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Maybe you could be a dunce, Father. | Really? |
Hey! | Whaddaya think? Do you love it? |
Hey! | Oh, I'm no dunce. I was born an oaf, and I'll die an oaf. |
But Husband, without your weekly pittance, how shall we feed our children? | Don't worry. No child will ever starve in my home. |
Go back and get them! | Here's a better idea -- I know how we can replace those children. |
Father, I knew you'd rescue us! | Oh, rescue you, stuff myself with candy... It's all good. |
Oh, that's a load-bearing candy cane, you clumsy oaf! | Oh, that's all you got? Huh? Huh? |
Oh, that's a load-bearing candy cane, you clumsy oaf! | Mmmm, fish. Oh no, that's me! |
Uh, hello, I'm George Cauldron. Is Suzanne ready yet? | Almost. Just give her another twenty minutes. |
Speaking of which, how about seconds? | Comin' up! |
Gray, bottle-nosed, intelligent Italians. | Intelligent Italians? Something's wrong. |
Those dolphins seem bent on mayhem. We've gotta warn Grampa. | Hmm. Phone's off the hook. Everything must be okay. |
That was you?! | It was her, all right. Take the one who wronged you. |
I, I, I tuned out. Where we goin'? | Wait, stop! We can outsmart those dolphins! Don't forget, we invented computers, leg warmers, bendy straws, peel n' eat shrimp, the glory hole, and the pudding cup. I'm not gonna let a few hoop-jumping tuna-munchers push me around! |
I, I, I tuned out. Where we goin'? | Uh-oh. |
Oh, no. You poor thing. Here... | Hey, leave my daughter alone! C'mon, humans! We've wiped out entire species before. We can do it again! |
If I could just... This is really not... You're hurting my... | C'mon lads! Let's drive them back to the ocean! |
No, there's a badger in there. | Badger, my ass. It's probably Milhouse. |
No, there's a badger in there. | Milhouse? Milhouse? |
No, there's a badger in there. | It's a badger all right... Or possibly a griffin. Bart, do you have any dynamite in your room? |
Tons. | Get it. |
No, Dad! We don't want to kill him! Let's call animal control. | Great idea. Then we should call the doctor about this. |
How did the badger do that without ripping your shirt? | What am I, a tailor? |
Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please make sure you have the correct area code. | Area code? But it's a local call. |
The phone company ran out of numbers, so they split the city into two area codes. Half the town keeps the old 636 area code and our half gets 939. | 939?! What the hell is that? Oh, my life is ruined. |
Geez, you just have to remember three extra numbers. | Oh, if only it were that easy, Marge. |
Geez, you just have to remember three extra numbers. | Go away. We've got bigger problems now. |
Geez, you just have to remember three extra numbers. | I'm not gonna stand for this. I'm gonna call the newspapers, the TV stations, the gas stations, everybody. |
I'm not sure which one's better. The 6 is closer to the 3, so you've got convenience there, but the 9 has less to do with Satan, which is a plus in this religious world of ours. | What really burns me up is they didn't give us one word of warning. |
Don't forget the leaflets they dropped from the space shuttle. And the two weeks we all spent at Area Code Camp. | Not a single word of warning. |
... 0, 1, 1... aaannnd 3. | That's my number! |
Ahoy hoy. | Hey, that's not me! |
Congratulations, you're gonna rendezvous with the Who! | It's not fair! I've been a fan of the Who since the very beginning, when they were the Hillbilly Bugger Boys. |
You should call that radio station and let 'em have it. | Good idea. |
... has been replaced by the convenience of two area codes. | Uh, I have a question, Phoney. |
It's a movie, Dad. | Quiet, honey. Daddy's asking the man a question. |
I like it. | Wait a minute! We haven't heard from me yet. The nut with the dynamite. The phone company is bamboozling you! |
I never! | And as usual, we Joe Twelve-Packs get the royal screw job. |
/ He's right. / We're gettin' it but good. | Well, I've had it! You rich snobs aren't pushin' us around anymore! |
What are you pathetic slobs gonna do about it? | Well, I... |
What are you pathetic slobs gonna do about it? | Nice wiring, Bart. |
It worked on the test-corpse. | Okay, Plan B. Fellow 9-3-9'ers, I say we break off and form our own city! |
Viva la revolución! | Now who's stupid? |
Say, I couldn't help but overhear. I represent the Arizona Cardinals... | Keep walkin' |
Yeah, maybe you oughta be Mayor of New Springfield. | Mayor, eh? |
The Mayor... Starring Homer Simpson. | I reluctantly accept this highly-paid, glamorous job. |
Presenting our new plaque. I say the time for bitterness has passed. Let us extend to our brothers in New Springfield the olive branch of... | New Springfield rocks! |
Go ahead and laugh! We have a better town bird! | Oh yeah? What is it? |
