Green Acres 1 The Gypsy Indian Curse of Green Acres
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Green Acres 5: The Opinions Expressed Do Not Necessarily Reflect... free porn video
Green Acres 5: The Opinions Expressed Do Not Necessarily Reflect...
Produced by Jay Sommers [1965-71]
Parodied by Ron Dow75
In the lobby-living room of the Shady Rest Hotel: "Mrs.
Bradley, you can't have anything to do with that, that --Poison!"
Mr. Douglas cried. "You're too good and decent a person." It was
her that had rescued him from the nightgown he'd been forced to
wear, and loaned him the (oversized) men's blue suit with the
thin red tie.
"Poison??" Mrs. Bradley asked, confused.
"Mr. Douglas, I'm surprised at you!" Mr. Haney in his cheap
cowboy-townsman suit said. "As a fellow Republican, you ought to
know "good and decent" does not feed the bulldog. If you'll
excuse the non-Harvard, Ivy League expression."
("I have always stood for 'good and decent'," Mrs. Bradley
said.)
"Do not include me in your brand of Republicanism!"
("Republicanism! Oh, dear; developers," Mrs. Bradley said.)
"But it's okay to include all Democrats together?"
("Don't include me in any of their schemes!")
"Of course! I mean, that is: No!"
"Just checking."
("Someone check with me!")
"Mr. Haney, whatever happened to not bringing religion or
politics into a situation that doesn't require any?!"
("Yeah!")
"Mr. Douglas, when it comes to something as sacred as free
enterprise, then the boundaries imposed by the common-denominator
arithmetic of the mass market must be breached."
("The opinions expressed do not necessarily reflect the
views of this establishment.")
"What does that mean?!"
"Yes, Mr. Haney, what are you two talking about?!" Mrs.
Bradley asked.
"I'm kind of interested myself," Joe Carson said. "It
sounds as if Haney might have a legitimate deal in mind."
"That I do! A revolution in the egg and dairy business!"
("Would you care for a partner?" Mr. Carson asked.)
"That's what I thought you meant!!!" Mr. Douglas screamed.
"Now, Mr. Douglas, this is free enterprise: If you do not
wish to participate, then that is up to you."
"I wish I had been warned before I ate your poison!"
"Mr. Douglas, you're sounding like a Democrat."
"Hold it!!" Mrs. Bradley yelled, just before blowing 'time
out' through her teeth and fingers.
"There will be no more political references!! Especially to
parties that don't exist in the Valley!"
"They don't!??" Mr. Douglas said. "I swear I've heard
campaign ads for them."
"You must have heard them wrong, Mr. Douglas," Bobbie Jo
told him. "There is only one political party in the Valley."
"There is? What party is that?!"
"The Republican-Democrats!" Joe Carson told him.
"The Republican-Democrats!?! That party went out of
business well over a hundred years ago!"
"That's right: The Valley was settled by a few die-hards
looking for a place they could run things their way."
"I thought the Valley was settled by 'The Flat-Earth
Baptists'?!"
"What could flatten things better 'n a one party system?"
Mr. Haney asked, rhetorically.
"The founders were both!" Joe Carson told the foreigner.
"Politics And Religion: The two go together like mulligan stew
and devil-food's cake."
"In the same pot?! Yuck!"
"Actually, the Valley is organized under the principles
espoused by Thomas Jefferson," Bobbie Jo school-reported; then
added, "In principle, anyway." She wore a gingham dress with a
green scarf around her neck.
"...And Jefferson founded the Democratic Party," Oliver
Douglas nodded, seeing the connection.
"Hush, Mr. Douglas! The Bicentennial is coming up in a few
years: None of that counter-propaganda. We must help to make
ensure that Jefferson's Republican-Democratic Party is only
called "Republican". We can't have people going and thinking
there is any grander, or older party than ours!"
"The Federalists and the Whigs are the ancestors of the
Republican Party! Do you think the Democrats would be so
incompetent that they'd just let... Okay, you may have a point
there, Mr. Haney," Mr. Douglas conceded.
