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Is there something wrong, Homie? | No. |
Except... | Except... I killed Mr. Burns. |
What happened, Dad? | I punched Mr. Burns right in his 104 year-old face. |
No, please! I can't bear another thrashing. Just leave me be. | Yes, sir. |
Now I can make my escape... | Hi, Mr. Burns. Do you want your coffee now? |
Stay back, Homer! Approach no further. Coffee's already made. I stomped the beans myself. | Well, can I at least drive you home, Mr. Burns? It's five o'clock. |
Ahoy-hoy? No, you have the wrong number. This is 5-2-4-6. I suspect you need more practice working your telephone machine. Not at all. Ahoy. | Mr. Burns, is there anything at all I can do for you? |
Ah, and my dear, dear Smithers... you're no longer needed at all. You're fired. Ta! | You shouldn't've gone away on vacation. |
Cheer up, Homie. | I just feel terrible about getting Mr. Smithers fired. That job was all he had. Imagine how you'd feel, Marge, if you got fired from the... those things... that you do. |
I look forward to working with you! | Mr. Smithers, wait! |
I look forward to working with you! | You can't let yourself end up in a place like this. You've got two choices: You can give up on yourself and take the Barney-guarding job, like so many of us have contemplated in our darkest moments. Or you can admit to yourself there's only one person that can make you happy and do whatever it takes to get them back. |
Mr. Burns may have mastered 2,799 of my 2,800 duties. But I'll wager dollars to donuts he still can't handle a call from his mother. | You're on. |
Perfect. When I give the signal, you transfer the call to Mr. Burns. After she tears into him, I'll rush in and save the day. | Got it. |
Perfect. When I give the signal, you transfer the call to Mr. Burns. After she tears into him, I'll rush in and save the day. | I'm transferring a call into you, Mr. Burns. |
No problemo. | Uh-oh. |
Ahoy-hoy? Hoy? | Hello, Mr. Burns? This is your mother. |
Mrs. Burns is 122 years old, so try to sound more desiccated. And she doesn't call her son Mr. Burns! | Son, this is Mrs. Burns! I just called to say I don't love you. You are a bad son, Montel! |
Impersonate my mother, will you? And you, Smithers! You must have put him up to it! I'm glad I fired you. | You really blew it this time, Smithers. |
Stop fighting like a girl, Simpson. | Okay. |
It's for you. | I'll show you. |
What did you get that for? | For knocking Mr. Burns out a third story window. |
Did he die? | What am I -- a doctor? |
Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad. | Bye, kids. On your way back, pick up a six pack of beer. |
Save our seats! | Will do. |
The mouse. | Oh. I guess that's not him then. |
Mom, there's a weird smell and a lot of cursing coming from the basement. And Dad's upstairs. | Oh, it's just Bart and a mysterious stranger. |
Hey Dad, can I have $1,000? | All right... Wait a minute. For what? |
To pay for a lawyer for my bum. | Forget it. |
That does it. One of them has to go. | Okay. Grampa. |
I've got it! Dad, give me $750! | Okay. |
Well, first off, here's your $1,000 back for hiring that lawyer. And $750 for the drawing. And here's a couple of bucks for your trouble. | Woo hoo! Look, Marge! A couple of bucks! |
Dad, can we have $183,000? | What for? |
Lisa and I want to finance a series of animated cartoons. | Oh... Forget it. |
Dad, what's a "muppet?" | Well, it's not quite a mop, and it's not quite a puppet, but, man... So to answer your question, I don't know. |
That's not a leather muppet, that's Troy McClure. Oh, back in the '70s, he was quite the teen heartthrob! | Yeah, who'd've thought he'd turn out to be such a weirdo? |
What are you talking about? | You know, his bizarre "personal" life? Those weird things they say he does down at the aquarium? Why I heard... |
Hey, Homer, isn't this your sister-in-law on a date with Troy McClure? | Troy McClure? He's a washed-up movie star. He could be dating washed-up supermodels. |
This play has everything! | Oh, I love legitimate theater. |
