XPost: rec.arts.tv.mst3k.misc, alt.tv.mst3k   
   From: nebusj-@-rpi-.edu   
      
   >   
   >   
   >       XIII   
      
    CROW: You feeling the X-I-tement yet?   
      
   >   
   >       SILLY MRS. HEN   
      
     TOM: It's not 'nine, ten, silly Mrs Hen'?   
      
   >   
   >       Strange to say,   
      
    JOEL: I don't know, is it *that* strange?   
      
   >                       Grumpy Weasel was trying to be   
   > pleasant.   
      
    JOEL: OK, you got me.   
      
   >           Of course he didn't really know how,   
      
    CROW: Sounds like Grumpy needs to watch a Centron short.   
      
   >                                                for he always   
   > practiced being surly and rude.   
      
     TOM: And he's almost got it right!   
      
   >                                 It must be confessed, too,   
   > that he had succeeded in making himself heartily disliked by   
   > everybody that knew him.   
      
    CROW: Really?  How so?   
      
   >   
   >       There were a few, however, who had yet to learn of   
   > Grumpy Weasel's bad traits.   
      
     TOM: Because they never happened to be near a wall or a pond or a bush or   
   anything.   
      
   >                             Among these was a foolish, fat   
   > hen who lived in Farmer Green's henhouse.   
      
    CROW: [ As Foghorn Leghorn ] '*HEN*house, I say!'   
      
   >                                           And now Grumpy   
   > Weasel was doing his best to make a good impression on her.   
      
     TOM: By throwing rocks at her.   
      
   >   
   >       It is no wonder, perhaps, that this lady was unaware   
   > of her caller's real nature.   
      
    JOEL: The call is coming from inside the weasel!   
      
   >                              For Grumpy was careful,   
      
    CROW: He always kept three points of contact with the ladder.   
      
   >                                                      as a   
   > rule, to visit the farmyard only after dark.   
      
     TOM: [ Sultry sax music ]  Bwaa-bwaaa-bwa-bwa-BWAAAAAA-BWAAAAAAAH   
      
   >                                              And being a   
   > person of quiet habits Mrs. Hen was always abed and asleep at   
   > that time.   
      
    JOEL: [ As Mrs Hen ] 'I have my half-cup of lukewarm herbal tea (half a sugar   
   cube) and think about an unsalted Saltine and set my hand on a book of good   
   nutritional advice and that's enough fun for me.'   
      
   >   
   >       Grumpy found it a bit difficult to chat with Mrs. Hen   
      
    CROW: But they have so much in common!   
      
   > because old dog Spot was sprawled on the farmhouse steps;   
      
    JOEL: We don't truck with that New Dog Spot.   
      
   >                                                           and   
   > naturally Grumpy felt like keeping one eye on him.   
      
     TOM: One eye on the dog, one eye on his wall, you're spreading yourself kind   
   of thin, Grumpy.   
      
   >                                                    But the   
   > other he turned, as well as he could, on Mrs. Hen, who was in   
   > the henyard looking for worms.   
      
    CROW: And not centipedes, or as she call them, 'spicy worms'.   
      
   >                                Just outside the wire fence   
      
     TOM: Some look at the yard and ask, 'wire fence?'  I look at the yard and   
   ask, 'why aren't fence?'   
      
   > Grumpy Weasel crouched and told Mrs. Hen how well she was   
   > looking.   
      
    JOEL: Oh, she is, she's an expert at looking by now.   
      
   >   
   >       His pretty speeches pleased Mrs. Hen so much that she   
   > actually let a fat angleworm get away from her   
      
     TOM: [ Gasping ] Grumpy's on the payroll of Big Angleworm!   
      
   >                                                because she   
   > hadn't her mind on what she was doing.   
      
    CROW: Oh no, they're going to bring this up at the next henhouse scrum.   
      
   >                                        She noticed meanwhile   
   > that one of her neighbors was making frantic motions,   
      
     TOM: [ As Mrs Hen ] 'Gracious, might you be one of those hot-cha-cha dancers   
   I hear so much about?'   
      
