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Well, better turn off that engine. Before those fumes put us in tombs. | Wait, let's just leave it on till we forget our troubles. |
Homer! Wake up! The car's filling with... | I know, ranch dressing. |
Homer! Wake up! The car's filling with... | A hamster ball! |
Just like the one that saved Ezekiel! | We're free! And we've got something to eat. |
Just like the one that saved Ezekiel! | Woo hoo! |
Now let's go save those kids. | You're the camel. |
Now let's go save those kids. | Hey, this car's got cruise control. |
Now let's go save those kids. | School, please. |
We're gonna crash! | Do you have airbags? |
Gotcha! | C'mon, kids. Let's leave this awful place and never come back. |
And the exhaust pipe is leaking. | Whuh? |
Ignore her, Effendi. We have each other. | Oh, baby! |
Int. convention center - a little later) | Animation is so great. It's way better than... whatever the alternative is. |
Folks, you're about to witness the exciting new process of motion-capture animation. | Pick me! Pick me! |
Now, when we activate the suite, our furry friend will copy you exactly. | I'M A LITTLE TEAPOT / SHORT AND STOUT / HERE IS MY HANDLE / HERE IS MY SPOUT. |
That would be the world's funniest marsupial. | You're right. That suit gizmo could be worth billions. And I'm gonna get a piece of the action! |
Uh, Sir, this is a joint account. Uh, you'll, need your wife's signature, too. | Oh. Yes, of course. Uh, she's behind that plant. |
Uh, Sir, this is a joint account. Uh, you'll, need your wife's signature, too. | Hello, Marge. Hi, Homie. Sign this, please? You're the boss! Daddy, ask the man for some candy! No, no, no candy for you. Then at least get some candy for yourself. |
Uh, Sir, this is a joint account. Uh, you'll, need your wife's signature, too. | Kids. |
Here's your candy. | So long, sucker! |
Uh, sir? Your life savings. | Uh Yes, I see that it's in bill form. Excellent. |
For automated stock prices, please state the company name. | Animotion. |
Animotion. Up one and one-half. | Yahoo! |
Yahoo. Up six and a quarter. | Huh? What is this crap? |
Homer! | Sorry. Our ticket out of this hellhole. |
Turning to the stock market, Animotion is up an eighth... | Yes! |
... after plunging seventy-five points this morning. | Oh, I hope "plunging" means "up," and "seventy-five" means "two hundred." |
Are you crazy?! I'm not going to be a surrogate mother. | C'mon, Marge. We're a team! It's uter-us, not uter-you. |
You know, Homer, I got a great way to make money -- I'm a human guinea pig. | You mean, like, medical testing? |
Oh, oh, right, okay. | Yeah, but aren't those experiments dangerous? |
Ow! Not so loud. | Hmmmm. |
First, we'll test this experimental perfume on you. | It burns! It burns! |
Homer, you really have no desire to eat that food? | Food? I'm BLIND! |
He must've brought it in with him. | Dammit! |
Mr. Simpson, I'm afraid you have a crayon lodged in your brain. | There's a crayon in my brain?! |
Mr. Simpson, I'm afraid you have a crayon lodged in your brain. | But I've had thousands of head x-rays. How come no one ever noticed it before? |
Do you have any idea how this might have happened? | Well, I'm not sure, but it mighta happened when I was six. |
Mr. Simpson, this could be responsible for your subnormal intelligence. | Hey, I came here to be drugged, electrocuted and probed, not insulted. |
We could remove the crayon for you. It could vastly increase your brain power... or it could possibly kill you. | Hmmm. Increase my killing power, eh? Let's do it. |
Oh, Homer, where have you been? | I just underwent a procedure to increase my IQ fifty points. |
Really? | And they gave me this spiffy nerd ensemble, too. |
Do you feel smarter? | Is the capital of North Dakota Bismarck? |
I don't believe it. Say something else smart. | Dr. Joyce Brothers may be well known, but her psychological credentials are highly suspect. |
I'd love to go to the library with you. | It's a date! |
Dad, did you read all these books today? | Everything from Hop on Pop to Death Be Not Proud. It's so tragic, the way they hopped on pop. |
I always dreamed you'd be my library buddy. | Get out! |
Oooh, found a new short cut? | Better. I was working on a flat tax proposal, and I accidentally proved there's no God. |
Welcome to the third lecture in our series on "Not Putting Things Up Your Nose." Please welcome Homer Simpson. | I am here to give hope to the least of you. Because we all have a crayon up our nose. Maybe it's not a crayon made of wax. Maybe it's a crayon made of prejudice... |
Question! | Yes, Nelson? |
A moron says what? | Not being a moron, I wouldn't know. However, . |
