Green Acres 12 Chapter and Verse an Ode to Alf
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Green Acres 11: Alf, The Glamorous Lady's Man free porn video
[Sid Melton, 'Alf Monroe', also had a regular role as
'Charley Halper' on "Make Room for Daddy" and "Make Room
for Granddaddy". He also had the recurring role in "The
Golden Girls" as 'Salvadore Petrillo', Sophia's departed
husband, and Dorothy's pop. (He was also 'Ikky' Mud on
"Captain Midnight".) He has made numerous guest appearances
in classic movies and TV sitcoms (and playing a petty thug
a lot of the time).]
Green Acres 11: Alf, the Glamorous Lady's Man
By Ron Dow75
The Announcer: "When we had last left Jack Benny and his
friends, Jack had become Mary Livingston; Mary had become
Rochester; Rochester had become Don Wilson (Hey! Don't I
have a nice voice, now?); Don had become Dennis Day; and
Dennis had become Jack."
Jack: "Gee, Mary, this is great! Now I can go to the
ballgame on Ladies Day free! Let's go!"
Mary: "Um, Jack. I'm a black man, now. I think we may have
a little problem if we go to the ballgame together. And I
think that there is another little thing you forgot."
Jack: "What's that, Mary?"
Mary: "The way things are now, as 'Rochester' I work for
Dennis, who is now you. And in case you didn't realize it,
he has all of your money."
Jack: "My money!!!!"
Mary: "Even worse, since he is not his mother's son
anymore, he's talking about marrying her to keep her in the
family."
Jack: "My money!!!!!"
Mary: Jack, if you're worried about your money, there is
one way to get it back."
Jack: "MY MON-...Mary, that's great! How would I do that?"
Mary: "Marry him yourself."
The Announcer: "Today's episode has been brought to you by
Anne-Mal."
Mr. Douglas yelled, "Turn that ridiculous program off!!"
He had just come in the back door, and the one in dress
that he assumed was Alf had his back to him listening to a
transistor radio while watching the front-loaded clothes
washer spinning noisily.
The short man was in the full rig of what his wife called
"a French butler's uniform": the little black dress, as
well as black spike heels, and silk hose, white garter
belt, petticoats, apron, and the edges of his scoop
neckline, puffy sleeves, choker and cap all trimmed with
lace. And it must include a girdle with pads, because the
stocky man had a figure.
There was also a cord coming out from his petticoats like
some plug-in doll. A transvestite doll!
Of course, Oliver Douglas was in nothing that allowed him
cast aspersions. At the moment he, he was dressed in a
full-length (his-length) pink nightgown and a blue
terrycloth bathrobe he'd gone up into Eb's hayloft
apartment to appropriate (and it wouldn't close in the
front. His tall handyman was too lanky for his fit but 60-
year-old body.)
Oliver Wendell Douglas raised his voice more, "ALF!!"
Alf was startled. "Oh, Mr. Douglas!" And he fumbled to turn
off the radio. "You're home early!"
Mr. Douglas informed him, "I work on the farm! I don't
commute!"
Alf joked, "You would if you had a larger farm (heh, hnh!)"
The washer's buzzer buzzed.
Oliver Douglas told the man opening the washer door, "You
couldn't pay me enough to commute!" He had to look away
from the frilly panties. "Why do you think I used to live
on Park Avenue?!"
Alf answered as he took out the laundry (starting with pair
of tennis shoes), "Herh! I thought it was the other way
around. If you moved out of Manhattan, Mrs. Douglas would
make you move to an estate. You'd pay the same rent, and
have the expense of commuting, too. By limo, probably."
Despite the threat of seeing the panties, Mr. Douglas
looked at the man, "No, Mrs. Douglas could not make me! She
spends too much on clothes and other nonsense for me to
allow that." Including tennis lessons.
Alf was already folding clothes. "Speaking of misers. Do
you think what happened to Jack Benny could happen outside
of Hollywood?"
Confused, Mr. Douglas's asked, "What!??!"
Alf said, "You know, men and women becoming women and men?"
Oliver Douglas declared, "That's the most ridicu-" He had
to stop in mid-scorn when he saw Alf's face.
