05x21 - My Horse, the Mailman

[bunniefuu]

Hello, I'm Mr. Ed.

A horse is a horse, of course, of course.

And no one can talk to a horse, of course.

That is, of course, unless the horse is the famous Mr. Ed.

Go right to the source and ask the horse.

He'll give you the answer that you endorse.

He's always on a steady course.

Talk to Mr. Ed.

Ed, what are you up to now?

Just having fun.

Well, these bubbles are annoying me now.

Would you please find something else to do?

Yes, master.

Would you please cut that out?

Yes, master.

Would you come out here, Lawrence Wilk?

You guessed it.

I was giving you some champagne music to go with those bubbles.

You were giving me a headache.

That's what you were giving me.

Ed, why are you so, so restless?

I'm bored.

Some mornings it doesn't pay to get out of the hay.

What do you got there, buddy boy?

I've been drawing plans for the new branch post office.

This is going to be a statue of a pony express rider that we're putting in the forecourt.

You know, they used to deliver the mail on horseback in the old west.

On beautiful palominos.

Just like me, huh?

Yeah.

I'll tell you one thing about these horses that rode through the old Apache trails, Ed.

They were fast. Really fast.

You'd be fast, too, with all those Indian arrows flying at your tail.

Yes, sir. A horse really earned his hay in those days.

He didn't stand around blowing bubbles.

So I come from pony express, doc.

You know, Wilbur, if I started delivering mail, nothing would stop me.

Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor blizzards.

How about a pretty little filly? I bet she'd stop you delivering the mail.

Uh, only on legal holidays.

Ah, Ed, you would have made a good pony express horse.

You're built for it.

You really think so, Wilbur?

Sure.

You got the bags under your eyes and the pouch under your tummy.

See you later, Speedy. Get back in your stall.

Starting tomorrow, I'm gonna deliver letters if I gotta write them myself.

You've got a great tradition, noble Palomino.

Now make America proud of you.

Good morning, Winnie darling.

Isn't this a gorgeous day?

Well, someone's in a good mood today.

Well, why shouldn't I be?

A beautiful wife, a wonderful home, everything to live for.

Who are you writing to?

My mother. I'm asking her to spend a month with us.

I'll k*ll myself.

Oh, now, Colonel, stop.

You know you like mother. You're always asking me to phone her in New York.

Certainly, I want to make sure she's still there.

Oh, now, Winnie.

Why can't she visit us some other time?

Why, I was planning to take us on a vacation this month

to, uh, uh, the, uh, uh, Grand Canyon.

Wonderful. When did you make up your mind?

The moment I saw that letter.

Oh, now, Winnie, put this aside for now

and let's take a ride along the ocean and talk it over.

Spoken like a true army officer.

Now, what do you mean by that?

When you're losing a fight on your home ground, you switch battlefields.

Oh, come on, Winnie.

It'll do us both good.

Well, let me get my sweater.

Oh, Colonel.

Yes?

If we do take mother along, we are not going to the Grand Canyon.

Wow. A letter to mail.

The Pony Express rides again.

The mail must go through.

I'll run over mountains, deserts, wilderness,

through snow and rain and sleet.

Let's see where I got to deliver this.

New York.

He might be easier to drop this one in the mailbox.

Oh, no.

Hi, Wilbur.

Got any mail for the Pony Express?

If you want to play post office,

why don't you get yourself a little filly and play the game right?

Delivering the mail is not a game.

It's a tradition handed down to us Palominos by the Pony Express.

A fearless breed that delivered mail to the pioneers

where no car could get through.

Now, wait a minute. What car?

Automobiles weren't invented in those days.

Well, lucky the horse was invented

or those pioneers would have had to deliver their own mail on foot.

Wilbur.

Well, that horse of yours has finally gone and done it.

Eh? Well, what'd he do?

Well, I'll tell you what he did, Mr. Post.

He broke into my house

and tracked up our rug with dirty hoof prints.

He did?

Gordon, how do you know it was Ed who did it?

I just told you he left dirty hoof prints all over our rug.

And another thing.

My wife wrote a letter to her mother.

That letter is missing.

Now she accuses me of destroying that letter.

Uh, letter missing, huh?

Wilbur, Jim Gallagher has wanted to buy that horse for years.

Why don't you sell him?

Please, for the peace of my mind and the sanity of yours.

Sometimes I think I ought to sell you.

Why? Because I dropped this letter in the mailbox?

You are not a mailman. You're a horse.

Yeah, but the greatest.

A Yankee Doodle Pony Express horse.

Don't give me that business about your American heritage.

It is my destiny

to serve Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln,

and whoever's on the Tencent stamp.

I warn you, Ed.

If you don't get off this post office kick once and for all,

there's gonna be a new face around Gallagher's barn.

Wilbur.

May I say something in my defense?

All right. Let's hear it.

Why do you think you're privileged to mail other people's letters?

Where are we now, Wilbur?

We're in my office.

And what's your last name?

Post.

So what does that make this?

A post offi...

Ed, I warn you.

You better cut out this Pony Express foolishness

or I may have to sell you to Jim Gallagher.

