Green Acres 1 The Gypsy Indian Curse of Green Acres
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Green Acres 3: The Country Gentleman In The Peignoir free porn video
Green Acres 3: The Country Gentleman in the Peignoir
Produced by Jay Sommers [1965-71]
Parodied by Ron Dow75
Gray haired, distinguished, non-disbarred Oliver Wendell
Douglas was vigorously chopping wood in his yellow nightgown with
the white peignoir.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm chopping wood! I have to destroy something, or I'll
destroy some-one!"
On the back swing, Oliver Douglas realized he was talking
to somebody: Off-balance, he struggled to stay on his feet. Even
dropping the axe didn't help, he tripped, and fell onto the dirt
around the chopping block.
"Is that good for silk nighties?" the matron-weight
strawberry blond in the blue shirt and white coveralls asked.
"Ralph! What are you doing here?!" Mr. Douglas yelled,
getting up onto his elbows, one gown-covered knee up.
"Why else would "The Monroe Brothers" be here: I came to
work on your bedroom."
"How can you call it work!?!" Mr. Douglas yelled, pushing
himself up from the ground with one hand, as he got his feet
under him. "The bedroom's the same wreck it's been for two
years!"
"Has it been that long? Alf and I should celebrate!"
"It's nothing to celebrate!!" Mr. Douglas screamed, rising
up.
"Oh, yeah? I think two years is darn good job security for
a carpenter!" the little woman stood up to the taller, broader
man in the negligee.
"Well, you're not having any more "job security"!! Not on
my time-clock!" the out-of-uniform Republican told the little
woman, looming over her.
"Really? How many times is this you've tried to fire us?
We're the only carpenters desperate enough to work for a meanie
like you."
"There are plenty more desperate people in the Valley, I'm
sure. Any one of them could do a better job that you and your
brother!"
"Fine, you go find them. In the meantime, I'll get to
work," the more appropriately dressed one said, walking away. But
she turned, "That is, of course, unless you've hidden the time-
cards?"
"There are no time-cards!!"
"You did hide them! You found out Alf was off at a seminar,
and you wanted to make sure I didn't punch his for him!"
"How often have I been paying for two people, when there's
only been one?!!"
"A better question is how often have you been paying for
two, when there was none?"
"LI-SAH!!"
+++
"How does men tie their ties?" the woman with the perfect
bouffant asked, standing in front of the mirror set on the
dresser top. The trim 39-or-less-year-old untied the blue-and-
white tie, and tried again. "I knows how to do it when I'm not
wearee." She did have on black oxfords, charcoal gray slacks, and
a pinstripe dress shirt with white collar, and an "LGD"
embroidered on the white top of the pocket over one of her
sizeable breasts.
"Oorr!! How do mens do it!" she stomped a foot in
frustration.
Frowning, she made one last attempt, "They talk about the
silly things women wear... What possible use does men have for
these, other than to hang themselves with?"
"LISA!!"
Lisa Douglas nearly strangled her swan-like neck as her
hands spasmed.
"I has to escape while I still feel like Superman," she
said, heading for the bed, and the charcoal suit coat lying out
on top of it.
"LISA Groemitz DougLAS!!"
"Uh, Ose! He's really mad: He used my before-we-was-married
name!" She grabbed the coat, and headed for the extension's
closet.
She put her fingers in the pocket door's handle, and
pulled. It rolled off of its track, flew across the room, hit the
wall, and flew back, finding the tracks, and slamming closed
again.
"Traitor!! I keep my best clothes in you, despite your
lacks of back!"
"LISA GROEMitz!!"
"Eee! He's forgotten we're married!"
Another attempt to get out through the missing wall in the
closet was delayed by: "There you are!!" Oliver Douglas cried,
coming into the bedroom, his negligee blown close to his fit
body.
"I didn'ts do it! I'm innocent!" LG(D?) cried, pressing
herself against the door.
"Oh, it's been a long time since you were ever innocent,"
the man told her, jumping down the two steps to ground level.
"Oh! Keep thats up, and I'll stop being intimidated, and be
mad, too!" LG said, stepping forward.
"Ah-Ha! You admit it! You know why I'm mad!" Mr. Douglas
stopped with a finger near the woman's face.
"I don'ts know why you're mad! I'm not a Doctors Freud!"
she put her face closer to it.
"What!?! You know that's not the kind of mad I mean!" his
finger a lowered fist.
"I know no such thing: I'm too innocent!" her face
withdrew.
"Alright: What are you innocent of?!"
