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Who's gonna knock you down? | No one. |
When are you gonna fight back? | Never. |
What are you gonna do? | Nothing. |
Okay. You're fighting a guy named Boxcar Bob. | Brawled his way up from the boxcars, did he? |
Homer, I want you to have my lucky mitts. I hope you do better with 'em than I did. | Gee, thanks, Moe... What's this? |
I gotta be honest with ya, Homer. I didn't bring you up here to show you my new tar-paper. | You... didn't? |
No. Homer, how would you like to be Heavyweight Champion of the World? | Uh, sure. |
Great. All you gotta do is fight Drederick Tatum. It's this Saturday. Here's your parking pass. | Ooh, "General!" Who's Drederick Tatum, anyway? Is he another hobo? |
Uh, you know what? I'm gonna have to check on that... | Well, I trust you, Moe. If you say I can beat this guy, then he doesn't stand a chance. |
Homer, why are they saying you're going to fight Drederick Tatum? | Uh, well... I was gonna surprise you, but, um... happy anniversary, baby! |
Have you lost your mind?! | Aw, c'mon, I'll make a fortune for one night's work! We could have all the things we always dreamed of: a snooty butler, carpeted car ports, those blue cupcakes they sell sometimes -- |
But you'll get killed! | Marge, will you let me finish? ...Plug-in room deodorizers, front and rear spoilers for the car -- |
Mom's right, Dad. The odds against you winning are a thousand to one. | Well, I don't think it's that unlikely. |
Those are the odds they're giving in Vegas. | All right, I think we've heard just about enough from Mr. Newspaper today. |
All right, Homer, I'm not going to lie to you: there's a good chance you can beat Tatum. But you gotta visualize how you're going to win, okay? | Gotcha. |
Due to popular demand, we will forgo our national anthem. And now, Ladies and gentlemen, LET'S GET READY TO RUM-BLE!!! | Okay, Homer, nothing to be worried about... just-- |
Oh, my God! Simpson's manager has flown into the ring and is airlifting him out! Ladies and gentlemen, whatever dignity remained in boxing is literally flying out the window! | Are you an angel? |
Yes, Homer, I'm an angel. All us angels wear Farah slacks. | But you stopped the fight. Won't everyone be mad at you? |
Yes, Homer, I'm an angel. All us angels wear Farah slacks. | Aaar, matey. |
Oh, Homie, are you okay? | I can't remember where we parked. |
I got your tooth, Dad! | Eh, not mine. |
Well, so long, Springfield... | Where are you going? |
I feel sorry for everyone who's cooped up inside watching the seventh game of the World Series! | Yeah, they won't learn anything about apples today. |
Well, if God didn't make little green apples -- it's Homer Simpson! How long have you been here? | Twenty of the suckiest minutes of my life. |
I can't excape Lisa, our little walking libary! | Can't they get a pole for that sign? |
That's a hitchhiker, Homer. | Ooh, let's pick him up! |
No! What if he's crazy? | And what if he's not? Then we'd look like idiots. |
We're not picking him up! | Oh, yes we are! |
There's not enough room! | Oh, yes, there is! |
I just don't think it's a good idea. | And I think it's the best idea I've ever had! We're picking up the weirdo, and that's final. |
He stole my fiancée. | He made fun of my weight. |
Hey, relax. I don't wanna work. I'm so lazy, I took lessons on the player piano. | Wow, that's really lazy. |
Lazy? You're not kidding. I'm like a rug on Valium, I'm talkin' lazy. | So lazy. |
Oh, "yakkety-yak-yak"... You, Foodbag -- do you have a son? | Yes, sir. I do. |
And is he a constant disappointment? Does he bring home nitwits and make you talk to them? | Oh, all the time! Have you ever heard of this kid Milhouse? He's a little wiener who... |
I'll tell you what's with me -- the humiliation of having a coarse, boorish, ignoramus for a son! | Eh, I should go. |
Sheesh, Dad and I, we started out great, but now it's fallin' apart, like a Chinese motorcycle. | It's so unfair. You're everything a dad could hope for. |
Yeah. I tell ya, I don't get no regard, no regard at all. No esteem, either. | Larry, there's only one sure way to make him realize how much he loves you. And that... is a phony kidnapping. |
Yeah, right. I dunno, maybe I should just leave town. | Pho-ny kid-napping... |
What are you doing in the basement? It's like you're hiding out down here. | Hiding out? Marge, you've been reading too many hideout books. |
And what's that hitchhiker doing here? Is every drifter we meet going to move in with us? | Of course not. We'll decide that on a drifter-by-drifter basis. |
Ahoy-hoy? | Hello, Mr. Burns, this is the kidnapper. Do you miss your son? |
Yes! I'm missing one son! Return it immediately! | If you really love Larry, prove it and you can have him back today. |
Oh, how much proof do you need? Five thousand? Six thousand? I swear, that's all I've got. | Don't you care about your son? This is more important than money! |
More important than money? Who is this? | Just a second. |
Can't we just go upstairs? | No! |
Kidnapped?! | Marge, it's not a real kidnapping. It's a simple hoax to win a father's love. |
You know how I feel about hoaxes! | Still? |
I want you to take Larry back to Mr. Burns right now, before you get in a lot of trouble. | What... But... Marge, it's broad daylight and there's cops everywhere! |
We gotta find someplace to hide! | The abandoned warehouse! |
Drive faster, Grandma! Grandma's gaining on us! | Heh-heh, they'll never look for us here. |
Some people are trying to watch the movie! | You don't like it, call the cops! |