He doesn't mean it.

He'd sell his wife before he'd sell me.

And I bet he wouldn't get as much for her either.

Whoa, horse! Whoa!

Goodness gracious.

Mr. Post!

Mr. Post!

Whoa, horse! Whoa!

Mr. Dunlop, what's the matter?

Your horse...

He ran off with my mail bag.

Still with the Pony Express.

He won't be satisfied till the Indians scalp him.

The Indians scalp him?

Uh, I saw the whole thing,

and when you finally report, you can use my name as a witness.

Yeah, better write it down. It's Benedict Arnold.

First he steals my wife's letter, now the whole mail bag.

If your horse wants to be a mailman,

why doesn't he take a civil service examination?

I want to encourage him.

Mr. Post, as you realize,

I'm gonna have to report this to my supervisor.

And don't forget, use my name.

Benedict Kirkwood. Er, Gordon Kirkwood.

Mr. Post, why did your horse have to steal my mail bag?

Maybe he thought it was his feed bag.

You don't think he's gonna eat the mail?

Can I come out of the corner now, Wilbur?

It's almost an hour.

Have you learned your lesson yet, Ed?

Yes, sir.

All right.

And what have you learned?

I learned when you stand in the corner,

you get splinters in your nose.

All right, you can turn around now.

Uh...

Uh...

I can't!

What's wrong?

My feet fell asleep.

And when you have four feet sleeping,

you have got yourself a slumber party.

Well, Ed, I hope this has taught you a lesson.

You are not a Pony Express horse.

Now, we have a fine, modern post office

to deliver our mail.

If you would just concentrate on being a nice,

normal, talking horse, everything would be okay.

Now...

Here you are.

You can step out of the corner now.

Uh...

Oh!

I think I got myself a Charlie People.

Charlie People?

People get Charlie horses.

Horses get Charlie People.

You know, Ed, you are very lucky.

Why?

Well, I guess the post office decided not to press charges

since I returned their mail bag.

Wilbur?

Be in here, Carol.

I just got a call from a post office supervisor,

and he wants you down there right away.

What happened?

They're gonna press charges, all right.

Uh, excuse me, dear.

Now, Mr. Post, according to our carrier's report,

your horse ran off with his bag of mail.

Uh, that's true, Mr. Yates.

But...

But, uh, what, Mr. Post?

But his intentions were good.

The mailman's?

No, my horse's.

Your horse's intentions were good?

Yeah, well, you see,

he identifies himself with the Pony Express.

I don't understand.

Pony Express.

You know, the old west

where the mail carriers used to ride in relays.

Oh, I know.

My family has been in the postal service

for three generations.

Oh.

Well, now, it's possible

that your grandfather rode on my horse's grandfather.

Yes, I suppose it is.

Mr. Post, it is against regulations

to interfere with the delivery of government mail.

I understand that, Mr. Yates,

but you must admit that the bag my horse took was returned.

Yes.

And the letters were delivered?

Well, yes.

Then what's the charge?

Well, I don't know,

but what your horse did is wrong.

What?

Deliver the mail?

Without charging the government a penny for his services?

Your horse couldn't have delivered the mail.

Uh-huh.

Then who did?

Well, I don't know.

Mr. Post, this is the first time

I have ever heard of a horse hijacking the mail.

Not hijacking, sir.

He delivered it.

And I might add, in less time than your schedule calls for.

Well...

Mr. Yates, you could do my horse a big favor.

What does he want?

I mean, what do you want?

Could you give him a part-time job?

Delivering the mail?

With a postman on his back.

In a mountainous area

where your trucks and cars can't get through.

You couldn't use him to help out in the Christmas rush.

Mr. Post, I'm going to forget the charges this time,

but I warn you,

if your horse interferes with the delivery of mail once more,

we will have to take drastic action.

I-I understand, sir.

Now I just hope I can get him to understand.

Hi, Bert.

You know that letter of Winnie's

that your horse took from our house yesterday?

Yeah.

Well, someone must have found it and mailed it.

How do you know?

Because my mother-in-law telephoned from New York

and she's accepting Winnie's invitation to visit us.

Oh, why couldn't your horse have been a goat and eaten that letter?

Gordon, if it'll make you feel any better,

Ed has delivered his last letter.

He's... He's hung up his whistle.

Oh, he'll always be trouble.

Why don't you sell him and buy a dog?

Because I'd look stupid riding a dog.

Gordon, I couldn't sell Ed.

Why? Why? Why not?

Well, could you accept money for somebody

who's become a member of your family?

Just make me an offer on my mother-in-law.

Okay, Gordon, maybe you're right.

Maybe Ed does deserve to be taught a lesson.

Pony Express have saddle will travel.

Dear Wilbur, ran out of letters to mail,

so I'm helping the newsboy deliver his paper.

If you see us together, he's the one on the bicycle.

Crazy horse.

Oh, boy.

It's rough throwing newspapers with you.

I bet you can read the headlines on my tongue.

Well, forget it, Ed. Thank you.

Ed, I, uh, I had some letters down here.