   >                                                       as if   
   > she had something important to say.   
      
   JOEL: o/` But Mrs Hen will never speak, unless she has something to say ... o/`   
      
   >                                     So Mrs. Hen sauntered   
   > across the henyard to find out what it was.   
   >   
   >       "Don't you know whom you're talking to?" the neighbor   
   > demanded in a loud whisper. "That's Grumpy Weasel   
      
    CROW: [ As Mrs Hen ] 'Oh ... well, what's his middle name?'   
    JOEL: [ As Neighbor ] 'Cruel Bastard'   
    CROW: [ As Mrs Hen ] 'I can change him.'   
      
   >                                                  ---the worst   
   > rascal in all these parts."   
      
     TOM: Sure but isn't the *worst* rascal actually the *most* upstanding person?   
      
   >   
   >       Somehow that sent a pleasant flutter of excitement   
   > through Mrs. Hen.   
      
    JOEL: [ As Mrs Hen ] 'Am I what they call a woman of scandal now?  Oh   
   jeepers!'   
      
   >                   At the same time she couldn't quite believe   
   > the news, because her caller had said such very pleasant   
   > things.   
      
     TOM: He's just copying the stuff from Tom and Jerry cartoons where they're   
   trying to romance that little pink cat.   
      
   >   
   >       "Don't worry!" she told her neighbor. "I'm old enough   
   > to look out for myself."   
      
    CROW: I thought you were looking out for angleworms?   
     JOEL: Mrs Hen knows the angles.   
      
   >   
   >       "I should say so!" her neighbor cried.   
      
     TOM: Please do, then.   
     JOEL: [ As Mrs Hen ] 'So.'   
      TOM: Thank you.   
      
      
   >                                              "You're three   
   > years old if you're a day!"   
   >   
   >       "I'm not!" Mrs. Hen retorted.   
      
    CROW: [ As Mrs Hen ] 'I'm not a day!  I'm a hen!  Didn't you know?'   
      
   >                                      "I'm only two and a   
   > half."   
      
     TOM: Red Skelton's Mean Widdle Kid suddenly feels old.   
      
   >        Her feathers were all ruffled up   
      
    CROW: Oh, she's going for a biker chick look.   
      
   >                                         and she went straight   
   > back and told Grumpy Weasel what her neighbor had said about   
   > him.   
      
    JOEL: Does her neighbor have a name, a species, an anything?   
    CROW: Jimmy's Brother!   
      
   > >       "You don't believe that, I hope," Grumpy ventured.   
      
     TOM: Grumpy asks, 'Me, a rascal', while fwipping a lock of hair over his   
   eyes.   
      
   >   
   >       Mrs. Hen clucked and tried to look wise.   
      
    CROW: You shouldn't say 'lookwise', you should say 'regarding looks'.   
      
   >                                                And at last   
   > she confided to Grumpy that her neighbor was a jealous   
   > creature   
      
    JOEL: Driven to bitterness by an encounter with Grumpy's father, Cranky   
   Weasel.   
      
   >          and sure to speak ill of a stranger who came to call   
   > on anybody but herself.   
      
     TOM: What kind of freak wants people to call them?   
    JOEL: It was the 1910s, calls were different.   
      
   >   
   >       Well, Grumpy Weasel told Mrs. Hen that he knew, when   
   > he first set eyes on her, that she was a sensible little   
   > body.   
      
    CROW: Compact, fuel-efficient, reasonable monthly payments, I'll take it.   
      
   >   
   >       "You've a snug home here," he went on.   
      
     TOM: [ As Mrs Hen ] Why yes!  No nails at all, all the boards are cut to fit   
   together!   
    JOEL: [ As Grumpy ] Let me start over.   
      
   >                                              "I can tell   
   > you that I'd like such a place to crawl into on a chilly, wet   
   > night."   
      
    CROW: Uh ...   
    JOEL: Arthur Scott Bailey *after dark*!   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)