"That does it!!" Mrs. Bradley yelled. "I said no more
political references, and I mean it!! I remember the last time we
had a political gathering at the hotel: Not again!"
"The 'Every Other Wednesday Afternoon Discussion Club' was
asked to make an endorsement in the first contested election in
twenty years," Billie Jo told Mr. Douglas.
"That was the end of our 'Era of Good Feelings'," Bobbie Jo
said.
"Those biddies nearly broke every piece of crockery in the
hotel," Joe Carson told him as if it were a piece of juicy "news"
that men tell each other.
"It's a good thing I'm the star player for the Hooterville
Hawks," Betty Jo told him.
"I used to collect butterflies," Bobbie Jo told him.
Mr. Douglas looked to eldest sister, sitting on the piano
bench. "How was I to know that I could yell such a perfect note?"
"Billie Jo broke more china with that one screech than all
the hens did in ten minutes," Uncle Joe almost smiled.
"Now..." Kate Bradley said, looking around, daring anybody
to bring up any more on the taboo subheading. "Mr. Douglas; what
was this about 'poison'? I assure you that only the most
wholesome of ingredients go into my Aunt Lulu Belle's sugar and
spices recipe."
"Then how do you explain what happened to me this
morning?!" Mr. Douglas demanded as politely as he could at the
moment.
"I don't know what happened to you this morning? Is it
anything more peculiar than what usually happens to you?"
"I gave milk!"
"Milk!?!" the girls cried.
"Mmmmilk?" Kate Bradley managed to get out.
"A man can't give milk," Joe Carson told the foreigner.
Then he asked his niece, "Can they?" suddenly uncertain of
himself.
"Don't tell me I can't give milk! I couldn't do a lot of
things before I came to this cockeyed county!"
"Well, that explains it," Kate Bradley said.
"Explains what?!!"
"It is the secret ingredient that transforms 'Aunt Lulu
Belle's' seasoning mix to 'Mother Haney's' Make-your-farm-a-
success!" Mr. Haney smiled.
"What farmer in their right mind is going to want to give
milk!!" Mr. Douglas yelled.
"Well, if you're talking about farmers being in their right
mind..." Joe Carson said.
"That is where Free enterprise comes in!" Mr. Haney said,
still smiling broadly. "A farmer doesn't have to do it, if he
doesn't want to. (Except, of course, if the market place forces
him to.) All he has to do is find someone fool enough to do it
for him!"
"Right!" Joe Carson smiled, rising his index, as he got it:
"Women!"
"What?!!" all of the women cried.
"Now, Mrs. Bradley, ladies," Mr. Haney raised his hat, "The
unfortunately timed reference was to the inarguable fact that
Mother Nature (you will note that she is a she) has pre-equipped
the feminine of the species for this very function. In fact, they
are equipped well-before and after they actually may need to use
said items of inventory."
+++
Slam!
"Why did they shove me out?!! I was the victim!!" Mr.
Douglas yelled at Mr. Haney on the front porch of the hotel.
"Oh, you know the ladies," Mr. Haney told him, walking off
the porch. "It always takes them a while to warm up to an idea.
But when it is inevitable, their female instincts come into play;
bless their clockwork souls."
As he stepped to the ground, he turned, "We'll just come
back later when they've had time to get use to the idea."
"What do you mean 'we'?!! I'm not having anything to do
with your affront to Mother Nature!!" He went to the edge of the
porch.
"Mr. Douglas, unless it has missed your notice, farming is
based on affronting the aforesaid woman." Mr. Haney looked up at
him.
"It is not!" Mr. Douglas looked down at him.
"Well, obviously, it has missed your notice."
A train whistle blew.
"We'd better hurry, if we're to catch the Cannon Ball!" Mr.
Haney said, hurrying for where the steps down to the tracks were.
+++
The Cannon Ball was a black-painted wood burning locomotive
that looked like it could be in the western "The Wild, Wild
West", with a large double flange (one up, the other down) at the
top of its smokestack. It pulled a wood tender, a passenger car,
a mail car, and a caboose.
