do my administer my healing
aide!")
"No, Miss Hathaway!!" the little man cried, raising his arms to
fend off any attack from her. "It does work! It has worked!"
("I can't, Granny! I'm weighed down by this double-oh-Oh!" the
boy-man cried; this was followed by the sound of cloth-encased
steel plates hitting the floor several feet away. The final clang
was that of the hat.)
"That, that, toy!?!" she said in disbelief.
("Here, Mr. Drysdale! Smell the cork!")
"It is not a toy, Miss Hathaway," he said. "As I told you before,
it works on the patterns, the ruts, if you will, established in
the spatio-temporal continuum, or ether, for short."
(A man gasping for fresh air followed. "Granny-Granny! ...Please,
no more!")
"You mean...."
("I think it's safe to move him. Elly, fetch him over to where I
can operate on him!")
"Yes, in order to work on that medium, it must be like an
iceberg, and be 90 percent out of sight."
("Operate!?! No, Granny--")
"Ninety percent? That would still make it..." and she
extrapolated from the so-called part that was visible.
(Mr. Drysdale grunted, then moaned as he was lifted up bodily.)
"Okay. Let us say that the rest exists. Let us also say that the
tests that you have conducted work as you say they have. What is
the missing element, or elements, that prevents you from using it
on humans?"
The answer was interrupted by Elly May depositing Mr. Drysdale on
top of the kitchen table.
"What!??!" Dr. Morrison cried, jumping up out of his chair. "She,
she's not actually going to...!"
("No! Not that, Granny!!" Mr. Drysdale protested as he tried to
raise off the table.)
"No, I, I'm sure she's not," Miss Jane tried to reassure herself.
"She calls a simple thing such as cutting off the hair to put in
a poultice an operation."
("Granny said for you to lay down," Elly said, pushing him back
down.)
"I wouldn't worry." Jed Clampett said. "She hasn't killed anybody
yet."
("No!..." the grown man was helpless against the strength of the
young girl "Please, Elly May!")
"Yet!?!" the madwoman cried, indignant about this slur. "I am a
docter! I took the hypocrites' oath!"
"That's right! You're the doctor," Jed Clampett said, holding up
his hands while he stood up, away from the ornery little woman.
"You're not going to do it here?!" Morrison asked, hoping the
opinion he was forming of these people was wrong.
"And why not?" the old woman said, taken aback that someone would
question her medical practice. "All the tools are here. And it's
easier to clean up the mess afterwards!".
"Gra, Granny," Miss Jane stammered, "Wha, What are your plans for
Mr. Drysdale?"
"Hey!! Isn't anybody going to help me!!" double-naught Jethro
hollered from outside the kitchen.
"Go fetch him, Elly," Granny told her grandchild. "He can be the
brain doner."
"Brain donor!!?" Miss Jane said.
"Brai, Brain donor?!" Morrison squeaked.
"BRAIN Donor!!" Mr. Drysdale cried, sitting straight up off the
table.
Granny shoved him back down with a thump.
"Brain donor?" a new, female voice said.
"Margaret!!" Mr. Drysdale appealed.
Granny shoved him back down again. Thump.
"Mrs. Drysdale," Granny said. "How would you like a husband with
a nice big, strapping body?"
"Actually, the thought is revolting," said the overweight, past
middle-aged woman in the blue silk dress of a lady of society's
upper crust.
"But," she said stepping forward from the back door, "My husband
definitely needs a new brain."
"Mar-garet!" Mr. Drysdale said, not wanting to believe she meant
what he heard her saying.
She stepped up closer to the table so that she could look down on
her husband, "Maybe this will teach you to hang around these
riff-raff thugs."
"Margaret," Milburn Drysdale said, seeing that see did mean it.
"Where do you want Jethro?!" Elly May asked, holding the metal
man over her shoulders.
"He has to wait his turn, until I get the first brain," docter
Granny told her.
"I can wait!! I can wait!!" Jethro told anyone who would listen.
"Granny!" Miss Jane said, seeing the light at the end of the
tunnel. "Doc-Mr. Morrison's machine can do that!"
"It can...?" the old woman said, looking at the goober
suspiciously.
"Yes!" the younger old person said, anxious to avoid the "messy"
version of his scheme. "With this," he said, taking the three
cylinder and two jeweled thing from Mr. Clampett.
"I don't know," Docter Granny said. "I prefer the traditional
ways, with saws, and knives, and chisels."
"Me, too," Mrs. Drysdale said, smiling for her husband.
"Why don't we try this first," Miss Jane suggested. "If it
doesn't work out the way it's suppose to, you can always go
forward with the operations."
"Well...," Granny was reluctant to give up her chance to operate.
While he still had her attention, Morrison explained, "This will
switch the minds of two people."
Granny took the metal thing from him.
"All it needs is for me to find the proper energy source."
Granny looked at Miss Jane, who saw she had to explain the
explanation, "He means fuel."
"Yes! Fuel. Since the device works on the, uh...'Spiritual'
level, it needs a 'fuel' that is compatible."
" 'Spirit fuel'?" is that all!" Granny said, and promptly raised
a finger to help: The one holding the small ring handle of a
pottery jug.
"No!!" the small man cried before grabbing the small woman.
But before Morrison could stop her, she had poured some of the
corn liquor into the small hole in the top of the flask-sized
container.
He felt dizzy as he felt his ghost leave his body; it passed
through Granny's going in the opposite 'direction'.
Mrs. Drysdale, too, felt dizzy, and hung onto Mr. Clampett for
support.
There was a crash of metal on floor and flesh and bone.
Seeing that this was her one shot at it, Jane threw herself over
the body of Drysdale.
***
That is how Milburn Drysdale, after a series of more
misadventures, came to be married to Elly May Clampett-Riprock.
No plan is perfect.
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