Green Acres 1 The Gypsy Indian Curse of Green Acres
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Green Acres 2: Why A Hen Doesn't Crow free porn video
Green Acres 2: Why a Hen Doesn't Crow
Produced by Jay Sommers [1965-71]
Parodied by Ron Dow75
The rooster looked at the alarm clock on the fence post. It
turned this way, that way.
It rang!
It cock-a-doodle-didn't.
At 5:30 AM, Oliver Wendell Douglas pulled off the covers,
and put out his feet. The early spring air was cold. "Vrrr-
Er,er!" he said, reaching for the bathrobe he kept at the end of
the bed.
His feet on the ground, the still sleepy-eyed, still fit
60-year-old stretched first one arm, then the other through the
pink peignoir with the feathery, boa-like trim. Both arms in, he
tied it around his neck. Smiling, he did one final, great stretch
as he rose to his feet.
"Ahh, it feels like a great day for planting!" he said,
scratching his flat belly under the ankle-length purple nightgown
as he slipped his feet into fuzzy pink mules.
He went over to look out the window hung upside down, and
looked out past the telephone pole next to it. "It looks like
it's not going to rain," he said, trying to raise the low
neckline over his gray chest hair.
"I'll check the weather report," he told himself, stepping
lightly to the bedroom door, not really wanting to wake his wife,
still sleeping in their round, king-sized bed. The nightgown
flowed, and the peignoir wafted behind him, caught on the breeze
of his movements. "I'll milk and feed Eleanor, collect the eggs,
chop some wood, and then I'll get dressed and ready for the real
work!"
He was out the door, and well on his way, when "LI-I-
SAH!!!"
Lisa Douglas rose in bed, pushing the night mask up on her
forehead. The beautiful blonde with the still nearly perfect
bouffant coif, more than 20 years younger than her husband (or so
she told everybody), was wearing baby blue pajamas trimmed in
navy, buttoned to the Eton collar. "Uh, Ose, he's up. I had
wanted to be cooking hotscakes for him," she said, reaching for
the burgundy bathrobe with the Harvard crest.
She slipped it on, and looked around, away from the one
door. "In the kitchen, I could escape through the back's door."
"Lisa!! Why am I wearing your chamber clothes?!!" her
husband demanded, coming into the room.
Lisa bounced one knee on the bed as she tried to run around
it; she pulled at the robe because it yanked on her. "Those
aren't my chamber clothes!!"
"Lisa, this looks just like the chamber clothes you wear! -
And you're wearing My things!" he said, catching up with her as
she bumped into the settee at the end of the bed.
She pulled at the pajama's shirt front. "Are you saying I'm
fat!?" she said, as indignantly as she could while wanting to
cower.
"Of course not!" the still frowning man said. "You have the
same measurements as when I married you!"
Her arms went down in little fists. "You think I was always
fat!!" she said, very much indignant, now. "I was a younger
woman, then!"
"Lisa, don't change the subject! Answer me, what did you do
with my clothes?!!"
"They're in the closet!" she told him.
"We're going to have a talk once I get dressed," the angry
man in silk told her as he headed for the far corner.
"I'll be in the kitchen. Making you hotscakes!"
"Hotcakes?!" he cried.
"Yes; a well-fed man is a happier man, an old Hungarian
saying says."
"Then I won't be any happier! Not the way you cook!" he
said, reaching for the closet's handle.
The pocket door rolled, and rolled off of its track, and
plopped down on the floor beside the bed. Again.
Lisa was out of the bedroom, and heading for the back's
door, when "LI-I-SAH!!!"
---
"This is an emergency, I better use the instant hotscake
mix!" she said, reaching for the box in the cupboard near the
door from the living room.
"Lisa!" Oliver's yell was getting closer. "What happened to
all of our clothes!?!!"
Lisa dumped the contents of the box onto the griddle. First
came the powder; then the two eggs.
"What happened to the milk??" she asked, looking inside the
empty box.
"Lisa!" the man in the peignoir and nightgown said, coming
into the kitchen with one of his suits on a wooden hanger. "Tell
me what you did to my clothes!?!!"
"Didn't you see them?" she said, breaking and scrambling
the eggs into the powder with a spatula. "They're hanging in the
closet. I don't know how you could miss them."
"Oh, I saw them. Normally, my things are lost among all of
your dresses; but, Now, for some strange reason I see more Men's
clothes, than women's-All shrunk!"
"You must be seeing things!" she answered nervously,
turning the muck with the spatula. "There are more women's
clothes. You know me, Oliver."