The bluebird. | Damnit! |
More wheat cakes, Mr. Mayor? | Read my lips: Yes. |
Dad, you got syrup on your sash. | No problem. |
If you ask me... | Stop right there. |
... it's stupid to divide the city over something as silly as an area code. It would be like you and mom splitting up every time you have a fight. | Sweetie, you know your mother and I only stay together for the sake of my political career. |
That's not true. | Big grins! |
That's not true. | That'll play great in the sticks. |
That's not true. | Oh, that was fifty already? |
As expected, New Springfield's bold experiment in slob rule is a disaster. | Hey, the TV man is talking about us! |
Scientists say they are also less attractive physically. And while we speak in a well-educated manner, they tend to use lowbrow expressions, like "oh yeah?" and "c'mere a minute." | Oh yeah? They think they're better than us, huh? Bart, c'mere a minute. |
You c'mere a minute. | Oh yeah? |
Dad, I don't think this is such a good idea. | Thank you, Marge. Now, let's see how Olde Snobfield does without electricity. |
Dad, I don't think this is such a good idea. | Woo hoo! |
In retaliation for the power outage, Olde Springfield patriots have intercepted a beer truck bound for New Springfield and dumped all the beer in the river. | Those rich, snobby Indians. |
I don't know. Vengeance is pretty good. | Woo hoo! Flood from water! |
We can't go on fighting with Olde Springfield. These people are our neighbors. We see them every day. | You're right. We've got to block them from our sight with a giant wall. |
Like the one in Berlin? | Good idea. We should call the guys they used. |
Homer... | It's ringing. |
'Bout what? | Loyal citizens of New Springfield. You stayed on my side of town despite a total lack of hospitals and schools, and a sewage nightmare that threatens to consume us all. |
Bye Homer. | I can't believe all those rats fled my town. |
Bye Homer. | Guess it's just us and the tumbleweeds. |
Well, Dad, you're mayor of a ghost town. | I can't believe those traitors abandoned us. They couldn't take one lousy famine. |
Dad, you're bleeding. | No problem. |
Dad, you're bleeding. | Anyhow, those rats'll come crawling back... |
Dad, you're bleeding. | We've got the Who playing here tonight. |
Don't give up, Dad. Maybe we can get The Who to play here instead. | Hey, maybe we could. But we'll need some liquid persuasion. |
Don't give up, Dad. Maybe we can get The Who to play here instead. | C'mon, Bart. We're gonna bring back The Who. |
Can I help you? | Uh... |
Dad, the chloroform! | Huh? Oh, right. |
Dad, the chloroform! | I'll give you this bottle of chloroform if you'll take us to The Who. |
Oh, yeah, right. I got fired by The Who. Whatever you say, pal. Wack-o... | Wow, The Who! |
Oh, yeah, right. I got fired by The Who. Whatever you say, pal. Wack-o... | Woo! Rock 'n' roll! |
Yeah, we don't want to lose our pool privileges. | Whatever. The point is, I'm Homer Simpson. |
The mayor of New Springfield? | That's right. |
The crazy mayor of New Springfield? | That's right. And I implore you to move your concert to our town. Don't play Olde Springfield, or as it is sometimes known, Sun City. |
Sacred bond. | C'mon, what happened to the angry, defiant Who of "My Generation," "Won't Get Fooled Again," and "Mama's Got a Squeeze Box"? |
We know our songs, Homer. | But those Olde Springfield squares are just gonna make you cut your hair, turn down your music and wear frilly shirts like Keith Partridge. |
Just send a cab for us. | Somethin' wrong with your legs? |
We were expecting a bigger crowd. | Oh, don't worry. They'll be here soon. And then they'll see who's got the better town. |
We were expecting a bigger crowd. | Now these are the tunes I want you boys to play. |
And we don't know "Pacman Fever." | Oh, c'mon, it plays itself. "Pacman Fever / A do do do do / It's driving me crazy." Look Lisa, Daddy's in the Who! |
Give us back our concert, Simpson! | So, New Springfield's lookin' pretty good now, isn't it? With our ample parking and daily Who concerts. |
Daily? | We'll talk. |
All right, enough chit chat. Let's see how ya like flaming garbage! | Ha-ha. You hit the tire fire! You'll have to do... |
All right, enough chit chat. Let's see how ya like flaming garbage! | Why me? |
Uh, says you. | "Magic Bus"! |
Okay, we'll play "Magic Bus" if you tear down this wall. | "Pinball Wizard"! |
Oh hell, I'll do it myself... | Well Marge, looks like your insane experiment is over. |
Hey, we just took care of that dangerous melon that was threatening our garden. | Yeah, we're heroes... But where's our parade? |
Or is it? | Yeah, it's hopeless. |
I said, or is it? | I said, it's... Ohhh... |
Homer, what are you doing?! | Listen, do you want the job done right or do you want it done fast? |
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