"Look! There he is now, Floyd; let's ask him," said
overweight Charley Pratt, dressed in his black conductor's
uniform (with the stiff round hat with short bill on his bald
gray head) rather than the blue striped coveralls he wore when he
was the fireman.
"I don't have to ask him, Charley! And if you had any
sense, you wouldn't ask, either," said the roundest man in the
Valley dressed, as always, in the blue striped coveralls, with
the traditional railroad operator's hat covering his gray hair.
"Ask me what?" Mr. Douglas, though still upset and
frowning, tried to be polite to the two men that almost single-
handedly kept the economy of the Valley on track.
"Never mind, Charley, Mr. Douglas; he saw a runaway
tractor, and wondered if it where yours."
"Yes," Oliver Douglas regretfully admitted. "It was mine!"
"See, Floyd!"
"Charley, any simpleton should've known it was Mr.
Douglas's tractor," Floyd Smoot talked to Charley as if he were
talking to a simpleton. "Who else would have his tractor plowing
up half the Valley, rather than his own farm."
"It wasn't my idea!" Oliver Douglas protested.
"What a waste of an opportunity," Mr. Haney shook his head
at the thought. "Most farmers would rent their tractors out when
they're not using them."
"I wasn't finished using it!!"
"So it was your idea," Floyd practically accused.
"Why would he want to do a fool thing like that?" Charley
asked.
"It was the Tractor's fool idea!!" Oliver Douglas insisted.
"Is that what you're going to plead in court?" Charley
asked, interested. "Insanity?"
"Court??" the lawyer looked at them.
Floyd told him, "Your tractor did cut..." ("And he does
mean "cut"," Mr. Haney added.) "...across quite a few
properties."
"They're my neighbors! I mean them no harm. Why would they
want to sue me?!" Mr. Douglas defended himself.
"You, being a lawyer, should know that answer," Charley
said.
"A Rich lawyer," Mr. Haney added. "Sowing cases can bring
in a better yield than any crop you can get by farming."
"How much damage could one tractor cause?!" Mr. Douglas
sought to minimize the claims.
"Do you remember that the "Monroe Brothers" used to build
the chicken coops in these parts before they started working on
your house?" Mr. Haney said.
"Not to mention the things they didn't have a license to
do," Charley added like he was one of those customers.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Douglas," Floyd told him. "It's not the
actual dollar costs, it's the principal of the thing: The
railroad company does not like other vehicles using their right
of way."
"What??" Mr. Douglas said, wondering which of the archaic
railroad laws, rules and regulations (and the Valley had them
all) he was referring to.
"Your feet," Floyd said, looking at Mr. Douglas's.
"Yeah: You're feet," Charley did the same.
"Feet are not, legally, vehicles, so any claim that..."
Oliver Douglas lowered his eyes down.
He was standing in loose soil along the side of the track.
Up and down along them, as far as he could see, there were well-
made furrows of a disk plow.
"You will note, Mr. Douglas," Mr. Haney said, "that there
is nothing wrong with the plow I sold you: Those are nice and
straight, deep furrows."
+++
"Lisa!!" Oliver Douglas called out even before he entered
the dilapidated house he insisted on calling home. "Lisa!! Where
are you?!!"
He entered limping. He had walked all the way to the farm
from where the railroad intersected the two-lane blacktop, and
then up the dirt road to his farm. "Lisa, you'd better have put
back my own clothes!" Now, he got to the chair nearest the door
as soon as he could.
He got his foot up, and started pulling at the shoe:
"Whoever advised that you 'walk in another man's shoes'... I'd
like to make them walk in these shoes!"
"That's vwhats you gets for vwearing vwomen's shoes!" Lisa
said, entering from the kitchen after coming in the back door.
She was wearing a tailored charcoal gray business suit with a
white-and-blue striped tie. "You knows men are always complaining
how uncomfortable they is!"
"These are not women's shoes! They're men's!"
"Oh, Oliver! You disappoints me: I married you because
you're beautiful. --And you insists on uglying yourself up with
vwomen's shoes, and saying they're not!"
