Buffy The Vampire Slayer and Curse of the Gypsy Queen
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Green Acres 1: The Gypsy Indian Curse Of Green Acres free porn video
Green Acres 1: The Gypsy Indian Curse of Green Acres
Produced by Jay Sommers [1965-1971]
By Ron Dow75
"Good Morning Mr. Douglas, Mrs. Douglas," the general store's clerk and
owner greeted the distinguished gray-haired man in the three-piece
pin-stripe suit and a Bavarian hat, and the trim blonde in yellow-with-white
polka dots skirt and short-sleeved jacket, white purse and gloves, and a hat
similar to her husbands, only with a much wider brim, and white with yellow
trim.
"Good morning, Mr. Drucker," the man with the educated voice answered.
"Your clocks must be wrong, too, Mr. Drucker. It's already the afternoon!"
the woman said with a very thick,but cultured Hungarian accent.
"It is?" Sam looked at his wall clock.
"Lisa, these good people have no need for Daylight Savings Time," Mr.
Douglas tried to explain to his wife.
"Yes we do!" Sam said.
"No, you don't," the city raised fellow assured at the bald-headed, mustached
man dressed in the perfect rural image of a general store proprietor, complete
with the slacks, simple white apron and a striped shirt with sleeve garters.
"Yes, we do," the man tried to explain to the foreigner. "You see, since we
don't keep TV time, they won't let us receive any program that's not black
and white."
"That makes no sense!" Mr. Douglas said, trying to figure out what the man
was talking about.
"I never saw much sense in TV, myself. All I know is that all we can get is
Kate Smith, The Alderich Family, and Archie's Place."
"Archie's Place was a radio show, it was never on TV!" Mr. Douglas told him.
"It wasn't??" Sam said. "Boy! We're out further in the boondocks than I
thought."
"More like the Twilight Zone," Oliver Wendell Douglas commented in a
lower voice.
"What is that?" Sam asked, not hearing clearly what was said.
"Too, bad. You'd love Hee Haw," Lisa Douglas said.
"Lisa!" her husband said.
"Oh, that's right! That show won't be on for another ten or nine years."
"What is she talking about?" Sam asked.
"I'm sure she doesn't know what she's talking about, either." Oliver said,
looking over at his wife as he said it.
"Mr. Drucker," Mr. Douglas said, returning his attention to the proprietor,
"the reason we came here, today, was for me to order my planting seeds."
"Not me," his wife said. "I came in to use your phone."
"I thought you had a phone of your own?" Sam asked.
"One on top of a telephone pole!" Mr. Douglas's volume started raising.
"And all because the stupid local phone company can't be bothered to find
a piece of wire that'll bring it inside!"
"Zeb Johnson's is in a booth," Sam reported.
"Mr. Johnson has a telephones booth?!" Lisa smiled, liking the idea better
than having to climb up a pole.
"Actually, it's his outhouse."
"Oliver-"
"No, Lisa!"
"So, what's wrong with your phone?" Sam asked.
"Did you know Mrs. Walters had triplets?" Lisa said.
"Sure do: That's my headline for the World Guardian," Sam reported.
"Well, that's what's wrong with our phone," Lisa reported. "The whole
Hootersville Valley is talking about it on the phone!"
"And Sara the Switchboard Operator won't let anybody use the phone for
anything else," Mr. Douglas said, still sore at the telephone company.
"Gosh darn mass communication!" Sam swore as heavily. "Now what am I
going to do for a lead story?!"
"How's about writing about what I found!" Lisa said, opening her purse.
"Actually, I found it," Mr. Douglas said.
"You wanted to throw it away," Lisa corrected.
"It's just one of Mr. Haney's-"
"Mrs. Douglas!" Sam cried, turning pale. "Do you know what you have?!"
"No," she said, looking at the crude wooden doll with beads in her gloved
hand.
"It's the Curse of Green Acres!"
"The curse of..." Mr. Douglas said. "--It's just a cheap piece of junk that
Mr. Haney is going to try to get me to buy as a valuable antique!"
