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No other foursome would have me. My legs gross people out. | Dondelinger! |
I can explain. But... are you sure we should talk in front of your son? | Yes! I want him to know that if your life doesn't turn out the way you want, there's someone else to blame. |
I already knew that, Dad. I'm gonna blame you. | I respect your choice. Now drive back to the clubhouse and order me a Tom Collins. |
With a virgin Tom Collins for me? | Virgin? What are you, a girl? |
With a virgin Tom Collins for me? | Now, Dondelinger, I want some answers. |
Very well. It's a fact I didn't like you, Simpson. Still don't. | You lie. You love me! |
Now, watch the sauce of bubbling red and see the life you could have led. | Okay. |
Ho-mer! Ho-mer! Ho-mer! | I would've been a winner, instead of some idiot spending his Saturday night staring into a bowl of sauce. Why did fate do this to me? |
Ask-a the garlic bread. | Why? Why? |
Homie, please, nothing good will come of this. | Marge, unlike C.P.R., this is something I must know. |
Sorry, the only girl I could ever want is right over there... | ...Debbie Pinson. |
Sorry, the only girl I could ever want is right over there... | Hey, Debbie, um... Wanna go to prom with me? |
Thank you, Homer. | Debbie, I forgot I have an English paper due on Monday. Would you read "To Kill A Mockingbird" for me and if you could write down how Boo Radley fits into the Southern Gothic tradition, that would be great. |
Nobody's ever asked me to use my head-brain before! | Homer Simpson. Class President. |
Oh my God. He's talking to me. | A lot of great things have happened to me lately, but they're nothing compared to meeting you. May I have this dance? |
Homer Simpson! I was gonna let you get to fifth base! It would've been something you told your grandchildren about! | Sorry, Debbie. I hope you can find happiness without me. |
Who wants a cheerleader on the rebound? | I do! Oh, right. |
I can hardly believe this is real. | Marge, the way I feel about you is as real and lasting as my hairline. |
I don't know, but in this reality, I am not gay! Hubba hubba! | Sweet dreams. |
. | Thank you, mysterious weirdo. |
Tell me, what student government office do you hold? Secretary? Treasurer? Dare I say Secretary-Treasurer? | I'm Class President. |
Well, that's what's missing. Our lives would be horrible without the kids. | Uh, yes. That must be it. This is the best of all possible worlds. Blah, blah, blah. |
Homie, please come inside. | Okay. |
Dad, we need to have a talk. | Oh, I get it. You're all gonna try to convince me that my life is great just like it is, right? |
Dad, we need to have a talk. | Are you kidding? We couldn't even convince you that Bruce Wayne is Batman. |
Dad, we need to have a talk. | Oh, come on! That millionaire playboy? He's too busy socializing at cocktail parties and managing the affairs of the Wayne foundation. |
Dad, we think the sauce had it all wrong. | Oh, look who thinks he's smarter than sauce. |
Oh really? | My own plaque! And one for Vice President Butthead! Cool. |
Oh really? | Is that why you brought me here, spirits? |
Yep. In the future, people will look at this and they'll say "whoever he was, he must've mattered." | I guess that would be nice. |
Pardon me... can my son have his picture taken with you? | Really? Sure. |
Well, we can't all be Homer Simpson, son. | Thanks, guys. |
Well, we can't all be Homer Simpson, son. | Hey, was there another plaque here before? |
Plaques come, plaques go. | Now let's get something to eat. |
How 'bout Italian? | God no! |
I hear there's a Korean barbeque place where the beef spells out the date of your death. | Ooh, that sounds like fun! |
I hear there's a Korean barbeque place where the beef spells out the date of your death. | ...three, two, one. Happy New Year! |
It's the first day of school! | You're the government's problem now! |
I can't believe we have to start another year of school. I never learned anything at that suck shack. | Who taught you that language?! |
Kid at school. | So you did learn something. |
Oh Homie, the insurance bill is due today. Can you make sure to mail it? | Absolutely. Insurance is the greatest deal ever. If I get hurt, I get paid. And man, do I get hurt. |
Oh Homie, the insurance bill is due today. Can you make sure to mail it? | What a week. |
Dad, Bart's throwing away his future! | Oh no! Now who will sell oranges on the off-ramp? |
Dad, Bart's throwing away his future! | Great jokes make me hungry. I wonder what's in the pantry... |
Dad, Bart's throwing away his future! | Wait a minute... |
Dad, Bart's throwing away his future! | Wait a minute... |
I.D., please. | Must be in the glove box. |
I.D., please. | This was due two weeks ago! I'm not insured! For the first time in my life I'm financially responsible for my own actions! |
I.D., please. | Uninsured! Uninsured! |
I.D., please. | I'm not in good hands! I'm in no hands! Like a bad neighbor, no one is there! |
Homie! What are you doing home so early? | Marge, I won't bore you with the truth. All I can say is that until three p.m., we must avoid all accidents and injuries or we're all going to the poor house. |