"Men are not beautiful!!" he said, finally pulling the
offending oxfords off.
"You do vwants to be ugly!!" Lisa cried as if wondering
where they had gone wrong.
"There's one thing you're right about: Women's shoes would
be more uncomfortable." Oliver said, tossing the shoe on the
floor away from him.
"So you admits it: You has vworn vwomen's shoes before!"
"I have not!!"
"Oh, Oliver! I thoughts I knews you! How long have you
secretsly vwanted to vwear vwomen's clothes?!"
"I Never wanted to wear women's clothes, "secretsly" or
not!" Oliver said, putting his foot down inside the other bad
shoe.
"Then vway are you vwearing them now?!"
Hurting, Oliver tore at the shoe, "Don't give me any of
that!" He finally got it off: "I got these from Mrs. Bradley at
the Shady Rest!"
"Oh, yes," Lisa Douglas nodded, getting the idea: "The
transwvestite vwoman."
"What??!" the shoe was still in his hand.
"You thinks only mens can dress in vwrong clothes?!" Lisa
was on the attack again.
"There's nothing wrong with Mrs. Bradley's clothes!" Oliver
Douglas said, dropping the shoe.
"If there's nothing vwrong with thems, vwhy won't you vwear
yours?!"
"What!?!"
"You don't mind seeing vwomen dress likes men; its only
mens dressing likes mens you has a problem vwith!"
"I have no problem with men dressing like men," he told her
squinting at her as if he could give her the evil eye. "It's men
dressing in dresses I have a problem with!"
"My husband vwants to vwear pants suits!" Lisa said,
scandalized.
"There's nothing wrong with pants suits!" Oliver said,
getting up.
"So, if I boughts you a pants suit, you'd vwear it?"
"No!!" the man looked down at the smaller woman.
"Then there is somethings vwrong!"
"The only thing wrong is this whole topsy-turvy
conversation! A wife should not want to see her man in skirts!"
"And vwhy not?! You has great legs: A mans can has better
legs than a vwoman's, you know!"
"I saw that "Carol Burnett Show", too! I did not vote for
Harvey Korman! I still find it hard to believe the audience
thought he had better legs than a line of chorus girls!"
"I wvoted with them! But only because I couldn'ts wvotes on
your legs! Ask anybody, they'll tell you vwhat a greats pair of
gams you has."
"Men do not have "gams"!"
"Come on, Oliver," Lisa smiled at him, giving him her sexy
voice, "Show me a little cheesecake."
"I will not!" Oliver said with assaulted dignity.
"Beautiful, and modest. Most mens vwith your looks vwould
be wvain, you knows."
"Like you?"
"Now you thinks I looks likes a man!?!"
Oliver Douglas looked at the his wife in her men's style
(His men's style!) business suit. "Right now, dressed like that--
" He stopped, and took a closer look at what she was wearing.
He rose up, and accused, "You're wearing a Yale school
tie!!"
Lisa stood up straight and as tall as she could;
Indignantly, she said, "Unlike you, I did not go to Harvard!"
+++
As Lisa stormed away, and Oliver was limping after, there
came a knock at the front door.
Exasperated at the timing, he turned around, "I'll get it!"
"No, you vwon'ts!!" Lisa said, hurrying back. "Not dressed
that vway!! vWhat vwill people thinks!?!"
"They'll think I like to be covered!"
"And vwhats attractive vwomans vwants to do that!?! You
does vwants to be ugly!" Lisa got in front of him, facing him
down, while reaching around herself for the doorknob.
"Is your accent getting heavier? I can barely understand
you?"
"That's how upsets you has me!" And she tried to hide him
with her (smaller) body as she opened the door a crack.
"Mrs. Douglas?" a familiar voice greeted her.
"Yes, Mr. Kimball?" she answered.
"That nut!" Mr. Douglas said to himself, not caring, now,
who answered the door.
"Yes: Nut!" the county extension agricultural agent said.
"That's why I'm here. I'm here about a nut... Or, rather, nuts!"
