Fibber McGee and Molly - Fibber Paints The Christmas Tree White

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The Johnson Wax Program was Fibber McGee and Molly.

The makers of Johnson's Wax products for home and industry presents Fibber McGee and Molly,

written by Don Quinn and Till Leslie, with music by the Kingsman and Billy Mills Orchestra.

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There are certain people who simply won't admit that nature does anything right.

They are the kind who guild cap tails, paint whose little tutsi are you on the shelves of baby turtles,

and clip poodle dogs to look like anemic lion.

Here's one of those people now, as we meet River McGee and Molly.

Hey, Fred, how much you charge me to paint this Christmas tree white?

Why do you want it white McGee?

What do you mean why do I want it white?

You got a hundred trees in this lot you painted white.

Yeah, and I think they're horrible.

What?

Some people like them that way.

Never mind the artistic comment, Fred.

How much?

Ten dollars.

Ten dollars!

To spray a little white paint on this half-fine tree,

who do you think you are, Rembrandt?

Look, look at here.

Maybe you didn't understand, Fred.

I want this tree painted white, not gold-plated.

Ten bucks.

You're a pirate, and I'll bet you've made two hundred dollars already today.

You're a cheapskate, and I've made three hundred and forty.

You're a robber, and you want to sell a half-interest in this joint?

No.

You're a stoop, and I wouldn't sell my own mother a half-interest.

You're a low-down moped.

That dirty swindler,

ten bucks to spray a little tree white.

The rat, cheating people right and left,

making four hundred bucks a day.

The chisler,

I don't know whether to report him to the OPA

or making the better offer for a half-interest.

Low-down chisler.

What's the matter, McGee?

This time.

That guy, Fred Corrigan, that runs a Christmas tree a lot of 14th and oak.

That dirty pine broker.

One to charge me ten bucks to paint our Christmas tree white.

Well, I do seem a little high-dairy,

but think of the work there is to it.

Putting all those needles back on after the paint rise.

They don't take the needles off.

They just spray the tree.

Whish, wish, wish, that's all there is to it.

Well, if wishing will make it so,

why don't you do it yourself?

If it's a ten-dollar job,

I can't afford to pay myself that much.

Besides, I haven't got a paint spray, so.

Hey, haven't we got a paint spray attachment on the vacuum cleaner?

Oh my gosh, I can have that tree painted white

before you can say don't look awful.

Now, McGee,

please, I realize we need the house painted,

but not on the inside.

Let's leave the tree green.

Oh, you'll love a white one.

Snooki, it's some other thing.

Nobody uses green trees anymore.

They're outluded.

You don't say.

Well, tell me, Salvador.

What color snore are people using this year?

Shard truth?

No kidding, Mommy.

White Christmas trees are all a rage, everybody.

They must be, they throw me into one.

Now, look sweetheart, just put that tree on the tree.

Now, look sweetheart, just put the tree up and trim it.

I love a green Christmas tree.

Don't you, Alice.

Don't ask what, Mrs. McGee.

Look, Mommy, I'll put it up the Alice Furn square

and let her give an opinion.

Here's the preposition, kid.

If you were going to have a Christmas tree,

which would you rather have?

A dusty, drab, dirty old green month,

or a bright, snappy, glistening white one.

Which, Alice?

Mistletoe.

Mistletoe, what an answer.

Well, jeepers, don't you write to hang up a little bouquet

of Mistletoe, Mr. McGee?

He's too shy, Alice.

I am not shy.

What good is Mistletoe?

Catch somebody under it, and it's either somebody

who can kiss any way like your wife, or you get a slap

in the chops before he can point up to it.

Mistletoe, bah.

That's just poison ivy with berries.

Well, we'll put some up, Alice.

You'll see who manages to spend most of his time

loitering around beneath it.

But honestly, now dear, do you like a white Christmas tree?

Well, I like them all, Mrs. McGee.

I don't care if they're purple.

Gertrude always has a white one, though,

and she likes them.