"Oliver!" Lisa turned to her husband, concerned. "Isn't Green Acres what
they call Mr. Haney's Place!"
"Mr. Haney called it that when he sold me his broken-down farm under
false pretenses!"
"Green Acres" is, or rather, was, an Indian medicine man who used to live
in these parts," Sam told them.
"There was an Indian named "Green Acres"?" Oliver Douglas asked, not
believing it.
"Well, that's the closest the settlers around here could come to his name.
Any way: He refused to be moved off the land with the rest of his tribe. He
kept sneaking back onto the place he called the most sacred land of his
people.
"Well, just before he disappeared in his smoke signal, he cursed the land
and the Valley it was a part of."
"See, Oliver!?! The farm is cursed! By Gypsy Indians! Let's move back
to Manhattan!"
"Indians are not Gypsies. And somebody who did not want to move, could
hardly be called a 'gypsy'," her husband tried to reason with her.
"This is no time for logic!" Lisa Douglas insisted. "Curses are Not logical!"
"Well, I can't argue with that," Oliver said in his annoyingly superior way.
"You can't just get up and move, Mrs. Douglas!" Sam told her. "That's part
of the curse. Green Acres said that, since the white man wanted the land so
badly, no white man would be able to leave the land."
"Is that why I've stayed here all this time?!" Lisa said, looking for the signs
that she was cursed. "I've stayed here longer than the six months I said I
would!"
"Lisa! You stayed because you love me, and know being a farmer is all I
ever wanted!" The fife music began in the background, as Oliver Wendell
Douglas got rolling with one of his speeches: "My father made me go to
Harvard and become a lawyer; then arranged for me to become an
associate, then a junior partner of one of the most prestigious law firms
in the country. But I was born on a farm! The soil is in my blood! The
nitrogen phosphate..."
"Aa!" Lisa cried. "I was cursed before I came to Hootersville! It's the Gypsies!"
"Mr. Douglas, didn't you say the only reason you were born on a farm was
because your parents car broke down on the way to the hospital?"
"Aa! The Gypsies cursed Oliver, too!"
"This is ridiculous! You say nobody can leave the land?! What about Mr. Haney?!"
"Mr. Haney can't leave, either!" Lisa insisted. "He keeps coming back!"
"Well..." Sam said, scratching the back of his neck, "there's got to be a
loophole in there somewhere. Perhaps you have to find a bigger fool...."
Sam's words failed him as he looked at the very much annoyed face of Mr.
Douglas squinting at him.
"The Gypsies' curse is stronger than the Indians' curse!" Lisa cried.
"There is no curse!" Oliver Douglas said, taking the doll in his hands,
and... snapping it in two!
"AAAA!!" Lisa wailed. "And I thought there was nothing worse than living
here!! Quicks, Mr. Drucker! Give me some glue!!" Mrs. Douglas almost
screamed.
"There'll be no more of this nonsense!" Mr. Douglas declared, and, with big
long strides, took the two pieces over to the potbellied stove. He opened the
door, and tossed the pieces of wood in.
"Quicks, Mr. Drucker! Give me some water!!" Mrs. Douglas pleaded
"Quick, Mr. Drucker, give me some kerosene," Mr. Douglas replied.
"Don't worry, Mrs. Douglas. That's just a prop. We have a rustic, backwoods
image we have to maintain for the tourists, you know. I'll get some glue-"
Poof! A cloud of white smoke came out of the front grill.
"Never mind the glue, Mr. Drucker," Mrs. Douglas said. "Just let me use your
phone, so that I may say good-bye to Mother in New York."
"In New York"? That's my mother!"
***
"I'm glad my mother had enough sense not to believe you!" a still
frowning Oliver Douglas said, stopping their silver convertible in front
of a hovel. There were three burlap bags of seeds in the back.
"She did believe me! She said that your father used to curse you whenever
he drank!"
"Father did no such thing!" Oliver said, looking at her. "When it comes to
making up stories about their husbands, my mother is almost as good as
you are, Lisa."