Oh... well... thank you... | Down in front! |
Oh, come on. Guess which one. | I know! I know! It's Selma, right? |
It was a beautiful wedding. I've never seen Selma happier. | That reminds me -- Troy said something interesting last night at the bar. Apparently he doesn't really love Selma and the marriage is just a sham to help his career. Well, enough talk. Let's snuggle. |
What?!! Oh, my God! | Marge, could you close your eyes? I'm trying to sleep. |
I can't help it if Mom's workplace contains our TV. | 'Cause they won't hire an assistant. |
No, thanks. Do you have any fruit? | This has purple stuff inside. Purple is a fruit. |
No, thanks. Do you have any fruit? | Uh... Oh -- this is a map of nuclear sites around the country. As a safety inspector, I am responsible for changing most of these light bulbs. |
Maybe we can make your job more fun... What are those? | I don't know. |
I'm going after him! | Boy, this is a lot more fun with a second person! |
Hello?... Oh, Homie, hello! I can't remember the last time you called me from -- Oh, you want to speak to Lisa? | Hi, Lisa. How's your Spring Break going? |
I'm learning about owls. | Oh, owls, eh? So you probably wouldn't want to spend another day at work with me... |
Security guards? | Great! Ya wanna get some lunch? |
Sure! | The way I figure it, if the candy stays in the machine for more than a year, it's up for grabs. |
Why do you need me? | Well, it's a two-man operation, and you're the only man here I trust. Ready? |
Zagnut bar, Mr. Smithers? Razzles? Skittles? Whatchamacallit? Twizzlers? | They all have hilarious names and are delicious. |
We could have a slumber party. | Oh, that'd be great! Sleeping bags on the floor, a roaring fire... It'll be just like the time they kicked me out of the sporting-goods store. |
Okay. Time for truth or dare. You go first. | Eh... Truth. Ask me anything. |
Who do you love most: me, Bart, or Maggie? | All right, dare. |
Okay... Why don't you... | Hello, I'd like to speak with a Mr. Snotball? First name, Ura? |
Hmmm... Truth. | Ummm... Do you have a crush on anyone? |
Da-ad! | I won't tell anybody. |
Dad, you tell everybody everything. Even Moe knew when I threw up on the dentist. | Moe thinks he knows a lot more than Moe knows! Well, just give me another chance, and I'll prove I can keep your secrets. |
Langdon Alger. | I have no idea who that is. |
Nobody does! He's very quiet and enjoys puzzles. But that still doesn't mean you can tell anyone! | I've already forgotten his name. It was Larsen something, right? |
Whee. | What's wrong, honey? |
There's something troubling me, Dad...but I don't think I can tell you because it's a secret. | Uh, you don't have to tell me, but I thought we trusted each other with our secrets now. I mean, I haven't told a soul about your new boyfriend. |
Langdon Alger? Oh, I don't like him anymore... Okay, but you've got to promise you won't get mad or tell anyone, especially Bart. | I promise. |
Bart rented a car with a phony driver's license and drove Milhouse, Nelson, and Martin to a wig outlet in Knoxville and the car got crushed and they're out of money and they can't get home and Bart's working as a courier and just came back from Hong Kong. | Yes, that's a real pickle. Would you excuse me for a moment? |
Bart rented a car with a phony driver's license and drove Milhouse, Nelson, and Martin to a wig outlet in Knoxville and the car got crushed and they're out of money and they can't get home and Bart's working as a courier and just came back from Hong Kong. | All right, I have thought this through. I will send Bart the money to fly home, and then I will murder him. |
No, no! Then he'll know I told! Dad, you said I could trust you. | Okay, we'll work this out together. First things first: where is Knoxville? |
It's in Tennessee, right next to the Oak Ridge Nuclear Facility, birthplace of the atomic bomb. | Well, maybe we could order something from Oak Ridge... |
...and Bart could be the courier! | Y'ello, Oak Ridge? This is Springfield Nuclear. We need to order a... uh...T-437 Safety Command Console. |