Who's Gertrude?

We know her.

Oh, she's a boy who always rides past here

in the cream-colored Cadillac and hunts his horn's sister.

Oh, yeah.

I see.

Well, he himself here used to go with a man

who owned a such bear cat's knees.

Yeah, but I gave her up for an old guy

with a broken-down Maxwell's daughter.

But honestly, now, Alice, don't you really prefer

a white Christmas tree?

Well, I got awfully tired of them, Mr. McGee.

When I was a little girl, my father gave us kids

some little tiny paint brushes

and told us to paint a Christmas tree white.

Yeah, but only day.

It must have taken new children a long time to paint a tree

with little brushes.

How long did it take, Alice?

Oh, we never did get it finished.

But it kept us off the streets till we were 18 years old.

Well, I got to wrap some presents.

See you later.

Right, kid.

I'll all that lovely golden hair

can grow out of that solid bone on it.

I see droply sweet domigee.

There isn't a mean thought in Alice's hand.

No one or any other kind.

I always ain't getting my tree sprayed.

Why don't you leave the tree, dearies?

Out in front.

I can attach the vacuum cleaner cards from the porch light.

Now, let me see if I get the phone.

Come in.

Oh, hello there, Dr. Gamble.

Hello, Molly.

How are you today, pan-free punch?

Fine, jumbo, fine.

You outspreading a little Christmas cheer.

Telling your patients you're going to retire?

Oh, no.

He's not going to retire for a year yet.

Are you, Dr?

I do.

I will retire on that far-distant day

when I can write a personal check for $400

and not have the hired help at the fourth national bank

burst into hysterical laughter.

Oh, I go on your old miser.

You got that much buried under a loose brick

in the fireplace right now.

The trouble with you is you got more affection for a dollar

than my wife has for a pound of butter.

And that's the love match of the year, fat dog.

I have no right to say that, domigee.

Dr. Gamble does more private charity work

than anybody in town.

Certainly.

I'm a very noble character.

When I walk down the street, flowers spring into bloom.

Birds burst into songs and taxi cabs hunt twice

before they try to kill me.

I'm not going to run along now.

This is my busy season now.

I suppose the children keep you pretty busy

around Christmas time, Dr. Huh?

No, it's the so-called grown-ups, my dear.

Huh?

This is the silly season.

When 200-pound men start climbing 49-cent step ladders

to wire dime-store angels to the tops

of $3 Christmas trees

and wind up in a $500 plastic house.

Pennywise and compound fracture foolish.

Don't you want to stick around

and watch me trim our Christmas tree duck

I'm baiting at white.

Well, you don't have to do that skip wit, huh?

When I put my gift for you under it,

it'll turn white.

Belly males in the orchestra

and the parade of the wooden soldiers.

The

Ah, that job's on thing that goes again.

Clod's up like a sentimental woman at a sad movie.

What things to be the matter, dear?

This paint spray goes along all right for a minute

and it chokes up.

When it comes loose again,

it throws a blob of paint that is knock IQ out of the balcony.

Found it on the porch step.

And maybe that'll loosen it up.

Okay, I will.

There, now try it.

Okay.

Huh?

Look at me, Jason.

You almost hit me with that.

I'm sorry, you know, I didn't know it was worth it.

Well, here we go.

There, now just give up.

It's a bit too bad rather than done it again.

Clod done.

Well, hurry up and get the job finished, me.

It's colder than a line man's lunch out here.

Well, you've gone in the house if you want.

I can handle this all right.

No, I've got to stay out here and tell people who you are.

Huh?

You get a little more of that white paint on you

and they'll think you're a badly constructed snowman.

Okay.

Ah, that job is.

Huh?

I'll have this treat sprayed before you can say it.

What's your aim, dear?

Huh?

No, you better shut it off.

Here comes Mrs. Carsten.

Hello there, Mrs. Carsten.

Won't you come in the house and have a slug of tea?

No, thank you, my dear.

