Green Acres 1 The Gypsy Indian Curse of Green Acres
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Green Acres 7: I-DNA And I free porn video
Green Acres 7: I-DNA and I
By Ron Dow75
"Oh, for the love of..." Oliver Wendell Douglas nearly cursed as
he woke up. It was the middle of the night. But that not what had
him upset. He threw the covers off of his king-sized bed (and
sent confetti flying). "What the-- Not again!"
His fit but gray 60-year-old body was back wearing a long silk
nightgown (green, this time). With its puffy sleeves, the only
part of him left uncovered were his shoulders, and gray chest
hairs (and his back above his waist, this time).
Grumbling even more, he got up. The balloons did not make him
happy. He made his way around the king size bed. He had to lift
up the negligee, and look as his now cold feet stepped over and
between party hats, noisemakers, poppers, streamers, dildos,
brandy snifters, empty liqueur bottles, and a Vaseline jar.
"Brr!" he said, turning around as he got past the end of the bed,
and picked up the robe lying across the lower bed top.
He had made it past the party gauntlet, and was going up the
couple of steps of the split-level bedroom, putting the robe on,
when he realized, "I'm sure a peignoir's going to keep me warm."
+++
Wearing the lighter green peignoir, a tired and grumpy Oliver
Douglas made his way to the kitchen. "Whoever heard of milking at
2 AM? Isn't it enough that I milk Eleanor first thing in the
morning? Now it's there's a "too" added?" He opened the door.
And did not step out into the chilly late April night.
He quickly closed it against the cold air. "It's not Eleanor that
needs milking!" he cried, crossing his lower arms under his
swollen pecs, and rubbing the upper arms beneath the peignoir.
"At least, I don't think she does."
Still hunched over from the chill (and feeling the weights down
in his chest), he let go of his body with one hand to open the
door a crack. "I don't hear her... Well, she's a cow. She's
learned how to wait!" he told himself, closing the door against
the weather again.
"But I haven't!" he said, wanting to cry, but biting his lower
lip instead.
Gathering as much of the decorum that had helped make him the
senior junior partner in one of the most prestigious law firms in
America, he looked around the kitchen. "How do women handle this
problem..."
"...Besides the obvious. We don't have the obvious!"
Oliver Douglas went to the refrigerator. "I knew some women who
did have the obvious. One was even a secretary of mine. They
would store the stuff in bottles," he said, opening the major
appliance.
He slammed it shut: "Why would I want to keep it! I must be
tired! I'm not thinking right."
He started opening cupboards doors now. "I wonder if Lisa ever
bought a milking machine for women. She buys just about
everything else they have for women!"
It didn't take long for Oliver Douglas to find that just about
the only thing in the cabinets were the mixings for Lisa's
infamous hotcakes. "I'm looking for relief for the pains in my
chest, and I find something for pains in my stomach!"
He stood at the "L" where the counter went on to meet the sink
with the indoor pump, "If I can't turn to any past experiences
I've encountered, where else can I go for an idea?"
He thought about it. "Of all the outrageous things they show on
TV, you'd think they'd show something about something as
unnaturally natural as this! It's the 1960's, for crying out
loud!"
He looked at the sink, "I guess I have no alternative." As he
moved to it, he said, "I just hope I can think of alternative
before the next time this thing that can't be happening happens!"
He bent over the sink, and pulled down the nightgown's cups over
his chest, taking his bloated nipples between his--
"Wait a minute!" he said, looking at what he was about to do.
"Every time I do this, I get wet. The first nightgown Lisa had me
in was purple, the next one was yellow. This one is green."
Oliver Douglas nodded to himself. "Right! I'd better take this
off. Having to wear a pink nightgown would be just too much!"
He untied the peignoir, and pulled the silk nightgown off. As he
was in the habit of doing with everything he wore, he carefully
lay them down, this time over the closest chair at the kitchen
table. He was returning to the sink, when he looked down.
"Crotchless panties!!"
+++
Back in the peignoir and nightgown set, he left the kitchen
feeling better. Physically, at least. Too much better. "How can
you be awake after the evening you had," he grumbled, refusing to
acknowledge feelings he shouldn't know about. "Try and remember
you're a man!"
Now feeling betrayed by all, he muttered bitterly to himself:
"Shock... denial... anger..." reliving each emotion. He headed
back for the bedroom, when he turned around. "Does one unmanly
thing always have to follow the other!!"
+++
"Oh, no!!" Lisa Douglas woke up and sat up suddenly in the bed in
her yellow pajamas with gold trim and details. "My maternal's
instincts, it's warning me!"
+++
"Oliver! Don'ts flush, Oliver!! Don'ts flush!"
"What?!" Oliver answered, about ready to do just that. "Is there
something wrong with the plumbing in this ramshackle, too?!!"
"Don'ts post-natal depression that toilet's handle!" Lisa cried,
rushing into the bathroom in her royal purple velveteen bathrobe.