With pleasure, sir. | Hold on, Mr. Burns. Maybe we did fake a kidnapping, but is that really such a crime? All your son wanted was a little attention, a little love. |
With pleasure, sir. | I'm a father myself, sir. And sure, sometimes my kids can be obnoxious... or boring... or stinky -- |
With pleasure, sir. | -- but they can always count on one thing: their father's unconditional love. |
And where is all that liquor coming from? | It's a party, Marge. It doesn't have to make sense. |
Da-ad! V-chip, V-chip! | Sorry, sorry. My fault. |
We interrupt this cartoon for a Special Report. | Someone found my keys! |
Now, the cat needs his medication every morning -- | No problem... Can do. |
And the furnace has been giving off a lot of carbon monoxide, so keep the window o-- | Right... Uh huh... Gotcha... Cat in the furnace. |
Woo hoo! | A whole week of just father and son! See you at dinner. |
What time? | You know, I don't know. |
Shall we say ten? | All right. Just wake me up. |
Dad, do I have to brush my teeth? | No, but at least rinse your mouth out with soda. |
Dad, I think I need some fresh air. Can I go to the park? | Do I have to sit up? |
No. | Knock yourself out. |
Your son was trespassing on my property and destroyed a very valuable stone gargoyle, and... are you wearing a grocery bag? | I have misplaced my pants. |
I'm not going to press charges, but I assume you'll want to punish him. | 'Preciate the suggestion, lady, but he hates that. And I gotta live with him. |
Well, if you won't discipline him, I'll come back and speak with his mother. | No! Wait! Wait! Madam, I run a house of discipline. The boy will be disciplined, and disciplined severely. Good day. |
Well, if you won't discipline him, I'll come back and speak with his mother. | Oh, I don't know how to punish you! What does Marge usually do? |
She makes me taste beer. | C'mon, boy. Give your old man a little credit. |
She makes me taste beer. | Yeah, well, I still get to punish you. |
It's eleven o'clock. Do you know where your children are? | I told you last night, no! Where is Bart, anyway? His dinner's getting all cold and eaten. |
I'm sorry. This is all my fault. Bart was filling in for -- | I don't care if he was filling in for Mel Zetz! He's my son and I don't want him -- |
I'm sorry. This is all my fault. Bart was filling in for -- | working... so... late... that... |
Oh, I agree. Kids need rules and boundaries. | Yes, everyone loves rules... |
It's so tough to be a parent these days, what with all the gangs and the drugs... | Oh, yeah, drugs. Ya gotta have drugs. |
This is the National Air and Space Museum, isn't it? | Uh, this isn't gonna be about Jesus, is it? |
That's true, but I was only in there to get directions on how to get away from there. | Helen, as a responsible parent, I was already well aware of that. |
Homer, I'm as permissive as the next parent. I mean, just yesterday, I let Todd buy some Red Hots with a cartoon devil on the box. But you can't possibly think it's appropriate for your ten-year-old son to work in a burlesque house! | Oh, no?! Well, if Homer Simpson wants his ten-year-old son working in a burlesque house, then Homer Simpson's ten-year-old son is going to work in a burlesque house! That's... |
Homer, I'm as permissive as the next parent. I mean, just yesterday, I let Todd buy some Red Hots with a cartoon devil on the box. But you can't possibly think it's appropriate for your ten-year-old son to work in a burlesque house! | Hi! Now, Marge, you're going to hear a lot of crazy talk about Bart working in a burlesque house... |
"Maison Derriere"?! I can't believe there's a place like that in our wholesome little town. Homer, did you know it was a burlesque house when you sent Bart to work there? | No! I only learned that four days ago. |
What were you thinking, sending Bart to such an awful place? | I was trying to punish him exactly like you would. So, in a way, you really dropped the ball on this one. This is your mess and I'll be damned if I'm gonna clean it up! |
Dad, we can't let this happen to Belle! Do something! | Don't you worry, son. |
Dad, we can't let this happen to Belle! Do something! | My friends! Stop! |
Please hurry. | Sure, we could tear this house down... |
Please hurry. | No! My friends! Stop! |
Please hurry. | Let me finish. We could tear it down, but we'd be tearing down a part of ourselves... |
Please hurry. | You could close down Moe's or the Kwik-E-Mart, and nobody would care / But the heart and soul of Springfield's in our Maison Derriere... |
Stop! No! | What are you doing, Marge? Didn't you hear the song? |
Chip! | Take it off! |
All right, Dad, you've been warned. Let's go. | Hey... |
C'mon... | Easy... |
Is it really necessary to watch TV while we're eating? We're getting food all over. | Yoink. |
Hello Marge. How's the family? I don't want to talk about it. Mind your own business. | Keep it down in there, everybody. |
Homer, is this the way you pictured married life? | Yup, pretty much. Except we drove around in a van solving mysteries. |
Well, I pictured cocktail parties and candle-lit dinners. I pictured napkins... Homer, I want to throw a dinner party. | Oh, I hate having parties. The toilet always gets backed up. |
Oooh, a punch bowl like that just screams good taste. Wouldn't it be perfect for the dinner party? | Oh, we can't afford that. Who do you think I am, Liz Taylor? |
Well... maybe we could use it once and then return it. | Marge, we're not talking about a toothbrush here. |
Homer?! | Whaaaaaat?! |
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