I'm just out walking my pecanese and must hurry along.

What pecanese, Carsten?

I don't see him.

Oh, it was too cold for him to come along, Mr. McGee.

But as long as one of us goes out, he's satisfied.

I'd really as sweet little dog, Nielisence,

from what I've seen of him.

Personally, I wouldn't have on them for, like, a dust mop, as a gift.

Give me a man-sized dog.

I ever tell you about the hunting dog I had once Carsten,

to the name of Duranty.

You're Ranji?

Yeah, what a nose that dog had.

Never forget one time we were walking through the woods.

Me and my dog pipe over my shoulder, gun in my mouth.

What was that again?

Gun over my shoulder and pipe my mouth.

When all of a sudden Duranty pieces, he's on point.

Knows quivering tail out like a ramrod.

One foot in the air.

I raced my gun, walked slowly forward,

and there, not ten feet away, was a guy sitting on a stump.

That was quite a dog, Mr. McGee.

Trained to flush game wardens, was he?

No, sir.

I balled the dog out, and then I was never so ashamed in my life.

It was the smartest thing he'd ever done.

Why?

Well, sir, I got talking to the guy, and you know what?

His name was Parridge.

Henry W. Parridge.

Wasn't that wonderful car seat?

No, I don't think that's so remarkable, Mr. McGee.

In the light of what a police dog of mine once did.

What was that, Melissa?

After all, it's the cold out tonight, the baloney won't spoil.

Well, this dog of ours was extremely intelligent.

One day, I had him in the post office,

and I noticed he was staring at the police posters on the wall.

Suddenly, he dushed out the door and was gone.

Probably went out to steal an apple off a fruit stand, car seat.

No.

When I got home, he was gripping our butler by the vest pocket

and was batting into the telephone, which he'd knocked off the table.

When the police arrived, it turned out that Jarvis was wanted

by the authorities in three states.

Yes, but why was your dog holding by the vest pocket, Melissa?

That was where our butler kept his fountain pen.

You see, he was wanted for poetry.

Well, so nice to see you.

Good evening.

What does she think she's kidding?

I don't believe a word of that stuff.

But she made that whole thing up.

Don't ever mind her, dearie.

Get busy with that paint before it frees your salad.

Hold your mind as best.

Well, back to work.

Oh, God, she blows.

Yeah.

Stopped up again, McGee?

Yeah, that dog gun thing.

I only got about a third of this tree spray, too.

Maybe it's...

Hey.

What?

How could car stairs dog be gripping the butler by the vest

and barking into the phone at the same time?

I didn't say he was gripping the butler with his teeth, dearie.

You know, after all, a dog is smart as that,

could hold him down with one high and four,

dial a fleece station with the other,

and use his front feet to take finger prints.

Yeah, maybe, but how's he...

Oh, why should I worry?

Ah, that's better yet.

You're getting more paint on yourself and you're on the tree McGee?

Well, when he's changing.

And he ought to make these paint rays with the weather rain on him.

All right, Georgia.

Oh, dear.

And you've taken to get this tree a dirty gray pet.

I could have white washed the Kaibab National Forest

with a flip gun.

Well, dog gun it, I don't see...

Oh, folks, what's going on?

Hello, Mr. Wheelkite.

All right, junior, pull up a friend step

and give yourself a three-point landing.

Yeah.

And then you launch a Christmas tree painted white

and it's a Wheelkite, Scott, home and get it.

Yeah, I won't be out here very long.

Juni, soon as I just announced all this...

Hey, wait a minute, Mack.

You mean to stand there like a frontman for painters' collique?

And tell me you're actually going to ruin that pretty little tree

with white paint?

Ruining that refugee from the forest primeval?

Dispoiling a magnificent evergreen?

Ah, skip the dramatic, junior.

We know you memorized the Vangelin in high school.

And you played the heavy in the Chautauqua Company

of Rebecca Sunnybrook Farm, too.

Did you miss Wheelkite?

That juvenile lead, if you please.