He was made-up with the concealer, foundation, blush,
powder, eye shadow, eyeliner, lip liner, lipstick, and
mascara. Even his eyebrows had been thinned, penciled and
shaped. He wasn't beautiful. He wasn't exactly pretty. But
he looked better than most of the women Oliver'd met in the
Valley.
Alf looked at him quizzically, "Is something wrong, Mr.
Douglas? You look like you've seen a... no, we got rid of
Ugly, Old Molly. Your wife beautified that ghost out of
town."
Oliver Douglas nodded, his jaw still dropped. "That was
nothing compared to what she did to you."
Alf's painted lips made a figure-8 smile, "Ha-hern!
Really!?!"
Mr. Douglas said, "Haven't you seen what they did to you,
man!?!!"
Alf admitted, "No. I was afraid they were just being nice
to me."
Mr. Douglas cried, "Nice!??! They made you look like a
woman!"
Alf said, "No fooling!?" and went to the silverware drawer,
tottering a bit on his 5" heels.
Mr. Douglas said, "If there's any fooling, it's got to be
from you! Don't tell me you actually like the idea of
looking like, like-"
Alf hurried to pick up a spoon. "Wow, I must look a sight,
if he hesitates to use that kind of language in mixed
company."
Mr. Douglas nodded, "You're a sight, all right!" Then he
looked down at his nightie. He lifted his arms and let them
fall, saying, "But, then, what isn't a sight in this insane
valley!!"
Just looking at his reflection on the front of the spoon
made him soften his expression. He smiled more daintily,
"If I didn't know I was a butler, I'd think I was something
else."
Mr. Douglas cried, "You are something else!! And you don't
look like any butler I've ever seen!"
More gracefully than he would have before, Alf replaced the
spoon, saying, "You've just never seen a French butler,
before. We're different from English ones, you know. Being
French, we dress better."
Oliver Douglas cried, gesturing towards it, "You're in a
dress!!"
Alf pulled it out by the hem, "Like I said, a traditional
uniform. Pants would be so d?class?."
Oliver Douglas was a little amazed, "'D?class?'?" that the
carpenter even knew that word. "Look, Mr. Berlitz, I'm
telling you in plain English: There is no such thing as a
French butler!"
Alf's tone had begun to become higher, "What do you know?
While you were in your corporate rat race, it was Mrs.
Douglas that was socializing with the society types. She
should know better than you what a butler should look
like."
Oliver Douglas tried a different approach, "As a corporate
'rat', as you called what I once was, I was forced to
neglect my farm on the penthouse terrace too many times to
attend functions. I saw plenty of servants-And the only
ones I saw dressed like that were French maids!!"
Even Alf's laugh was now less harsh, "(T-heh, heh!) Only
women can be maids."
Oliver Douglas nodded vigorously, "That's what I've been
telling you: You look like a woman!"
Alf corrected, "I look after a woman. I am a woman's
butler. Which reminds me, I have to get back to my work."
He turned to the washer and minced back in his spikes.
Oliver Wendell Douglas would not give up. Following in his
fuzzy pink slippers, he got around to where he could force
eye contact. "I said 'like': You look like a woman!!
Doesn't that bother you at all!?!!"
His wife scolded from the kitchen door, "Oliver!! There you
goes browbeating the help again!" The beautiful platinum
blonde (even without her makeup) was dressed in her purple
velveteen bathrobe and yellow pajamas with gold-trim and
details. Currently, she had the back of the robe pulled up
between her legs. "No wonder the agencies won't accept my
calls any more: You keep chasing them!" And she stamped a
leather slipper, "Away!"
Oliver Wendell Douglas was determined to get through this
time, "I'm not going to get sidetracked! I want a straight
answer from Alf."
The man in foundation told him, "I already gave you as
straight an answer as I'm allowed to give."
Oliver thought, "When?!"
Alf started folding the boxers and T-shirts that were too
small for Mr. Douglas, or him, to wear. "When I mentioned
'mixed company'."
Lisa told them, "Well, the company's certainly mixed, now.
Alf, why don't you mix us drinks?"