You mean back to the poor house? | Fine. Back. And we can't let anyone else get hurt on our property. |
I don't want anyone to ever get hurt. | Me too, baby. But we gotta get real. |
We can discuss it later. Right now, while you're here, you can help host my book club. | Book club? That's the most stupid boring thing ever. Oh, thank you. |
Oh my God! Oh my God! We're totally liable! | Oh yeah. |
Oh my God! Oh my God! We're totally liable! | I mean, nooo! |
Oops. | Kniiiife! |
Oops. | Got it! |
Apaches! | Oh, Mr. Burns! Why do terrible things always happen to wonderful people at three-oh-one p.m., which, for the record, is the correct time. |
Apaches! | So, plans for the weekend? |
No, sweetie. At this point in a marriage, a wife should know what her husband can do and what he can't. Who was I to think you could mail an envelope? | Baby, I hope you've got snuggle insurance, 'cause I'm about to file a claim. |
There's twelve more boxes. And they all sound the same! | I know they do, but the Simpson Mardi Gras party has been a tradition since two days before you were born. And we spare no expense. |
What about my birthday party? | This counts as that. |
What about my birthday party? | Ladies, how're you doing with the float? |
Hey Homer, I have some distant relatives that I never see except for this party. Can I bring 'em to the party? | No problem. |
Oh, right. We came together. | Ha, ha! Eat my food! Drink up my drink! Put your coat on my daughter's bed! I command you! |
I noticed. | So, anyway, if you're not doing anything, and it looks like you are, you're welcome to stop by, or not. |
Homer, I always wonder, how can you afford this party year after year? | Because I have this magical thing called a Home Equity loan. I borrow all the money I want, and the house gets stuck with the bill. Sucker. |
Huh. I'm not sure that's how it works. | Fine, Mr. Skeptical. Give me back your beads. |
But, but, but... | Beads, please. |
Homie, do you know anything about this? | Marge, don't worry. It's like when we stopped paying the phone bill. They stopped calling us. In fact, everyone did! |
I think we should go see our mortgage broker. | Oh man. Who'd think the first day of Lent would be such a bummer? |
Oh, wait. I left out a zero. | Listen, you! When you gave me that money, you said I wouldn't have to repay it till the future! This isn't the future! It's the lousy, stinking now! |
Don't be sore at the banks. Hell, we fired our C.E.O., and he barely got out with fifty million dollars! | That poor man. Is he okay? |
I know, I know. But Bernice wants you out. | Don't worry honey, we'll come out ahead. I ripped all the copper wire out of the walls. |
Did you remember to disconnect it first? | Did I what now? |
She is. Look. | Goodbye. |
I need a place to store my cufflinks. | Let's go, kids. I can't watch any more. |
Well sir, as the ocean said to the dirt, I appreciate the sediment. | And on the zillionth day, God created hugs. |
Well sir, as the ocean said to the dirt, I appreciate the sediment. | And it was gooood. |
Come on, kids! Let's take our stuff back inside. | Uh, uh, uh, uh, better let me go first. I left a little uh "surprise" upstairs for the new owner. |
FOR HE'S A FABULOUS FLANDERS, WHICH NOBODY CAN DENY! | HE SAVED OUR ASS! |
Homie, the faucet won't stop leaking. | No problem. Just let Sir Fix-a-lot slay this chore. |
Homie, the faucet won't stop leaking. | Next problem. |
Well, let's see what else is in the job jar. | It's so beautiful. No two are exactly alike. Though many of them are very similar. |
He won't come over! | He what?! Flanders, landlords like you are the scum of the earth! You lounge around in your Egg MacMansions and we never see you unless the rent check's late! |
The rent check is late. | Some friend you are. The minute you become our landlord, you expect us to pay rent. You'd better just pray I don't find out where you live! |
The rent check is late. | Bart! Don't forget to turn the chicken! |
People like Flanders make me sick. If I was Marge's landlord I'd fix her pipes and I'd shower her with flowers and-and take her on a romantic getaway to the South Seas and I... I'd never return. | Yeah, you'd treat her right. |
Well, here's how you get back at Flanders: you go to the media and get them to expose what a horrible person he really is. | Oh, right -- like "Dateline" did to you! |
Hey, Dad. | Who is this "Dad" you speak of, Lisa Simpson? |
You want a cookie, Dad? | Yes. |
Int. SImpsons house - stairway) | ...Squeaky stair here... scary portrait there... |
Int. SImpsons house - stairway) | Poltergeist in the closet... |
I died when Homer sat on me! | Why you little... |
I died when Homer sat on me! | I'm the victim here! |
Homer Simpson, I took pity on you, and what do I get in return? A kick in the kadiddlehopper! | Kadiddlehopper. |
It's not funny! That's how I swear! | Fine. You're mad. What are you gonna do about it? |
When the month is up, I want you out! | Fine. I'll get another neighbor to buy the house and let us live in it! |
Your leaving is our Christmas! | Flanders, you wouldn't throw us out on Christmas, would you? |
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