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Well, there's lots of needy kids out there... | I see what you're saying -- I need to buy a gun. |
No, Dad. You could really brighten the holidays for those less fortunate. | You're right. It's time to rebuild my self-esteem. |
No, Dad. You could really brighten the holidays for those less fortunate. | Hey, what happened to...? |
Yessss? | I'd like to buy all these toys for some needy children. Is this enough dirty, dirty money? |
Why, I don't think I've ever seen such generosity. You're a modern-day Kris Kringle, sir. | I'm just tryin' to dig myself out of a pit of shame. |
Say no more. I had a bit of a shoe-sniffing problem myself. I'm still not allowed on the third floor. | It's okay. |
Wanna rehearse, Dad? | I don't need to rehearse. Ho, ho, ho, Merry... Line! |
Christmas. | What? Lemme see that. |
Prepare to be boarded! | What are you doing here? I told you I'm not your monkey anymore. |
Not for one million dollars? | Oh, so much money... |
Not for one million dollars? | But Santa can't be evil... |
Not for one million dollars? | But it's so much money. |
Oh, Dad. You sold your soul. | Not yet, honey. |
What's going on? | Let's just say Lisa gave me an early Christmas present. The gift of dignity. |
Didn't you get the e-mail? | What's an e-mail? |
Or a quiet phone call. | I don't have a computer. |
Why not? Anything goes today. | That does it. I'm getting a computer! As soon as somebody lets me outta here! |
Why not? Anything goes today. | Oh. I'm so stupid. |
Hmmm, well, do you need a paperweight? Because if you buy that machine, that's all you're gonna have. Is an expensive paperweight. | Well, a paperweight would be nice, but what I really need is a computer. How about that one? |
Mm-hm. That technology is three months old. Only suckers buy out of date machines. You're not a sucker, are you, sir? | Heavens, no! |
Oh, good, because if you were I would have to ask you to leave the store. | I just need something to receive e-mail. |
That's the same computer astronauts use to do their taxes. | I was an astronaut. |
Of course you were. | Five thousand dollars! |
You only have ten seconds to decide, sir. | This is the best computer in the world and always will be, right? |
Dad, you shouldn't drag that around. | That's right! Top of the line! |
Dad, you shouldn't drag that around. | Stupid pothole. Don't worry, head. The computer will do our thinking now. |
Did I hear my name? My ears are burnin'. | Good start! Now finish the job! |
Ah, you're busy. Catch you later, compu-tater. | $5000 for a computer and it can't handle a simple assignment. |
Dad, I'll set up your computer. Why don't you and Bart go play in the back yard? | You're it! |
Okay, you're ready to go. I've written down the basic commands so that anyone can understand them. | Hmmmmm. |
Homer, bring that back in the house. | Fine! |
Homer, bring that back in the house. | Ooh, a dancing Jesus. De-de-de-de-de-de-de-de. If there's a better use for the Internet, I haven't found it. |
You have the right to remain fabulous! | Here it is, everybody! The world's greatest website! |
You have the right to remain fabulous! | You'd think all the noises would be annoying, but they're not. |
I got suspended from school today. | No kiddin'. What do you think of my page, Lisa? Be honest. It's great, isn't it? Go ahead and say it's great if you want to. |
I took a swing at a cop. | They can't sue me if they don't know who I am. I'll just call myself Mr. X. |
I'm just mad all the time. | Yep, you can't go wrong with Mr. X. |
Mom wants you to come to bed. | I can't. My web page hasn't gotten a single hit. |
Mom wants you to come to bed. | Come on. |
You have to offer people something: a joke, an opinion, an idea... | That lousy pothole! Why don't they fix it? |
I heard Mayor Quimby spent the street repair fund on a secret swimming pool for himself. | Get out! Who told you that? |
Nelson. | Hmm, that's the kind of dirt that belongs on my web page. |
You can't post that on the Internet. You don't even know if it's true. | Nelson has never steered me wrong, honey. Nelson is gold. |
You know, it might've been Jimbo. | Beautiful. We have confirmation. |
Good Lord! We've discovered the ruins of an ancient city! Okay, you do better. | I did it. I changed the world. Now I know exactly how God feels. |
Do you want turkey sausage or ham? | Bring me two of every animal. |
A new Internet watchdog is creating a stir in Springfield. Mr. X, if that is his real name, has come up with a sensational scoop. | Darn tootin'. |
I'm happy you got the potholes filled, but it's still irresponsible to present rumors as facts. Maybe you should quit while you're ahead. | No way! Mr. X is gonna keep on digging... and probing... until every person in this town is in jail! |