"Lisa! What are you talking about through that Hungarian accent,
now?!" He asked, watching her push past him.
"Don'ts get rid of your baby, just because you can'ts bond with
its, yets!" she said, reaching her hand into the toilet bowl.
"It's an egg!!" he yelled.
"Your egg!!" she yelled back, swishing it around in the water.
"And maybe mine!"
"Yours!??!"
"Yes!" she told him, bringing the chicken egg-sized brown ovoid
out of the toilet. "Why do you thinks I gots you shnockered last
nights on booze!"
"You wanted to get me drunk, so you could..." Oliver Douglas
said, trying to understand what his incomprehensible wife was
saying.
"So I could fertilize you!" she said as if she were stating the
obvious, and as she pushed past him, for the sink, this time.
"Fertilize me!!?" he cried, checking into the toilet. "You better
not mean--"
"No!!" she eased his fear.
"I hope not!! When you say 'fertilize' to a farmer..."
"Don'ts be silly," she told him, washing the egg and her hands in
the now warm sink water. "Don'ts you remember what we did last
evening?"
"Barely," Oliver said, nearly satisfied that she hadn't done what
he thought she could have done. "When it comes to you and
alcohol, I'm lucky if I can remember the good parts."
"Really?" she said, smiling for him, as she carefully wiped the
egg with the hand towel. "I remember the bad parts the best."
"We won't go into our semantic differences, now. Tell me what was
on that fertile little imagination of yours, this time!"
"I wants a child!" Lisa Douglas told him, turning around with the
egg nestled within the hand towel.
"An egg!!?!"
"Where do you thinks children come from!" she insisted.
"From human ova!!" he insisted.
"An egg is an egg! And if a human laid its, its has to be a human
egg!" And she presented the egg she held with both hands on the
towel, "Here's! Sit on it!"
"I will not!!"
"But you laid its! What kind of mother-to-be are you!?!"
"I'm no kind of mother! Of any kind!!" and he stormed out of the
bathroom.
+++
Lisa had left the bedroom light on: "Oliver!!" Lisa cried,
following him out with the egg. "Laying the egg's is the easy
parts!"
"Then I definitely don't want any part of it!" he told her,
heading for the bedroom. "I was happy to get rid of it! Do you
know what it's like to have to carry one of those around?!"
"You don'ts carry its around: You sits on its!" she said,
following.
"There! Human's carry their unborns around!" he said, shuffling
along, and kicking the party paraphernalia aside as he headed for
his side of their bed.
"That's only if you're a human womans!"
"You're a human woman! You carry it around!!" he told her,
lifting up the covers.
"I will then!!" she said defiantly, going to her side. "One of us
has to be a responsible parents. Its might as well be me!"
"Fine!" he said, getting in the bed. "You be the father of an
egg."
"What!?!" Lisa said indignantly, stopping at the edge of the bed.
He sat there looking at her, "If you say I'm the mother, that
makes you the father."
"I'm no-body's father!" Lisa protested.
"I don't know how you can say that," Oliver rolled his eyes just
as he rolled to put his back to her as he lay down. "After all,
you're dressed more like a father than I am."
"I am nots!" Lisa stomped a foot.
"Until the day before yesterday, I had a pair of pajamas just
like that. Then for 'some' reason everything I own only fits you,
and your things are my size."
"I don'ts know whats your talking abouts," Lisa Douglas pleaded
innocently. "I have on a womans nights suits, and you have on a
mans nights gown."
Oliver had to look over his shoulder and ask, "A 'nights suits'?"
"I'm trying to be symmetrical! I have an accents; I am allowed to
bend the language!"
"You bend it, alright," he said, looking back away. "If you're
going to brood that egg, you'd better hurry up an get into bed.
Unless, of course, you'd rather go out and sit on a nest in the
chicken coop."
"If I wanted my child to be a chicken, that's where I'd take it!"
she said with dignity.
Oliver felt the covers on her side move. Then, "Oliver," she
asked ever so sweetly. "How do you sits on an egg in bed?"
"'I' don't sit on any egg in bed or anywhere else. 'You' sit in
bed to read or watch TV. You figure it out."
"Alrights, I will!"
"Good night, Lisa!" he told her, closing his eyes, finding some
satisfaction at having 'won' some small victory.
She didn't return his good night. She was probably--
BANG! BANG!
"What!!??" Oliver was forced to sit up in bed. "Lisa what are you
doing with the TV on?!!" It was that same stupid black and white
Western WPIX always showed on the "Late, Late, Late Show". Every
time the TV came on, it seemed like it was that same chase scene.
"I'm trying to remember how I sits up in bed!" she told him over
the racket, as she backed towards her side of the bed where'd
she'd placed the towel with the egg.
"You need the TV on for that!?!" Oliver said incredulously.
TV: "We lost them!" one of the men said to the other three on
horseback.