You know what happened to them?

Oh, yeah, I mailed them.

Anything important?

Well, one of them was very important, especially to you.

See, I accepted Jim Gallagher's offer to buy you.

Holy cow. I sold myself.

I wasn't sure about going through with it,

but now that you mailed it, well,

I guess it is for the best.

Oh, Wilbur, how could you sell your little horsey?

How can you sleep tonight?

Good night, little horsey.

Carol, isn't it funny how you always hurt the one you love?

You haven't hurt me, honey.

I wasn't talking about you.

Who else do you love?

Carol, I'm not in love. I'm a married man.

I mean, I only love you, dear.

Wilbur, what are you talking about?

Well, I played a practical joke on somebody,

and now I'm sorry.

Oh, so call him tomorrow and tell him you're sorry.

Yeah, but he won't be sleeping tonight.

At this rate, neither will I.

Hello?

I'm sorry I caused you so much trouble, Wilbur.

Do you still love me?

Yeah, I still love you.

Come down to the barn, please.

I can't now.

Look, I've told you time and time again,

you shouldn't call in the middle of the night.

I don't care whether he can't sleep or not.

Other people have to sleep.

I have to go to work tomorrow morning.

The police wait all night.

Oh, hi, dear.

Wilbur, who are you talking to?

Ah, it's a wrong number.

Poor girl, she felt so bad about waking me up,

I tried to make her feel better.

They say you don't know a man until you marry him.

I did, and I don't.

Lady, you've got a wrong number.

Now, will you please hang up and let me get to sleep?

Yes, I love you, too.

Now, please go to sleep.

Okay, okay, I heard you.

Hey, what can be so important,

you drag me down here in the middle of the night?

You know that letter you wrote to Jim Gallagher?

What about it?

He's never going to get it.

Oh, you mean you really didn't mail it?

Oh, I mailed it all right.

Well, then you mean you got the letter back?

Better than that.

I got the mailbox back.

You didn't?

That's not a piggy bank behind you.

Oh, no!

Oh, look, stealing a government mailbox.

This is a federal offense.

But that letter you sent, I...

That letter was a blank.

I was just trying to scare you

so you'd get off that Pony Express kick.

Oh.

The next pickup.

It's at 11 o'clock. That's 20 minutes.

We got to get this back on the pole.

Let's go.

Give me a hand. Come on.

I haven't got a hand.

Oh, don't be funny.

Oh.

Mailman will be by here any minute for his pickup.

If I don't get this box on before he gets here,

I'll be in real trouble.

Uh, I wouldn't worry about the mailman

if I were you, Wilbur.

Why not?

Because there's a cop coming.

Huh?

Evening, officer.

Lovely night, isn't it?

You live in this neighborhood?

Yeah, yes, yeah.

I live, uh, right over there.

Is that your horse?

Yes, yes, that's my horse.

I have the pink slip on him.

What are you doing with him out this time of night?

Well, uh, most people like to walk their dogs at night.

I don't have a dog, so I just walk my horse.

Oh.

You, uh, walk your horse?

Yeah.

Before I had a horse, I used to walk my wife.

Walk with my wife.

Beautiful moonlight stroll.

In your pajamas and robe and raincoat, huh?

Yeah.

Well, when you gotta walk, you gotta walk.

Oh.

Well, it's been nice chatting with you, officer.

I don't want to detain you from your duties.

Well, uh, if you'd just step over here,

I'd, uh, I'd like to see if you can walk a straight line.

How are you, mister?

Let me see you walk that straight line.

Very well, officer. Nothing to it.

I used to walk along the tops of fences when I was a kid.

Not when you were in this condition.

Start walking that line.

Well, I'm off duty now.

You do whatever you want to do.

Good night.

Good night, officer.

Thanks a lot, Ed. I'll take over now.

I think we've got another problem.

What? What?

Mateo got stuck in the mailbox.

Oh, no.

Oh, now what are we gonna...

Oh, Ed.

Turn the page, slowpoke.

Wait, I wasn't finished yet.

But I was.

There was nothing on that page about our mailbox caper last night.

No, and we were lucky to get off as easy as we did.

Who got off easy?

Ever get your tail stuck in a mailbox?

Anyway, I'm glad you got that Pony Express foolishness out of your system.

Aw, yeah.

From now on, the only...

will be you.

Now, Wilbur, the truth.

Would you ever sell me to Jim Gallagher?

The truth?

Yeah.

No, Ed. I don't think I could ever sell you.

How about if somebody offered you a million dollars for me?

The answer would still be no.

Then I would go see a psychiatrist and find out why.

A horse is a horse, of course, of course

And no one can talk to a horse, of course

That is, of course, unless the horse is the famous Mr. Ed

Go right to the source and ask the horse

He'll give you the answer that you'll endorse

He's always on a steady course

Talk to Mr. Ed

People yackety-yack a streak

And waste your time a day

But Mr. Ed will never speak

Unless he has something to say

A horse is a horse, of course, of course

And this one will talk to his voice, his horse

You never heard of a talking horse?

Well, listen to this

I am Mr. Ed

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