The public should be warned. I wish Mr. X were here. | Oh, I don't know, Carl. He might be closer than you think. |
Are you him? Are you Mr. X? | No! |
Uh, but you talked in that real sly voice. Hey, hey, everybody, Homer's Mr. X! | I am not. Or am I? |
Are you? | No! |
Well, if Mr. X were here right now, I'd buy him a tall frosty. | Hey, Moe, can you keep a secret? |
No. | Not even a little one? |
No. | What if I just whisper it? |
Oh, pshaw. | I love spying. |
Let go of me! I'm innocent! | Whoa... He's in trouble. |
Unfortunately, we don't know who he is. So his cash award will be used to feed starving children. | Nooo! |
Unfortunately, we don't know who he is. So his cash award will be used to feed starving children. | I'm Mr. X! Gimme! Gimme! |
He is Mr. X! Hah! | Thank you, folks. And now I'm off to expose more secret conspiracies and... |
He is Mr. X! Hah! | I bit my tongue! |
I'm proud that you won the Pulitzer... | Finally. |
But I do feel bad about the starving children... | They're with God now. |
Oh, well, that's good... Oh. | Hey, guys. How's it goin'? |
Oh, well, that's good... Oh. | Oh, don't worry about the Mr. X thing. I'm just here for a beer. |
So hungry. | I smell another Pulitzer. |
Well, you can't post news if you don't have any. | That's a great idea! I'll make up some news! |
At least take off your Pulitzer Prize when you say that. | Let's see now... "BULLETIN: New Race Discovered Living Six Inches Under... Denver." |
Oh, Dad... | All Named 'Morton'... or... 'Mortonson'... |
Hey, Mr. X! I got a tip for ya. In science class, they're dissecting frozen hoboes. And I have the bindles to prove it. | Real news is great, son. But I'm gettin' a thousand hits an hour with grade-A bull plop. |
Hey, Mr. X! I got a tip for ya. In science class, they're dissecting frozen hoboes. And I have the bindles to prove it. | Gimme a hundred Lotto tickets, Apu. Because Mr. X is on a roll. |
Hey, Mr. X! I got a tip for ya. In science class, they're dissecting frozen hoboes. And I have the bindles to prove it. | Stop it, Apu. You're scaring me. |
Hey, Mr. X! I got a tip for ya. In science class, they're dissecting frozen hoboes. And I have the bindles to prove it. | What's going on? |
Hey, Mr. X! I got a tip for ya. In science class, they're dissecting frozen hoboes. And I have the bindles to prove it. | Help, I'm being kidnapped! |
This is... The Island. | How do I get outta here? |
Oh, no one leaves The Island. | So I'm a prisoner? How come? |
Because you know something. | But I don't know anything. At least I don't think I do. |
See you tomorrow. | No you won't! |
I'm Number 15. What number are you? | I am not a number, I am a man. And don't you ever... Oh, wait, I'm Number 5. Ha ha! In your face, Number 6! |
Yes, well done. | Who are all these oddballs? |
Well, they keep us here because we know too much. Number 27 there knows how to turn water into gasoline. Number 12 knows the deadly secret behind Tic-Tacs. And I invented the bottomless peanut bag. | Wow. |
Well, they keep us here because we know too much. Number 27 there knows how to turn water into gasoline. Number 12 knows the deadly secret behind Tic-Tacs. And I invented the bottomless peanut bag. | So, who brought us here? |
I don't know. | Did you bring us here? |
Uh, the shoes are part of the uniform. | Oh, they drugged the tea. They knew my one weakness. |
Ow. Please. Don't do that. | Sorry. |
I'll be blunt. Your web page has stumbled upon our secret plan. | That's impossible. All my stories are bull plop. Bull plop! |
Oh don't be cute. I'm referring to the flu shot exposé. You see, we're the ones loading them with mind-controlling additives. | But why? |
To drive people into a frenzy of shopping. That's why flu shots are given just before Christmas. | Of course! It's so simple... Wait, no it's not. It's needlessly complicated. |
Yes it is. And we can't have you out there mucking it up now, can we? | No, sir. |
There's a good boy. Let's get you some ice cream. There you are. | Look, you can drug me all you want, but my family won't rest till they find my drug-bloated corpse. |
I wouldn't count on that, Number 5. As far as your family knows, Homer Simpson is walking in the front door right about now. | I'm sorry. What? |
I am a new tie wearing. | I'm tired of being drugged and gagged. There's gotta be a way to escaped. |
Sorry, old chap. But you're proving quite the caterpillar in our buttermilk. | Huh? |
We're shutting you down. | Not a chance. No one can silence me, but me! |
That arranged can be. | Whuh? |
Yes, fight and struggle! | If I know me, he won't like being kicked in the crotch. |
Yes, fight and struggle! | Oh, Marge. It's me, the real Homer! |
Can I turn this off? | Absolutely. |
The dog thinks so, too. | The dog thinks so... |
The dog thinks so, too. | Bad dog. |
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