"And 'nuts' to you to, Mr. Kimball."
"Why, thank you, Mr. Douglas. Only they're not my nuts.
They're Mr. Ziffel's nuts. Actually, I don't think he owns them.
He more likes rents them."
"Can you rents nuts?" Lisa Douglas asked.
("Nobody needs to rent nuts, around here. There are more
than enough to go around," Mr. Douglas said.)
"Sure you can," Mr. Kimball answered Mrs. Douglas. "Farmers
are always renting. Haven't you heard of tenant farmers?"
"Oh, brother!" Mr. Douglas raised his eyes, wishing the pun
had been deliberate.
"And vwho owns Mr. Ziffel's nuts?"
"Lisa: Will you let Mr. Kimball tell us why he's here, so
we can get rid of him!"
"Want to get back to the fight, hunh? At our house, it's
Saturday. Yes, sir... or ma'am, the "Saturday Night Fights"! Do
you know how hard it is to get mother out of the house?"
"Mr. Kimball! We're not interested in you or your mother!"
"Oliver! You're not dressed to answer the door: So stop
answering!" Lisa told her husband.
"Mr. Kimball!!" Oliver Douglas said loudly, using his
strength to force the door open, despite Lisa's attempt at
closing it, now. "You were talking about nuts!!"
"Wow! Speaking of 'nuts', what are you dressed up for? Or
is it Halloween, and somebody forgot to tell me again?" Mr. Hank
Kimball was dressed in his typical white hat, tan suede coat,
gray uniform shirt. And gray uniform skirt.
With nylons.
"Mr. Kimball! Why are you dressed like that!?!"
"At least I'm wearing a dress... well, actually it's a
skirt... a dress is a skirt with sleeves. Unless it's low cut, of
course." He leaned closer. "You should see the gown I own. That's
low cut." But then he straightened up, "But it's got spaghetti
straps! Not that they're made out of spaghetti, mind you. Unless
you cook them, they break. You wouldn't want your straps to
break, now do you? Not in a low cut--"
"Mr. Kimball!!" Oliver Douglas's breaking point had been
reached.
The man was startled for a moment. Then almost smiled, "Oh,
sorry. Of course you know about straps breaking: You're from
sophisticated Manhattan! You must have a lot of gowns." Then his
"stream of thought" meandered in another direction, "What's it
like to actually get to wear a gown out in public?"
"Why ask me!?!!"
"He looks vwonderful in a gown, Mr. Kimball," Lisa told
him. "He looks good in a skirts: I vwish he vwould believes me,
and gets off this obsession to vwear vwomen's ugly things! It's
threatening our marriage!"
"I'll threaten More than just our marriage if you don't get
off this idea that men should wear dresses!"
"She didn't say dresses, Mr. Douglas. She said "skirt".
There's a difference. ...Well, not really. A dress has a skirt,
but a skirt does not have a dress. I guess that's why you can
only dress in a skirt... Well, not "only". You can dress in
pants. But I'm old fashioned. I believe a man should wear a
dress. Or, at least a skirt."
"Me, too's! Oliver looks good in a skirts."
"I know if I had his legs, I would wear skirts all the
time."
"Oh, you don'ts, Mr. Kimball?"
"No, I don'ts. Do you know that county agents are one of
the few uniformed jobs where both men and women wear pants? Even
here in the late 1960's, men are almost always given something to
wear that lets women know who they're ogling at at a distance."
"Then you're out of uniform!!" Mr. Douglas yelled at the
idiot.
"Yeah," Mr. Kimball smiled. "My boss likes to ogle the
men."
Oliver Wendell Douglas turned and started for the back
door.
"Where are you going, Mr. Douglas?! Is it something I
said... What did I say?"
"vWhere are you goings, Oliver!?! We haven'ts finished
discussing your problem!"
"Right now I have only one problem: Eleanor needs milking!"
Mr. Kimball looked at his wristwatch with the thin leather
strap. "I think you're watch is fast: It's early for milking."
"Believe me: I'm not early!"
To be continued.
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