Whatcha mailin', Homer? | I've compiled a thorough safety report on this plant. |
How come you're not giving it to Mr. Burns? | I've decided to disintermediate the local authorities, and send it straight to the Nuclear Regulatory Commission. |
Yeah, it's nice to have someone with brains in this nuclear plant. Homer's the guy who rigged up my pants with this special codpiece. | Comfy, isn't it? |
I can't feed my family with a codpiece. | Wait, you can't hate me. I'm your better! Your better! |
Burn! Burn! Burn! | Effigy, eh? Yeah, nothing burns like an effigy. Hey, that's me! |
Burn! Burn! Burn! | Stop that! The fire inspector would be appalled. |
Don't tell me how to feel. | So you all hate me? |
You ain't welcome here no more, smart boy. | Hmm, I'm detecting a distinct strain of anti-intellectualism in this tavern... |
I make a lot of graphs. | Well, what gets you through the day? |
Oh, many things: Tai Chi, Chai Tea... But I find, when I can't keep the unhappy thoughts from swirling in my brain, the best thing is usually a nice long walk. | A walk? That's a really good idea. |
Is that your final answer? | I don't understand. That wasn't funny. |
Wait a minute! Somebody's not laughing here. It's him! | Hey, don't blame me. This movie is tired and predictable. You know she's gonna wind up marrying Richard Gere. |
... ably played by Bill Paxton. | It's Bill Pullman, you fool! |
Point out your plot holes elsewhere! | Is there no place for the man with a 105 IQ? |
I'm sorry. We don't play God here. | That's ridiculous. You do nothing but play God! And I think your octoparrot would agree. |
Look, what if we gave you the name of an unlicensed surgeon? | Oh, that would be heaven! |
Look, what if we gave you the name of an unlicensed surgeon? | Moe Szyslak?! |
So whaddaya want here? Uh, Appendectomy, lipo, or the "sampler"? That's very popular. | I want you to stick this crayon into my brain. |
All right, tell me when I hit the sweet spot. | Deeper, you pusillanimous pilsner-pusher. |
All right, all right. | Dee-fense! Dee-fense! |
That's pretty dumb... But uh... | Extended warranty? How can I lose? |
Sweetheart, a missing crayon could be anywhere. | Who wants lottery tickets? |
Dad, how could you? We were connecting in such a meaningful way. | We were what what in a what what? |
Hey, what's this? | The wrestler? |
Hey, what's this? | I'unno. Must be sumpin' I wrote before Moe fixed me. |
Oh, Dad. | Huh? Oh, you want a hug. Well that, I know how to do. |
Oh no! | Whuzzit... My juice box! |
Sorry, Homie, but you promised to take me to the Apron Expo today. | Just give me ten more hours. |
They're unveiling a combination apron/smock. It's called a "Smapron." | Did you say "Smockron"? |
No, "Smapron." | Oh. |
And this lead apron will keep me safe downstairs. | Heh, heh. "Grill Power." |
I'm a little disappointed. There were too many aprons. | It was great, all right. But all I wanna do right now is hit the adjustable sack with a good juice box. Because when all is said and done... Prison rodeo!? |
Somebody help him! | Relax, they've got rodeo clowns. |
Hey! Hey, over here! Here, bully, bully, bully, bully, bully! | That's not gonna do it, Marge. You need something red. |
Hey! Hey, over here! Here, bully, bully, bully, bully, bully! | Hey, Toro! Here's something to gore! |
Da-ad! | Not now, honey. Daddy's busy. |
Da-ad! | Now, for a little calming blue. |
Da-ad! | Hey, where's your blue shirt? |
How's your back, Homie? | I can't complain. |
Naw, that's for the prisoners. You can complain all you want. | Oh God, my back! It hurts so much, and my job is so unfulfilling! |
Try to focus on something else. Umm... You like Jimi Hendrix, right? | Uh-huh. |
Wow. The artist really captured Jimi's passion and intensity. | And his fondness for the guitar. |
Look, he painted a unicorn in outer space. I'm askin' you, what's it breathin'? | Air? |
Ain't no air in space. | There's an Air in Space Museum. |
How's your back, Dad? | Well, there's a dull ache, certainly. And overlaid on that is a club sandwich of pain. Only instead of bacon, there's agony. Marge, can I have a BLT? |
How's your back, Dad? | What are you looking at? |
Oh, nothing... How would you feel if I did some volunteer work at the prison? | First I'd feel like having a BLT, then proud of you. |
Oh, Homie. I knew you'd support me. | My back! |
Your spine is more twisted than Sinbad's take on marriage. | So? Just gimme some drugs and surgery. |
Oh, I'd love to. But, ah, to be honest, modern medicine has a lousy record of treating the back. We spend too much time on the front. | Yeah, there's some neat stuff on the front. |
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