Oliver told her, "It's only noon!"
Gracefully 'skating' forward, Lisa said, "You've had
martini lunches, before."
Alf apologized, "I don't know how to make martinis, Mrs.
Douglas. How about screwdrivers? Carpenters know those."
Oliver Douglas said, "Then you wouldn't know a screwdriver
from a seven iron!"
Alf left purposefully swaying his hips in the flouncy
skirt, "I don't play golf. But I know the difference
between a screwdriver and a pressing iron." And he left
past Mrs. Douglas. "Most of us around here don't have steam
irons."
Oliver ignored as best he could the sashaying le fem, he
told his wife, "I'm not going to let you get me drunk!
Every time I dry out, I wake up to something even more
sobering."
Lisa slid closer to her dear husband, "Then if you're
sober, its gots nothing to do with your drinking."
The man in the negligee backed up from her, "You just want
to me to pass out so you can put makeup on me."
Lisa promised, "I said I wouldn'ts buy you any cosmeticals,
or makeup." That still did not satisfy the male animal
about to corner himself. "And I'm adding I won'ts puts any
on you."
Oliver bumped up against the side of the refrigerator,
where it extended beyond the washer. "You're adding that
because you've found another loophole! I'm a lawyer, I know
how loopholes and fine print work!"
Lisa stopped, and smiled as reassuringly as she could, "I
won'ts make or lets anybody else puts cosmeticals, or
makeup on you. Satisfied, or can you think of a fineprints
I haven'ts thoughts up yets?"
Oliver Wendell Douglas, the most senior junior partner in
the history of modern corporate law thought about it. He
allowed himself to relax a bit. "No."
Lisa visibly relaxed, as well. "Now, will you let a
screwdriver unwind you?" And she reached out her free hand
to him.
Oliver Douglas's old demeanor started to return, "No
screwdriver! I'm not having anything that out-of-plumb
carpenter touches."
===
As they came the short distance out of the kitchen into the
equally rustic but classily outfitted living room, Alf told
them, "If I were an English butler, I'd be very plum."
Feeling the hem as he walked, Oliver Douglas told him,
"Enough with the jokes that nobody gets."
Lisa Douglas told him, "I gets its." She still had the back
of the robe pulled up near her belly.
Oliver answered, "That's only because you listen with an
accent." On the coffee table were bottles of most of the
liquor in the house that he knew of. "What's are these
doing here?"
Alf told her, "Mrs. Douglas told me that the first thing
the help always does is find the booze." Then he said, "And
believe me, it's hard looking in 5-inch heels."
Mr. Douglas asked, "But what are they all doing out!?!"
His wife took his arm, urging him to sit on the leopard
skin sofa, "Alf found them so you could mark them. Isn'ts
that's you always did in New York??" Once seated, she
allowed the back of the robe to fall forward.
Alf offered him a selection, "Penknife, or pen? With or
without invisible ink?"
Lisa merrily re-interpretted, "Red or white!"
The only one showing their legs informed her, "The wines
are still in the root cellar. If you'd like-"
Now down, and purposefully keeping his knees apart under
the nightgown, Oliver Douglas said, "No, Sommelier, I'm not
in the mood to waste an investment. Just give me the
cheapest we've got."
Alf looked at Mrs. Douglas, sympathetically, "Oh, one of
those dates."
Oliver Douglas told him, "No comments, I said. Haven't you
heard of a silent butler!?!"
His brow folds almost invisible, Alf told him, "Of course I
have! This is Hooterville. Just about all we ever get is
silent pictures. Even the ones we get with sound we can't
hear because the projector isn't made to project it."
Oliver Douglas raised his voice, "Frankly, I don't give a
damn!!"
Lisa Douglas told her French butler, "Give Mr. Douglas the
red pen. Thats sounds close enough to his Butler."
Alf said, "Yes, Mrs. Douglas." And he handed it to the
crabby husband of his employesse.
Leaning for it so he could act threatening, Oliver Douglas
warned, "If you make any cracks about 'Scarlet'...." Then
he saw, "You let them give you a manicure, too!??"