TV: "We'll find them! We'll show those homesteaders this is
cattle country!"
TV: "And it always will be!" said leader. "Their cowardly,
poltroon attempt at a peaceful compromise won't work!"
TV: "Right! Whoever heard of chicken-fried steak!"
"How did that dialog get in there?!" Oliver said.
TV: "We interrupt your nightly movie with a special
announcement," the owner of the station, and chief bureaucrat of
the valley said on camera. "Tonight's experiment in entertainment
is brought to you courtesy of 'The Pixley Diner'. Try their 'Blue
Plate Special' of bacon and eggs. It's yummy!"
"Oh, for the love of..." Oliver said, getting out of bed to turn
the TV off. "What's so 'Special' about that?!"
"Maybe it's the blue plates that's special," Lisa suggested.
TV: "Now, don't touch that dial! Tonight's dialog will be
different. Thanks to the 4-H Club, which, as everybody knows, is
short for our own local "Hip and Happening Hayseed Hucksters"
repertory company. Now, back to the movie."
"What??" Oliver Douglas paused before the TV.
TV: "Hello, Mr. And Mrs. Douglas!" the first desperado waved from
his horse top.
TV: "Eb! You're not suppose to break character!" said the leader
of the band, turning his horse around to tell him.
TV: "Oops! Sorry, Betty Jo!"
Oliver Douglas hurried to turn his TV set off. "I just have to
get some rest. I'm so tired I'm dreaming while I'm awake."
"Oliver! Turn the TV back on!" Lisa told him; she was sitting up
in bed. "You're making us miss the TV debuts of our son, Eb!"
"He's not our son!"
"Rejecting your children is nothing new to you, is it!"
"That's right," he agreed with her, heading back to bed. "I was a
lousy father, and, now, I'm going to be a lousy m--ow!" he
yelped.
"You're going to be a lousy mow, too?"
"Lisa!" he came up with what he'd stepped on. "What are your
dildos doing on the floor?!"
Lisa leaned forward to get a better look, "Thats one's nots
mine."
"Not yours??" Oliver looked at the white thing, wondering if he
should drop it.
"See? It's gots all of those little finger-thingies all overs
its? That's your's dildo."
"Mine!!?!"
"If Eglantine hatches, its will be because of Dr T. "
"Who's Dr. T!?!" he demanded, waving the long, semi-rigid thing
at her. "What has he got to do with fertilizing an egg?!!"
"Dr. T is whats I call thats partsicular dildo. You know I have
names for all of thems." And she smiled, and said, "I even have a
name for--"
"Never mind about 'Mr. Funny Bone'! Tell me: Did you get this
dildo from Mr. Haney!?! Is there some voodoo on it!?!!"
"No!" she insisted. "I gots Dr. T from where I gets most all of
those kinds of things! From Mother!"
"Then there's a Gypsy curse on it!!" he glared at it.
"Not my mother, your mother!"
"My mother!?!!" he dropped/flung it.
"Don'ts worry, you are nots related! I am the one who related you
by marriage!"
"What??" Oliver said loudly, half his mind still on the dildo on
the floor.
"I has to find some way to fertilize your egg and make it our
egg!"
"Wait a minute..." Oliver said, trying to get a handle on this
conversation again. "You're saying that you, uh, transferred..."
"That's whats "The Five Thousand Fingers of Dr. T" was for!" Lisa
smiled, seeing that her husband had gotten the idea. "So, you
see, I'm nots the father."
"Oh, for the love of..." Oliver put his hand to his tired head.
"Oh, for the love of!!" he cried, sorry he had. He wiped his hand
against his silk-covered thigh.
"Lisa, in the vain attempt to keep you from trying this stunt
again, if that egg could be fertilized, using me to do it would
be incestuous!"
"It would??"
"I am genetically related to myself!" he told her, wiping the end
of his long sleeve over the side of his head.
"Oh... You're rights, Oliver! Perhaps if I gots--"
"NO!! Absolutely not!!" he cried, coming back to towards the bed.
"That would be grounds for divorce, and no jury in the world
would convict me!"
"Okay, Oliver. I promise nots to do its again. And that's other
way I was thinking of, either. --Buts whats are we going to do
with poor Eglantine?!"
"Keep it!" he said, getting back in bed.
"Oh, Oliver! You do care!!"
"Yes! It'll keep you where I know where to find you, and,
hopefully, out of even greater mischief for 3 weeks!"
"Three weeks!?!" Lisa yelped.
"Here!" Oliver said, handing her the book he had on his
nightstand. "You can read this during that time!"
Lisa read the title as she received it, "'The Egg and I'?"
He had his back to her again, "You'll like it; it's as good as
TV. In fact, I hear it's inspired just about more TV pilots than
any thing else."
But he muttered, as he hugged his pillow, "But I doubt it would
have, if any producer could have foreseen an episode like this
one."
To be continued.
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