"Everybody's innocents of something."
"You tell him, Mrs. Douglas."
The pocket door stood wobbling for a second, before it fell
down flat onto the floor.
"Now you do it!" Lisa scolded.
"Ralph, you stay out of this!" Mr. Douglas told his
employee.
"Come in!" Lisa told her friend.
"Lisa!-"
"-How can she works in the bedroom outside?!"
"Yeah! And if I stay outside, I'll be under the overhang.
Do you want me to be an eavesdropper?!" she said, walking in bent
over to one side.
"Why should this day be any different?!"
"I've never dropped an eave in my life! I'm a better
carpenter than that."
"Prove it!"
"That's all right, Ralph," Lisa said, coming to stand
beside the other, stronger woman. "You has my permission to come
into my community property half of the house."
"Thank you, Mrs. Douglas; then I'll only do your half."
"You do that! And she can pay you!"
"Out of my allowance!?!" Lisa cried.
"Let's see how much friendship is worth, when you don't
have the money to get a new wardrobe every other week!" Mr.
Douglas said, glaring at the both of them, before turning around
and leaving.
+++
"You only buy a new wardrobe every other week?" Ralph
asked.
"Yes," Lisa had to admit. "It used to be every weeks, and
again on Fridays. But thats was back in Manhattan, where all the
finest stores are.
"But now," she shrugged, "living way out here in the middle
of nowswhere, I've had to cuts down on how often I spend Oliver's
money."
"Gee, that must be rough on a fine lady like you."
"Its would be..." she sighed, "if didn't buy the same
numbers of outfits as I did before. It's just the numbers of
times I shop that's less."
"Hasn't the Old Grouch figured that out, yet?"
"He would, if its were not for the shipping and handling
fees. I use those to hide the extra costs. A beautiful wife has
to be a clever CPA-er."
Ralph Monroe leaned closer, "Didn't the wind say that he
had cut off your credit cards?"
"He thinks I pre-credited for all of the things I buy under
their "Frequents Customer Plan"."
"You don't?"
"No. I downs payments them from the mortgage I got on my
half of the community property."
"From Mr. Haney?"
"No. From a bank with a bad sign, the Pixley 'Friendly
Savings and Lon'."
"Uh, oh, Mrs. Douglas," Ralph said.
"Whats "Uh, ose"?"
"Lon isn't the friendly one."
"Well, Mr. Haney is going to has to be friendly with him;
he owns the same half."
+++
"Eb! Eb!! Where are you, Eb?!!" Mr. Douglas called leaving
the back porch. "If you thought me having to wear woman's things
would get you a day off..."
"No, Mr. Douglas. I was just feeding the chickens, and
waiting for you to change," Eb the long young man in boots,
jeans, blue work shirt, tan plaid coat, and army fatigue hat. He
was indeed, scattering feed for the handful of chickens.
"I changed!"
"You did??!"
"Yes! Before I was wearing a purple nightgown with pink
peignoir!"
"Now, you got a yellow and white ensemble. Very attractive,
even on an older man like you. But wouldn't you rather change
into a dress?"
"No!! I refuse to go along any further with this travesty!
If I'm going to be stuck wearing woman's clothes, then I'm going
to wear the simplest kind Lisa has-er, would have. That is, if
these were her clothes. They only look like her clothes-But they
would be her clothes, if-"
"Is that how you won your cases as a Harvard lawyer, Mr.
Douglas: Confuse them?"
"The only one who appears to be confused is me!"
"That's a fine recommendation for a lawyer to have."
"Never mind my reputation as a lawyer (I won nearly all of
my cases!). Now, I am a farmer, and today is the day I begin
planting for a new crop!" the man's enthusiasm was barely quelled
by the breeze blowing past his exposed chest hairs.
"Mr. Farmer", I don't know if you know this, but if this
wasn't anything but country time, it would be Daylight Savings
Time. The end of April."
"I know that."
"Then you should know that it's past most of the time you
plant most crops. That is if "you" were any kind of a normal
farmer."
"The crops I planted haven't come up! If I don't replant, I
may not have any crops this year!"
"I wouldn't recommend it. You know what they say about
trying to fool with Mother Nature."
"No: I don't know! All I know is that Father Time says that
it's now or never!"
"Father Time against Mother Nature! It sounds like a family
fight, to me. Just like you and Mrs. Douglas."
"We're not fighting. I haven't hit her," Mr. Douglas said,
heading for the tractor.
Eb didn't follow; Mr. Douglas turned, and said, "Yet!"