I also had three seasons of Shakespeare.

I like the story.

When you play Shakespeare's son,

that's when Othello needs a friend.

Everyone in Omaha, I'll have you know,

said I was another Barrymore.

I came out in my tights and said,

oh, what a rogue and peasants' slave, I'm on.

You can say that again.

Now, Hesmiggy, I love Shakespeare.

Go on, Mr. Wheelkite.

Is it not monstrous that this player here,

seeing a lady forced to menial task

and seeing such drudgery

would not then dispense the thing

called Johnson's Gloucote?

Forsooth a goodly fluid,

which straight upon the scholarly linoleum

would thus eliminate the scrub?

No doubt.

No back.

Just pour it on,

and it one-third the time it takes

for our glass to turn,

it dries.

If Shakespeare ain't in the public domain

this two-bit Orson Wells

is going to be sued for nine million dollars.

Ah, yes, it dries.

And so mirror-like it bleems.

The porridge spilled,

white dog leaves not a single spot.

The labor save,

the hours gained,

the beauty scene,

his Gloucote.

We loved by Chattalene

and serving went your life.

You were near a stealer.

Hey, hey, hey,

now wait a minute, Mr. Wheelkite.

Is that in Hamlet?

My dear girl,

it's in every Hamlet,

every village, every town,

today in the town.

Every place where a housewife takes pride

in the appearance of her kitchen,

and if I don't get back to the office

in the next 10 minutes,

I'll find myself

back in Chattalene.

It's so old, kids.

There goes the biggest Hamlet I've seen

since Blue Boy went to the state fair.

He better be careful,

or he'll wind up on a platter

with an apple in his mouth.

But this ain't getting my tree spade.

Well, hurry up, y'all,

almost get it down now.

Yeah.

Let's see, I get it all listening up good.

Ah, there she goes.

Ah, this is the best it's been yet.

Yeah.

Look how high the tree is getting mommy.

It's one question I'd like to ask him again.

Are you sure?

Don't bother me now,

kiddo, I'm doing too good.

Oh, God.

Is that getting beautiful?

I finally got this break I'm working perfect.

I know, but look, baby,

I've been wanting to ask you this.

Later, Cookie, wait,

I'm just about finished now.

Just up to a little bit.

Ah.

Oh, yeah, I'm true.

It's all done.

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When you're hiring, we at Zippercruder know you can feel frustrated.

For Lauren even.

Like your efforts are futile.

And you can spend a fortune trying to find fabulous people.

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F***.

Fortunately, Zippercruder figured out how to fix all that.

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With Zippercruder, you can forget your frustration.

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Which is our absolute favorite effort.

In fact, four out of five employers who post on Zippercruder get a quality candidate within the first day.

Fantastic.

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Get ready to meet first rate talent.

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And believe me, that's the brightest white Christmas tree you'll ever see.

I want you admit this is a mighty pretty effect, baby.

Yes, if you like that starter thing.

Well, I'll go and make some hot coffee here.

Okay.

McGee.

Whose Christmas tree is this on the front porch?

Well, that's the one I bought this morning and I'm going to play with white.

Oh, my gosh. What tree did I paint?

The one that's been growing there in the yard all these years.

Bring in the vacuum cleaner when you come.

I have all that debt.

If I ain't the dumbest bloke that ever grew breath.

A wise guy.

Well, no at all.

Can't tell one tree from another.

One that's growing and one the day.

Time a second.

I'm a brainless, innocent, competent, amhanded butter fingers.

But I wasn't so stupid.

I'd never let me sit there and insult myself like that.

That's right.

Oh, hi.

Mr. What's the matter?

I know that voice.

Is that you, teeny?

Sure it is, I betcha.

Mm-hmm.

What you sitting there with your head in your hands for a minute?

Got a headache?

Mommy, get your mask on.

Mm-hmm.

Mommy too.

No, no, thanks.

Medicine more touch the kind of headache I got.

I just busted my ego in four places.