"It runs in the family!" she told him, getting out of the car.
"Where are you going with that doll?" he asked.
"What doll?" asked Eb Dawson, their very tall, and thin hired hand. The
young man in the jeans, tan-and-brown plaid coat and a hunter's red plaid
cap stopped dead in his tracks when he saw, "The Curse of Green Acres!"
"You've heard of it, too, Eb?" Mr. Douglas asked.
"Sure! I heard you and Mrs. Douglas talking to Mr. Drucker about it," he smiled.
"See?!" Mrs. Douglas said.
"Wait," Oliver waved off his wife. "We were just at Drucker's. You were
supposed to be doing your chores!"
"I was! But when the wind's just right, you can hear everything you say,
Mr. Douglas."
"Oh! That's the most ridicu-"
"You're the one that's cursed!" Lisa said, hopefully. "Eb, what about me?!"
"We can't hear everything you say. I don't think the wind understands your
accent very well, Mrs. Douglas."
Lisa Douglas's hopes were crushed.
"The wind can't understand Anything anybody says!" Mr. Douglas said.
"Oh, yeah? Then why does it censor you when you drink?!"
"I do not curse," Oliver Douglas said, getting annoyed, again.
"Not as bad as your father. That man could curse!"
"True, true," Lisa agreed.
"Eb, do your or don't you know anything about the doll?!" Mr. Douglas
demanded.
"Of course I do!" the young man grinned. "I was just joshing you with the
wind."
"Okay; you were having your fun."
"It's no fun being a lowly hired hand, you know? You don't get many
perks. If this place wasn't cursed, I'd leave Green Acres."
"He Does know!!" Lisa cried, upset.
"He does no-"
"I used to work for Mr. Haney," Eb said, taking a more serious tone. "I
heard stories about the hired hand he had before me."
"What?! What are they?!!" Lisa pleaded.
"Lisa!..." Oliver said to the grown woman who was acting like a little girl.
"They say that he took correspondence courses from the Harvard Law
School."
"Harvard does not have a correspon-"
"Oliver, quiet!"
"He graduated, but was caught up in a cheating scandal!"
"Oh, this is where the curse comes in!" Lisa said as if she were hearing a
ghost story.
"Now, normally, that would mean he had a bright future in lawyering."
Eb turned to Mr. Douglas, "He took corporate law, you see."
"Eb!"
"Well, the scandal made everybody he tried to get a job from take a closer
look at where he said he was from. And they never answered his
correspondence!"
"Why would where he was from disqualify him?!" Mr. Douglas could not
believe he was humoring the yarn-spinner.
"Everybody knows nobody ever came out of Hooterville!" Eb grinned, rearing
back his shoulders.
"That did it!! Get back to work!" Mr. Douglas pointed to the fields.
"Oliver, did you hear that?!" Lisa cried, more upset than ever.
"I wish I hadn't," he said, bringing his hand back in a fist, and trying to find
his calm.
"He said the whole Valley is cursed! Nobody can leave!"
"Oh, he did not, Lisa! He was making everything up!"
"Who was making what up?!"
"And here comes Eb's opposite!" Oliver Douglas said, exasperated, tossing
up his hand to let it fall against his side. The man had on a gray uniform
and hat with a rawhide leather coat with woven cuffs and waistband.
"Mr. Kimball!" Lisa Douglas cried. "We're cursed!"
"Yeah. So I heard. Well, I didn't actually hear. The wind shifted on me. But I
did hear about it from Mr. Ziffel: He heard it from the...No, it wasn't Mr. Ziffel. It was his son, Arnold Ziffel!"
"Arnold is a pig," Oliver Douglas tried to tell them as calmly as he could at
the moment.
"I beg to differ with you, Mr. Douglas!" Hank Kimball said. "Arnold is very
neat. ...Most of the time. There was that pie-eating contest, where he-"
"Mr. Kimball, I mean Arnold is a Sus scrofa."
"Yeah, he likes his march music...But who can resist The Washington Post,
Stars and Stripes For-"
"What kind of county extension agent are you that you don't even know
the scientific name for a pig?!!" Douglas lost his patience.