"That I do, Lisa." He thrust the hanger of clothes in front
of her. "If they're not shrunk, how do you explain this?!!"
"Oh...w! Oliver! If they're shrunk, why are you getting
them in the hotscakes!"
"Never mind that, just answer the question!!"
"You talk to me blue in the face about how more expensive
women's dry cleaning is-"
"Lisa!!"
"They're not shrunk!" Lisa Douglas said, going on the
attack, the hand with the spatula on her hip.
"They're not!?!" Oliver said, momentarily on the defensive.
The back's door opened, "Good Morning!" Eb Dawson grinned.
"What's for breakfast?" The young man was in the jeans, tan-and-
brown plaid coat and an army fatigue cap.
"We were going to have hotscake before Oliver ruined them!"
Lisa said, quickly turning to the hired hand.
"I did not ruin the hotcakes. They were already ruined."
"I don't know," Eb said, looking what was on the stovetop.
"It's hard to ruin instant hotcake mix."
"Oliver put a suit in it!"
"I never tried that flavor! Is it something sophisticated
New Yorkers eat?"
"Look at it, Eb! It's shrunk!" Mr. Douglas showed him.
"Wow!" Eb said, coming closer to see better. "Did you loose
weight, Mrs. Douglas?"
"Thank you for noticing, Eb. Unlike some people I'm not
speaking to."
"Eb what are you talking about?!" his employer wanted to
know.
"If you were any kind of thoughtful husband, you'd know,"
the hired hand said a might superiorly.
"He's not! He would have noticed Why I had to buy a whole
new wardrobe!"
"A new wardrobe!?!! All I saw was the same stuff you Always
wear! Only larger!!"
"There!! He said it again: I'm fat!!"
"Mr. Douglas, you ought to take that back. If anybody looks
fat, it's you in that peignoir."
"Peign--??" And he looked down at what he had on. "How
could I forget I was wearing this foolish thing!! And silk
nightgown, too!"
"That is foolish. The men of Hooterville sleep in their
nightshifts."
"You mean nightshirts!" Mr. Douglas said, holding up the
battered suit up in front of himself.
"Mr. Douglas, I don't know how they do things in the big
city, but here in the rural heartland of America, real men do not
sleep in things only girls wear. Especially those for the
boudoir!"
"Eb!" Oliver Wendell Douglas said, rearing back his hand,
sorely tempted to strike.
"I'm just kidding!" Eb smiled, bounding back on his heels,
his hands in his jeans' pockets.
"I thought so! If you, so help me, tell anybody that you
saw me in, in..."
"Don't be ashamed, Mr. Douglas. There's a group that meet
regularly in Hooterville: The AA."
"The "AA"?" Oliver asked, even though he knew he would be
sorry.
"'Aprons Anonymous'. It's for men who like to dress up in
their wives' clothes."
"Eb! I do Not like wearing this!! But for some inexplicable
reason named Lisa Douglas, there's nothing else in the house that
will fit me!!"
"Maybe the AA can't help you. You sound incurable!"
"Out!! Out!!" Oliver indicated.
"Yes, sir!" Eb retreated.
"And if I Ever find out that you told anybody-"
Oliver!!" Lisa put her foot down. "Don't blame everybodies
else on your own fetishes!"
"'Fetishes'?? Where did you hear that word?"
"'Fetishes' is a perfectly good Hungarian word! It means
'you can't hold your slivovitz'!"
"It does not!"
"Boy!! You were really snozzled last night!"
"I was not!"
"See?! You had so much booze, you forgot what you did last
night!"
"If I had drunk that much, why don't I have a hangover?!"
"You forgot that, too??!" she asked. "You had more than I
thought!"
"I did not get drunk last night!!!"
"Oh, yeah?!!! Then how come you're wearing that?!!"
"I don't know!! I, I guess I must have gotten drunk."
"First it was lampshades, and now it is this!"
"I, I'm sorry, Lisa. I didn't know, I mean I never before,
I'm really not..."
"Okay. I forgive you... If you take that thing off."
"I certainly will!"
"Good. Throw that one back in the ragbag, and put on the
new one; the yellow one with the white lace-"
"Lisa!! I thought we were talking about me putting on a
suit!!"
"Why would I want to see my husband in women's apparel!?!"
"Wha-at!!?!"
"First you embarrass me by wearing last month's peignoir,
now you want to make a complete fool of me in front of my
Hootersville friends and neighbors by wearing women's clothes!!"
"Why you, dirty..." for nearly the first time in their
marriage, Oliver felt like decking his wife.