Hey, I'm sorry, Mr. Oh, boy.

Who did that?

Huh?

Who did what?

Opened a tree, right?

See, is that ever beautiful?

Yeah, but that ain't the only one.

And it's growing right there in your yard.

Yeah, you see, I got a little confused.

Oh, Mr. McGee, you're wonderful.

Huh?

I am?

You have a nicest man in town, I betcha.

Mm-hmm.

You put your Christmas tree right out in the front yard where everybody can share it

with you, didn't ya?

Oh, well, I didn't exactly.

All the kids in the neighborhood are gonna love you for this, Mr. Why I can highly

win you get it all lighted up.

Because you can't, eh?

Mm-hmm.

I said you can't, eh?

Can't fly.

You can't wait till I get it all lighted up.

Do you need a can eye?

And you know what, Mr.?

What?

When it's growing in the ground like that, you can't wobble and fall over either.

I Christmas tree at home is always wobbly.

Yeah, lots of people make that mistake, sis.

They don't stop to think if they were a tree and all lit up and then came into a warm room.

They wobble a little bit.

Skip it.

Do you think it looks alright out here in the front yard?

Oh, boy.

Okay.

Now all the little children have got Christmas tree from coming to your campsite.

Yeah.

I kind of plan to get a lot of little bags of candy and stuff and let the kids help themselves.

Christmas Eve, sis.

I just planned that.

Think they'd like that?

See, we'll wait ever and ask kids all the same.

Sing what?

You know, the song we sing for you every Christmas time.

It was the night before Christmas.

The one we just recorded.

Would you like to hear it now, Mr. and would you?

Yes.

Yes, I believe I would say.

Okay.

Hey, Kenny, Johnny, buddy, ready, come here.

He wants to hear it all right.

Wonderful bunch of kids going around the neighborhood with a 30-piece orchestra.

What's the night before Christmas and all through the house?

Now the creature was staring at even a mouse.

The stackings were hung by the chimney with sails.

In house they seem to go or some would be there.

The children were nestled all warm in their wee little bed.

Wild visions of sugarplums danced in their wee little bed.

My mind looked curtly and I am like a...

...at your settle down.

War of war.

War of war.

War of war.

War of war.

War of war.

War of war.

You can't ever swap with chases in your own condos.

Actually you're like a crook, or eyes in comedy.

Well, first of all, I'm glad I came from Rosecrouch.

That's what I planned to see.

When the winter took his head to his foot,

most time the bus covered with ashes and sheds,

I drew in my head and was burning around.

When down the chimney, she came as a fall.

He's eyes have a trinket.

He's pimples on Mary.

He's cheeks were like roses.

He's nose like a cherry.

His little mouth was drawn up like a ball.

The beard on his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a little bite,

he held tight in his seat.

And spoke where a letter,

letter out his head like a ring.

He was a sharpie and puffed.

All right, Charlie,

oh, now,

letter out, letter out, letter out,

letter out,

letter out,

letter out,

letter out,

letter out,

letter out,

letter,

letter out,

letter out,

letter out.

Like a ball,

on a jelly,

he gave me a wink of his eye

and the kiss of his head.

The chocolate,

while I knew all the while I had nothing to dress.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work.

And he loved us talking all night, then heard of a jerk,

And laying a figure aside of his nose,

And giving a nut of the chimney roll.

He sprang to his plate to his feet, he hopped on,

Had no way they all flew like a lamb, but they flew,

But I heard him explain every drop of a sword.

Merry Christmas to all and to all,

Oh, he's begun.

And I have the Christmas I'm all through the halls,

Not a creature is starting, not even a moment.

The presents are scattered and broken, I feel.

And St. Nicholas won't come again for a year.

But shielding my nestle, all warm in the real dead.

My memories of you can bloom, dance in the will of the poor heart.

I'm all in her kerchief and lie in my chest,

I settle the glass for a long while,

And the snow.

And the rain.

This is the National Broadcasting Company.

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