+++
His long hems threatening to get in the way, Mr. Douglas
pulled the rusting circular plow forward. "Have you tightened the
nuts so that it won't ever come off again?!"
"Yes, sir. I tighten it every time so that it won't ever
come off again; and every time, it comes off again," said the
young man in the work clothes crouching in front of the wide,
treadless, steel wheel.
"I wonder if there's a glue for metal,"
"Yes: It's called solder," Eb said, rising with the monkey
wrench in his greasy hand.
"Solder! There's an idea!" he said as he dropped the plow.
"I don't think you should try it. You ever seen the movie
'The Love Bug'?" He set the wench down on the wheel.
"I have better ways to waste my time than a silly movie!"
He said, pulling up his hems as he stepped over the plow.
"I don't have the money to see movies, silly or otherwise."
Eb took a handkerchief from his back pocket.
"I pay you enough-" Mr. Douglas moved to within speaking
distance.
"The only movie house around is the Pixley "Bijou", and all
it ever shows is "Wings"!" Eb tried to clean his hands with the
piece of cloth.
"Then how do you know about this other movie?" Oliver
Douglas put his hand and weight on a hip; despite himself, he was
intrigued by where this would lead.
"We young people of the Valley have a secret place we go to
stay hip and happening, even though we're stranded in the back of
nowhere." Eb blew his nose into the hanky.
"So they told you about it."
"No. When I heard the title, I thought it was a romantic
comedy, you know: A Date Reel! So I went to the Hooterville black
market (His name is Clive), and he got me a copy." Eb put the
handkerchief back in his back pocket.
"You paid for a pirated movie!?!" Mr. Douglas's Republican
sense of property started to assert itself.
"I wish! We're too poor for piracy; all we can afford is
petty copyright infringement. We all gather in our caffeinated
pop house, and listen to scripts."
"Well..." Oliver Douglas conceded, "that doesn't sound so
bad. At least you kids have a place to go."
"Yeah?! You trying to smooch in a barn with no chairs,
people burping from pop, and nobody looking at Bobbie Jo Bradley
reading the script, because everybody is watching to see who will
be the first to smooch!"
"But you do get to, uh, "smooch", eventually!"
"My date was Bobbie Jo Bradley," Eb said, walking away.
+++
"Eb! You forgot the wrench!" Mr. Douglas called, reaching
for it where it had been left on the wheel, "Put this back with
the-" he was jolted to a halt when the wrench wouldn't move.
He looked around, and pulled. "What in the-?"
He turned around, and pulled. "Come on. Come on!"
He put one pink, fuzzy mule up on the spokes. "You dirty,
rusty piece of-" He put the other up. "-industrial sabotage!" He
pulled with all of his considerable might, the only thing
touching the ground was the back hem of the negligee.
One great yank: And he fell onto the ground, his nightgown
thrown up-back so far that his yellow and lacey silk panties were
exposed.
"Wow-whee! Will you look at that!" Eb cried.
Oliver quickly shoved the outerwear down past his groin.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say that wrench was soldered
on!"
Oliver Douglas bent his neck up-back, and saw the Eb Dawson
was seemingly only looking at the wrench. From his place in the
dirt and stones, Mr. Douglas told himself that his dignity had
not been compromised more than it had been over the years he'd
lived there.
+++
"Is everything ready?!" asked the erect Mr. Douglas, seated
atop the metal seat, the proud (if slightly red-faced) esquire of
his own landed estate, dressed in the latest haute couture for
the night-through-morn.
"The plow's hitched up right, this time; and there's enough
gas to get you through the fields," Eb reported from the rear.
"Fine: Wonderful! Now we can really get to work!" And he
pulled out the clutch, and shifted the stick to drive. The
tractor began to roll-
Thud!
The force of the blow was enough to send him out of his
perch, and to the ground again: This time he landed face down.
The tractor with the plow rolled on without him.
"Are you sure you don't want to hear about 'The Love Bug'?"
Eb asked, walking over to help his lord and employer.
"This wrench!!" Oliver Douglas cried, picking it up from
the ground beside him.
"Ohoo...! That's going to leave a nasty bruise," Eb said,
bending with his hands on his knees. "Maybe you should cover it
up with makeup."
"Eb!!" Mr. Douglas yelled, rolling over within the
nightgown. He directed the wrench at the very tall young man
looming over him, "If you ever again suggest I do a thing like
that while I'm wearing women's clothes...!"