"Mr. Douglas!" Eb cried, sticking his head and shoulders
through the half-opened back's door. "Mr. Douglas, Eleanor needs
milking real bad!"
"Why don't you do for me!?!!"
"You know Eleanor doesn't like me milking her!"
Oliver Douglas grumbled, "You're right."
"Yeah, your hands are much softer!"
"Eb, if you're insinuating that I-"
"I'm a field hand! My hands are hard and callused!"
"Okay. That's more like it."
"I don't use creams and lotions, and take smelly oil
baths!"
"EB!!"
---
Forced to go outside in the chamber clothes and peignoir,
Oliver found himself talking to himself, "It's a farm, far away
from everyone and everything. The only way in is the dirt road.
And that's in front of the house."
"Of course, before you get to the front, you pass the
driveway to the barn. But I'm not going to be outside long. I'm
just going from the back porch over to the barn. Look! The old
Hoyt-Klagwell tractor is blocking the view, now."
Without warning, without provocation, the left tireless,
treadless wide steel wheel fell off to land on its side, causing
the tractor, now, to tilt. "What in the...?"
Oliver Wendell Douglas stood there staring at it for a
moment, "Oh, this is ridiculous; even if one wheel fell off, the
rest of the tractor is high enough to-"
The right fell off; then the front.
Fighting back the exasperation, he said, "I'm still
partially covered. The only way the stupid tractor wouldn't help
hide me was if. "
Oliver shook his head, and told himself as he purposely
walked away, "No. I better not give it ideas."
---
Oliver Douglas picked up the milking pail just inside the
door, and walked to the nearby stall where his cow was mooing for
relief.
But when she saw him, her low became, "Moo??"
"It's me, Eleanor! I'm sorry if you don't recognize me." He
patted her on the side of her neck, "But you recognize my voice.
I smell the same...."
He sniffed. Sniff! He put his hand, then the back of his
wrist to his nose, "Am I wearing perfume??"
"Moo!?!"
"I'm sorry, Eleanor! I'll try not to upset you!" he said,
sitting down on the milking stool. "Just let me milk you..." he
soothed. And then he muttered, "...So I can get back to being
upset..."
He thought the negligee got in his way as he sat with his
legs spread, so he had to pull it up over his hairy knees.
"Wasn't milking cows women's work at one time?" he said, feeling
the early morning chill. "I thought women hated drafts more than
men."
Oliver Douglas put a hand on two of the teats of the udder-
"What in the--??"-and started pulling. "Yyyaaoww!!!"
Oliver fell forward; when he hit the side of the cow,
Eleanor reacted; her owner was pushed off the stool. He landed in
the dirt and hay a good yard way, his bare legs laying in a
plie'.
"It didn't happen," he told himself. "It was all part of my
besieged lack of imagination!"
He pushed himself up, "I refuse to give into the disease!"
He got up onto first one knee, pulling his negligee out of the
way, then the other knee, pulling, "I graduated from Harvard! Cum
laude!" Throwing the loose opening of the peignoir aside, he got
on his feet, "I didn't get to be senior junior law partner by
being nothing if not rational and stubborn."
Returning with all the dignity his former job required,
Oliver Wendell Douglas, Jr., sat down on stool. "Eleanor! You
know you have to be milked; it's only going to hurt you, if you
won't let it out. So, be a good Jersey, and let this strange
looking man-"
---
"Mr. Douglas!!" Eb cried, running into the barn, "What's
the matter?!! You could hear yourself all the way to the south
40. If you had a south 40."
"Nuh, noth, thing's the matter," a very pale and shaken
Oliver Douglas told the boy-man. He was supporting his trembling
legs by holding onto the side of the cow's stable.
"Hunh! For "Nothing's the matter" you look someone who ate
Mrs. Douglas's New Orleans Style Hotcakes last night, and came
back for seconds!"
"I was hungry! There was nothing else in the house! -
Besides, you ate with us!" The part of his torso he was rubbing
was not his belly, but higher up, and all around.
"But I didn't have any of Mother Haney's sugar and spice
over them!"
"Haney!! Haney??! No, even he couldn't..."
"LI-I-SAH!!" Oliver Douglas yelled, heading back for the
house.
Eb sighed as Mr. Douglas passed him, "I'll get out the
milking machine."
"Okay, you do that," Oliver Douglas said, thinking of he
was going to do with his wife.
---
He was halfway to the back porch, when: "Milking Machine!!"
He ran all the way back, his peignoir flying like a low
cape.
---
"I have your breakfast ready for you, Oliver!" Lisa, still
in her blue pajamas and burgundy bathrobe.