"Oh, they don't teach us science!" Mr. Kimball smiled. "You see, the Valley
was first settled by the Flat-Earth Baptists, and they thought that if it
wasn't mentioned in the-"
"It was not!!" Mr. Douglas told him, rather loudly.
Hank Kimball leaned closer to Mr. Douglas, and lowered his voice just a
bit, "Do you know just how few farming methods are mentioned in the-"
"Mr. Kimball! Somebody was pulling your leg!"
"They were? Who would do something like that?"
"Perhaps, Eb Dawson?"
"Yes!" Mr. Kimball snapped his fingers. But then, "Or was it Arnold Ziffel."
"Could be," Lisa Douglas said. "Arnold really knows how to tell a story."
Wanting to change the stupid subject (or were they, now, subjects? Oliver
Douglas was getting confused), he asked, "Mr. Kimball, why did you come
over?"
"I came over for something? Oh, yes!" he smiled, and reached in a back
pocket, "You said you wanted some pamphlets on the proper way to plant
your seeds." As the agent leaned forward he handed Mr. Douglas the
pamphlets, and said, "Plan on doing it right this year, huh? Ha, ha!"
Mr. Douglas accepted the pamphlets, but with his other hand, threatened to
hit the idiot.
"Well, got to be going! I've got more county extensioning to do!" Mr. Kimball
said, getting back in his jeep. "The farmers depend on... Well, they don't
actually depend on me. Most don't even seem happy to see me. They
have this funny look on their faces... A lot like yours, Mr. Douglas."
He started his engine, and said, "But I butt in anyway!" he smiled. "That's my
job. And it's better than being a farmer!"
"Well, at least I have these U.S. government pamphlets to help me!" Oliver
Wendell Douglas said, looking at them as if they were valuable stock
certificates.
"Oh, those aren't from the government," Mr. Kimball said, driving away.
"They're not?" And, sure enough, when Oliver looked at them more closely,
they had on them: Flat-Earth Baptists' Publishing House.
"I'm going to put Mr. Green Acres back where you found him, Oliver!"
Lisa declared.
"Oh? And that's going to help with a Gypsy curse?" her husband said,
raising his eyebrows as she was leaving.
"You're right!" Lisa cried, stopping.
"Lisa," he said, coming to her. "There is no curse."
"You're right, Oliver," Lisa said, turning to face him. "There are curses! The
Gypsy curse, and the Indian curse, and..." And she looked past him, "And
Mr. Haney-"
"Did someone call my name?" a man with a strong but breaking voice said,
driving up in his decrepit slat flatbed truck with the tarp over its bulky
contents.
"No one called you, Mr. Haney," Douglas said, exasperated again.
"It must have been the wind. Some times it will tell me things before you
even say them. It used to be my wind, you see. --Before you bought my
ancestral estate of Green Acres." The tall, fat man wore brown pants,
open black vest, rumpled white shirt, bolo tie, and an official side-kick
cowboy hat.
"He does know about the curse!" Lisa cried.
"If there's a curse, it's one he created, just so he could sell us something!"
Oliver Douglas accused.
"That hurts me to the quick!" Haney took off his hat, and held it over his heart, "As an elder in the Flat-Earth Baptist Church and Bingo Parlor (Reformed), I thought it was my charitable duty to offer a solution to your curse."
"Wait a minute," Mr. Douglas said to the con artist, his eyes narrowing. "If
there is a curse, how did you escape it?!"
"I'm Glad you asked that, Mr. Douglas!"
"Me, too!" Lisa agreed.
"As you may know. You being from the Olde Worlde, Mrs. Douglas, there is
one thing that will let you escape from Any spell! ' Time tested
throughout history."
"Of course!" Lisa Douglas said. "Why didn't I think of it!"
"Well, what is it?!" Oliver Douglas asked.
"I don't know: He hasn't told me yet!"
"Oh, for the love of..." Oliver Douglas said, tempted to swear before he drank.