Alf withdrew his trimmed, filed and clear-polished hand. "A
lot you know. A well-manicured hand is practically as
important a safety feature to a carpenter as steel-toed
shoes."
Mr. Douglas said, "I said I don't give-"
Lisa pulled him back, "Oliver!! Only one swear word an
episode. And we were lucky enough to gets the first one by
the Standards and Practicers."
Oliver looked at her, "What are you talking about, this
time??"
Alf told him, "I was talking about my manicure." And he
held them out and down. "You know how splintery wood can
be."
Mr. Douglas said, "Especially the kind you use." He crossed
his legs, but undid them because it made him feel more of
the silk gown.
Alf ignored that insinuation, "How would you like to rip a
hangnail while you're crosscutting? Or tear a nail on a
stair?"
Lisa saw the logic, "And hitting your thumbs with a hammer
has to leave ugly marks on them."
Alf nodded. "And it'd hurt, too! That's why we use special
nail polish to protect them. It galvanizes our nails."
Oliver rolled his eyes at that one, "Oh, brother." Then,
looking at the pretty sorry excuse of a wo/man, said, "Do
you give yourself pedicures, too!?!"
Alf was offended, "Of course not. I told you I wear steel-
toed shoes."
Despite himself, Oliver saw the logic, "Okay! I apologize:
You don't have a manicure to make yourself look (brrr!)
even more feminine."
Lisa Douglas said, "How would you like to add color to your
nails?"
Alf had to think about that, his fingertips next to his
rosy cheek.
Sitting bolt upright, Oliver Douglas interrupted the
process, "She means your fingernails! And why would you
even have to think!?!"
Alf said, "I know what Mrs. Douglas meant!" And he studied
his nails. "I was just trying to think if I should have a
color that matches my lipstick or not."
Oliver Douglas cried, "What!!?!"
Lisa Douglas told her French butler, "There are two schools
of thought on that. Ordinarily, I'm a matcher. But, then, I
hardly use my hands for anything but showing." And she
showed them to Alf, "That's why I's got long nails for
extra pointing. They have more direction."
Alf said, a little envious, "You look like you've spent
hours doing them."
Lisa said, "I did." And she put her perfect hand on
Oliver's terrycloth-coved bicep, and smiled her warmest,
"That's why I have a husband. He does the accounting, and
hair-pulling and all the other things I can't do when I'm
doing my nails."
Alf nodded, "I don't have a husband."
Oliver glowered at his wife, "I'm glad I'm good for
something around here."
Squeezing Oliver's arm, Lisa told Alf, "You also don't have
very good hands. Until you've got them in conditioner, you
need to de-emphasis them."
Alf was a little sad at the thought. "No color?"
Lisa said, "Of course you can colorize them! But nots the
same shade as your lips." And she studied those lips.
"...And nots the same shade as your eyes." She sighed. "I'm
sorry, Alf, but you have thin lips, too."
She smiled, "But you do have nice eyes. Next time, I'll
show you how to emphasize them. ...Maybe a violet..."
Alf laughed, "(T-heh, hee!) Violet, me?"
Lisa assured him, "It has to be something bold."
Mr. Douglas could agree to that, "Only somebody bold-Or
stupid-would wear an outfit like that."
Lisa Douglas reminded him, "French butlers get more money
than ordinary butlers!"
Oliver took a hard look at Alf, again, in his little black
dress, hose, and shoes, little white and lacey trimmings,
reached for the closest bottle, "But their employers get
something worth looking at for the money!"
Lisa told the man in makeup, "Don'ts listen to the
skinflints, Alf. I think you look very handsome."
Alf did a little curtsy, "Thank you, Ma'am."
Oliver Douglas unscrewed the bottle of rotgut. "
"Handsome"!? You've got to be kidding!! Only men look
handsome." And he brought it up to drink, "He looks like a
woman, and women look-"
He started screwing the top back on. "I don't want to wake
up thinking Alf is pretty!"
Alf asked, "I thought it was the other way around?"
Lisa Douglas informed him, "Nots with Mr. Douglas. It was
only after I had bailed him out the drunk tank that he
proposed to me."
The End of this chapter
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