"I'll not eat anything sabotaged by you!!" the very angry
man with the wet bodice told her coming into the house.
"It's not sabotaged!" Lisa stomped her foot in protest. "I
used the last instant hotscake mix, and we have no eggs or milk!"
"We have plenty of milk!!" he said, storming for the door
to the living room.
"Oliver, what happened to your top?"
"Don't ask! Just don't ask!"
"Eb, what happened?" Mrs. Douglas asked the man who came in
after Mr. Douglas had left the kitchen.
"Can have some of your hand cream?!" he asked, hopeful.
"My hand cream?"
"Oh, boy! Hotcakes!" he said, looking at the plate of dry
powder.
"Here," Mrs. Douglas said, setting the plate down on the
kitchen table. "Oliver said he won't eat them."
"Can I have seconds, too?" he said, picking up a knife and
fork as he sat down. "And "Mother Haney's Sugar and Spice" ?!"
"No, I used the last of it last night."
"Aw, darn it! Do you know how lonely it gets up in the
barn's hayloft with only Eleanor and my pet turtle Franklin for
company?!"
"I suppose its is. Do you wants me to matchmake for you?"
"It won't do no good without a salary that I can date a
girl on. That's why I wanted the sugar and spice!"
"What has that's gots to do with having a girlfriend?"
"Isn't that what girls are suppose to be made of?!"
"No; girls are made of a gem stone, a Dior original, and a
hank of cashmere. At least, that's what they're made of in
Hungary."
"Aw, gee, willikers! I'll never get my wish! I can't afford
any of that stuff!"
"LI-SA!!"
"Uh, Oh! The grouch is coming back! I'd better leave!" Eb
said, raising to do just that.
"Can I come with you?!" Mrs. Douglas pleaded.
"He'd only track you down!" Eb told her.
"Lisa! You're not going to believe what happened..."
"I know what that means! It means his lordship is off on
one of his eccentric delusions again! Bye, Mrs. Douglas," Eb
said, leaving. "And good luck!"
Mrs. Oliver Wendell Douglas turned to face the music.
But, "Oliver! I thought you went to change! Your nightsgown
is still wet!"
"I had to stop in the bathroom first... And this is what I
found," he said, holding up a still warm brown egg.
"Oh, goody! You brought me an egg! Now, we just need one
more!"
"Lisa, you don't understand. I, I... laid it."
"Did you tell one of your tired old jokes again?"
"Lisa, those eggs are not real eggs!"
She came over to him, and looked at it. "It looks real to
me." And she took it out of his hands. "It feels real."
"How do you wants your egg?" she asked, heading back for
the stove.
"Lisa!! I laid that! I don't want to eat anything I laid!!"
"Oh!! But it's all right to eat Henrietta's children!?!"
"Lisa, we do not-"
"Just like a man! A female labors for her family; she keeps
something in the oven until it's ready to take out and presents
to her husband; and does he appreciate it?!"
"Lisa, don't you understand what I'm saying!?!"
"I understand it! When it's something a man does, it's a
different story! Then it's something to crow about! Even when
it's something women do every day!" And she cracked the egg over
the frying pan.
"LISA!!"
"I hope you like scrambled! I'm too mad to make sunny side
up!"
"I can't eat that!!"
"Then I will!! Women have more rights to eat eggs and milk,
anyway!"
"Fine!! You eat! I just hope it has some residue of that
Haney poison you fed me last night!!"
"It wasn't poison!!" she stomped her foot protest yet again
that morning. "It was to sweeten your disposition!"
"Well it failed! -Miserably!!"
"It did make you forgets about the curse!"
"The curse!?! What curse!?!!"
"Never mind..." Lisa said, concentrating on vigorously
scrambling the egg.
"Lisa, what aren't you telling me?"
"You still haven't told me how your got your fronts wet!"
"And I'm not going to tell you! These things just can't
happen. Not to men!"
"There we go again! It's okay for women, but not men!!"
"Men are not supposed to give milk!!"
"Or eggs, but you did it!"
"I did not!! Even if I could, I couldn't! I'm too old!"
Suddenly, Oliver's attitude completely turned around.
"Lisa... Do you know what this means?"
"That I'm burning an old egg?" she said, looking into the
pan.
"It means that Haney stumbled upon a youth formula!"
"It does?" Lisa Douglas asked, suddenly interested herself.
Oliver adjusted the bra of the nightgown as his sore,
chilled nipples screamed for comfort, "But it has a terrible
side-effect..."
Madison
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