"If you will step over here," Mr. Haney asked, indicating the side of his
tarp-covered truck.
"I thought you said this was charity?!" Mr. Douglas challenged.
"It is. I'm doing this for the Flat-Earth Baptist Missionary and New Bingo
Cards Fund!"
"Mr., Haney; this, 'church' you claim to belong to..."
"I am the eldest elder, in seniority, if not age. I am the presiding officer,
and Treasurer, in charge of all moneys that come in and go out. Mostly out."
"Well, if you knew anything about the Bible, then-"
"Hush!" Mr. Haney tried to wave him down. "Let's not bring religion nor
politics into a situation that doesn't require any."
"Yes, Oliver! Let's sticks with curses, and spells, and Gypsies!"
"They make for better stories."
"The Bible clearly says that if you have faith, you do not have to worry about
any of that stuff!" Oliver Douglas insisted on making his point.
"Are you going to tell that to the good people that still believe in ghosts,
vampires, witches, and the like?!"
"Yes, Oliver! You should be ashamed of yourself! You would have them believe
they have no faith! Go ahead, Mr. Haney!"
"Fine. I will," the man returned the challenging look. But Mr. Douglas,
frustrated, said nothing more.
"As I was saying, there is one sure way to make sure no curse will find you."
And he reached up, and pulled down a window blind he had on a roller on
the side of his truck.
Oliver Douglas read what was written on the window shade, and could not
believe what was painted there, "Mr. Haney's Fine Inside-Out Haberdashery
and Boutique"?"
"That's right!" he said proudly. "The finest you'll every see! Every item of
apparel has been specifically sewn from the back, or e-verse side, as
they say in the trade, of the sewing patterns. As opposed to the front, or
ob-verse side."
"That's the most-"
"Of course!" Lisa Douglas's eyes lit up. "If you're wearing your clothes on
backwards, then the curse can't get in, because it already thinks it's in!"
"What?!!" Oliver Douglas looked at his wife, totally befuddled.
"Exactly!" Mr. Haney smiled.
"That's the most preposterous thing I ever heard of!"
"What happened to "ridiculous"?" Lisa asked.
"Mr. Douglas, it is obvious that you, for all your Harvard Correspondence
School of Law learning, are illiterate when it comes to literature! Dealing
with spells and the like by turning one's clothes inside out is well
documented in folklore."
"That's right," Lisa agreed. "In Hungary, there are whole villages that only
wear their clothes outside in. There are even villages where-"
"Fine! Then you go and wear your clothes backwards, outside in, inside out,
or whatever you want to call it! But you don't have to pay to have somebody
do it for you!"
"This is America, Mr. Douglas. Paying to have somebody else do it for you is
what keeps the economy strong!"
"That's not My America! I believe in the work ethic, and do-it-yourself! Now,
if you'll excuse me, I have chores to do! Unlike some people, I like being a
farmer," the man in the three-piece pinstriped suit said.
"Oliver!!" Lisa Douglas protested, stamping a foot, as her husband turned, and
left them.
"Don't worry, Mrs. Douglas. I'm sure he will change his mind, once the curse
has lost him, and you two can slip back to New York City."
"But he has the checkbook!"
"He Has?!"
"Yes: He closed all of my accounts, just because I did a little Christmas
shopping at Cartier! And Tiffany's. And Saks. And-"
"How miserly of him. And him being rich and all.
"I'll tell you what, Mrs. Douglas. You sign over your half of the community
property, and I'll give you the merchandise!"
"My 'half of our property'? Can you do that?!"
"You should know by now, in Hooterville Valley, anything is possible... or
impossible, as the case may be. In a rustic, backwoods sort of way."
"You've got yourselfs a deal, Mr. Haney! But the Gypsies' curse is strong. I
don't think just e-versing clothes will do. As I was saying about Hungary,
there are villages where-"
"Say no more, Mrs. Douglas!" Mr. Haney smiled, and pulled down a second
window shade: "Mr. Haney's Fine Transvestite Haberdashery and Boutique".
To Be Continued
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