"I'm sorry!" Eb said, standing up and away from the irate
person in yellow silk, "I thought a little base really doesn't
count the same as that other stuff. I mean, actors wear that
stuff all of the time."
"Well, they're actors! Actors are always doing fool
things!"
+++
"There! See it!" Mr. Douglas pointed.
"Just like an old horse, returning to its usual rounds," Eb
said seeing the tractor, too.
"The public road is not it's usual rounds!" Mr. Douglas
yelled just to yell. He lifted up the front of his nightgown, and
started striding towards the road, trying to get ahead of the
machine.
"I wouldn't worry about it wondering off, Mr. Douglas!" Eb
called, still on the knoll.
"What?" Douglas yelled back, but keeping his pace. Mules
and stones were not a good combination.
"If you heard 'The Love Bug' being read, you'd
understand!!"
But it was too late; Mr. Douglas was too far gone to listen
to anything but his own oaths.
+++
"Is there anything I can do for you, Mrs. Douglas?" Eb
asked the woman in the charcoal suit, and blue-and-white necktie.
"Where's Mr. Douglas?" she asked, grateful for an excuse to
pause in her housework. Besides, the feather duster was molting.
"He's off chasing Green Acres."
"Green Acres!?!!" Lisa Douglas cried.
"OW!!!" came a louder cry from the bedroom.
"Where is he?!!" Lisa demanded to know, holding the balding
duster up in front her like a shield.
"Your husband?"
"No, you dummy!" Ralph Monroe yelled around the thumb in
her mouth, "Green Acres!"
"Oh, the tractor!"
"The tractor??" Lisa said, suddenly weak, and looking for a
place to swoon.
"I have all sorts of tools: I say we remodel that defunct
brand!" Ralph said, her thumb still in her mouth.
"But aren'ts tractors made of metal?" Lisa said, finding a
spot on the arm of the over stuffed velvet chair. "You's only
gots carpentry's tools."
"I'll make a stake, and we'll drive it through its
carburetor!" She used the swollen thumb to demonstrate.
"It won't do any good," Eb told her. "Green Acres is a
ghost. He'll just come back as something else to haunt us."
"We're doomed!!" Lisa wailed. "We'll never be able to gets
away from the Gypsies!"
"Green Acres is a tractor; he isn't a gypsy cab," Ralph
told Mrs. Douglas.
"He was certainly traveling over the countryside, the last
time I saw him."
"That's it!!" Lisa cried, shooting straight up onto her
oxfords.
"What's it?!" Eb asked, leaning over, ready to grin.
"What!? Where? Who??" Ralph looked around, hammer cocked.
+++
"Can I give you a lift, Mrs-Uh-Humm! Mister Douglas?" said
a female voice that tried to remain friendly.
"What?!" called the man hiding behind the tree a tree
beside the two lane blacktop highway.
"You're a good country mile from your place, Mr. Douglas.
You must have worked yourself up a good head of steam to be so
far away in just your, ahem, night-things," said the matronly
woman with the blond bouffant with oxen-bangs.
"That I have!" the man agreed, nodding at the woman
standing on the handcar on the train track. "It's that tractor of
mine!! It ran off!" He still refused to come out from behind the
tree.
"It has? Well, I'm sure if you leave it alone, it will come
back." She wore a sky blue linen skirt and jacket.
"I don't think I want it to come back! I've had it with
it's innumerable idiosyncrasies! Every machine has its
peculiarities, but none was ever made that is that peculiar!!"
"Oh, I don't know. I could tell you about a Stutz Bearcat I
used to know. It made Uncle Joe the man he is today."
"Carson used to drive?" Mr. Douglas tried to picture it.
"The only road into our place is an old fire road. Cars
tend not to last long driving it."
"Yes: I can understand that. When we first moved to the
Valley we use to stay at the Shady Rest Hotel."
"You're invited back. No charge," she smiled very motherly.
"Why would you..."
"We've had more than our share of customers who've tried to
skip out without paying their bill. Most of what they 'leave
behind' has been donated to charity. But I, uh, think we can find
something in your size."
"Really?!" Oliver Douglas smiled like a little boy. He
stepped out from behind the tree.
"Really," Mrs. Bradley smiled warmly. "Come on, get on
board. The price you pay will be to help me pump this thing to
the hotel."
"Gladly!" Oliver Douglas said, walking smartly to the train
tracks that cut across the highway.
"If you don't mind me asking, Mr. Douglas. How did this all
start?"
"If you can believe it, it all began with a doll!"
"A doll? Well, hrrm, that explains things."
To be continued.
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