Uh, I suggest you... Oh my God! Oh, God, no! Oh! This can't be happening! This... You're operating without a T-437, Springfield!! Oh, Sweet Mother of Mercy! I mean... I mean... My God!... | And have it sent to the Springfield Nuclear Power Plant, care of Homer J.-- |
No! Don't use your real name, or Bart will know! | Forget the name Homer Simpson. Have it sent care of... Langdon Alger. |
...And then he claimed he was the one who turned cats and dogs against each other. Why is he always making up those crazy stories? | Maybe it's time we put Grampa in a home. |
No! Old people deserve our respect! Look at Jacques Cousteau and Goldie Hawn. You wouldn't shut them away like second-class citizens. | Second class? What about Social Security, bus discounts, Medic-Alert jewelry, Gold Bond powder, pants all the way up to your armpits, and all those other senior perks? Oh, if you ask me, old folks have it pretty sweet. |
Lemme in! Someone's trying to kill me! Sweet Merciful McGillicuddy, ya gotta open the door! | Who is it? |
But where are we going to put him? | Bart's room. |
Uh, yes. But we gotta act fast! | Where are you two going at this hour? |
On a treasure hunt. | Oh, can I come? |
Only if you're ready to stare danger in the face, put your manhood to the ultimate test, and take-- | Pass. |
Well, things were bad everywhere. | I'm sick of these constant bear attacks! It's like the freakin' country bear jamboroo around here. |
Well, now realistically, Homer, I've lived here some 30-odd years. This is the first and only bear I've ever seen. | Hey -- if you want wild bears eating your children and scaring away your salmon, that's your business. But I'm not gonna take it! Who's with me? |
Hey, Homer, that's a pretty catchy chant. Where'd you learn it? | Oh, I heard it at the Mustache Parade they have every year. |
I phoned ahead. | Mr. Mayor, I hate to break it to you, but your city is infested with bears. |
That's specious reasoning, Dad. | Thank you, Honey. |
By your logic, I could claim that this rock keeps tigers away. | Oh, how does it work? |
It doesn't work. | Uh-huh. |
It's just a stupid rock. | Uh-huh. |
But I don't see any tigers around here, do you? | Lisa, I want to buy your rock. |
But I don't see any tigers around here, do you? | Woo-hoo! A perfect day -- zero bears, and one big fat hairy paycheck! |
But I don't see any tigers around here, do you? | Hey... how come my pay is so low? |
But I don't see any tigers around here, do you? | "Bear Patrol Tax: $5?!" What?! This is an outrage! It's the biggest tax increase in history! |
Actually, Dad, it's the smallest tax increase in history. | Let the bears pay the bear tax. I pay the Homer Tax. |
That's the Home-Owner Tax. | Well, anyway, I'm still outraged. |
I don't see how you can support Proposition 24, Dad. | Open your eyes, Lisa. Our schools are so jam-packed with immigrants, kids like Bart have lost the will to learn. |
Ah... Mr. Simpson? It may astonish you to learn that I am an immigrant. | You? Pfft. I don't believe it. |
Oh, I wish... Oh, I wish I could have stayed just one more year or two. There was so much I wanted to see and to do and to have done to me. | Oh my God. I got so swept up in the scapegoating and fun of Proposition 24, I never stopped to think it might affect someone I cared about. |
Oh, I wish... Oh, I wish I could have stayed just one more year or two. There was so much I wanted to see and to do and to have done to me. | You know what, Apu... I am really, really gonna miss you. |
Ya know what really aggravazes me, is them immiggants. They want all the benefits of livin' in Springfield, but they ain't even bothered to learn themselves the language. | Yeah. Those are exactly my sentimonies. |
Hey there, Homer, how's it hangin'? | Low and lazy, so -- Hey! Say something again. |
Apparently, I just plumb forgot about it. Say, let's take a relaxed attitude toward work and watch the baseball match. The NY Mets are my favorite squadron. | Hey, you got rid of that goofy sacred elephant statue. |
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