(beatboxing)
(tires screeching)
D'oh!
(tires screeching)
(grunts)
ALL: Huh?
D'oh!
(Homer groans)
No parking spots?
Lousy butt-kissers,
coming in before noon,
eating donuts that are rightfully mine.
Oh, oh, oh!
D'oh! Stupid Smart Car.
(tires screech)
D'oh! Spot-hogging S.U.V.
(tires screech)
D'oh! Inconvenient sinkhole.
(tires screech)
D'oh! Mandatory credit.
(tires screech)
D'oh! "Developed by"?
What does that even mean?
(gasps) It's empty!
Homer, no!
That's Burns' spot.
How could you miss that sign?
Oof. The last guy that parked there is now a...
(quietly): speed bump.
(muffled): Slow down!
Guys, be cool.
Burns'll never know.
He's on vacation this week with his weirdo hunting buddies.
Fellow members of the Order of the Knights of Saint Caucasian,
we've got a lot of things to kill today, so...
release the sedated quail.
(gun clicks)
How am I supposed to hunt it if it can move?
Try it now, Davy Crockett!
Damn you, surface tension...
Wait a minute.
If I can park in Mr. Burns' space,
I can live his whole life!
Quickly now, before I think it through!
(chuckling)
♪ Mr. Big Stuff ♪
♪ Who do you think you are ♪
♪ Mr. Big Stuff ♪
♪ You're never gonna get my love ♪
♪ Now because you wear all those fancy clothes ♪
♪ Oh, yeah ♪ ♪ And have a big fine car ♪
♪ Oh, yes you do now ♪
♪ Do you think I can afford... ♪
(German accent): Come on along, and sing our Tiki song.
(Latino accent): And everyone will take their turns.
(Jamaican accent): To celebrate a man who's great.
The wiki-wakka liki- lakka magic Mr. Burns!
♪ The wiki-wakka liki-lakka ♪
♪ Mr. Burns ♪
♪ The wiki-wakka liki-lakka ♪
♪ Mr. Burns ♪
♪ The wiki-wakka liki-lakka ♪
♪ Mr. Burns ♪
♪ The wiki-wakka liki-lakka ♪
♪ Mr. Burns... ♪
♪ Mr. Big Stuff ♪
♪ Who do you think you are? ♪
♪ Mr. Big Stuff ♪
♪ You're never gonna get my love... ♪
(quietly): Simpson lines up his hitty stick
and gets ready to clobber the dimpled round-o.
He's calling the signals.
(yelling): Omaha! 35!
Hut! Hut! Simpson!
(shrieks)
Incoming!
(yelling): There's a lightbulb out on level P-2!
Oh, good lord.
The trapdoor is under renovation. It's not safe!
(air rushing past)
(grunting)
Mm-hmm.
HOMER: Mosaic!
(screaming)
Congratulations.
You're halfway down.
(electric crackle)
What the...?
(screaming)
Ow!
I'm drowning in cement!
Uh, it's actually concrete. Woo hoo!
Of which cement is an ingredient.
(yells): No!
(rhythmic yelling)
(moans)
(Marge humming) Hmm?
MARGE: Perfect.
(chuckles) Marge,
you've thought of everything.
Except for one nagging detail.
Did I ever tell you about the time I was in a big cast?
It was the Shelbyville Players production of Pippin.
Don't worry, Homie. GRAMPA: I went from player
to ticket taker in one performance!
There's two ways of...
(seagulls chirping and tide rolling)
You are in my seat.
Fight! Fight! Fight!
Asthma, glasses, asthma!
(grunts)
(cheering, yelling)
Oh. There's too much violence
in rearview mirrors these days.
HOMER: Hey, boy,
want to sign your old man's cast?
No problemo.
(marker squeaking)
What does it say?
Don't worry about it.
What did you write?
Sorry. That's between me
and everyone who sees it.
HOMER: I need to know! Hmm.
Begins with F and ends in C-K.
Why you little!
(grunting, groaning)
(chuckles)
HOMER: Tell me!
Never!
(grunting)
(moans)
(quickly): D'oh! D'oh! D'oh!
Woo hoo! D'oh! D'oh! D'oh!
Woo hoo! D'oh! D'oh!
(slowing down): D'oh! D'oh! D'oh!
D'oh...
Woo hoo!
MARGE: Thanks, partner.
We've balled up all the 13 gauge alpaca.
Now maybe there's something fun we can do?
Sure is. A puzzle.
"Foggy Day in Berlin."
5,000 pieces.
Hmm...
(German accent): Homer, complete the puzzle!
I'm a married man!
Fine. If you need me,
I'll be in your schpankenbank.
FEMALE SINGER: ♪ We'll meet again ♪
Marge, I don't think we should do this puzzle.
I know. You can't pick up the pieces.
That's why I've devised a grid system.
Huh? I'll hold up a piece, and you call out the number
and letter of the corresponding grid square.
Uh... I don't know.
Q 15?
Sweetie, it's a side piece.
Q 15's in the middle.
Right. Q 15 is in the middle.
Nothing more fun than rules.
I'll make some tea to help you think.
Oh, I hate being immobile and numb.
If only I was free to move.
(moans)
If only.
(excited chatter)
It's never pleasant to see this kind of activity, Lisa.
Particularly on a cell phone that is so much nicer
than the one I own.
All the fighting seems to start with who sits where on the bus.
Um, Lisa. You seem to have a handle on the bus problem.
Why don't you tackle it? But don't think I won't help.
I'm providing you with a sash.
Skinner!
You are asking a six-year-old girl
to fix this school's problems.
I'm eight.
Oh, carry on.
What do you mean, there's a legal issue
with my trapdoor?
And, uh, as you explain,
please take two steps back.
The old trapdoor was perfectly legal.
It was grandfathered in under the Reagan-era code.
But once you start renovating it,
it has to brought up to modern standards.
Mm. And it has to be handicap accessible.
A wheelchair would never fall through the current opening.
(chuckling): Oh! But that's not a problem!
I refuse to hire the handicapped.
That's another issue.
But for now, we have left ourselves open
to a lawsuit by Homer Simpson.
Fine. Smithers, go see this Simpson character
and trick him into signing a waiver of liability.
I'll discuss things with the foreman.
(yelling): Enrique, mas grande la puerta!
(Homer moans)
Look, Homie! We got three pieces together.
That's a good day's work!
Why don't we do one of Maggie's puzzles?
Cow goes in the cow-shaped hole, boom. Next case.
Hmm, I thought the one good thing about you hurting yourself
was that we could spend more time together.
You did?
Didn't you?
Oh yeah, sure, of course.
Only a fool would admit otherwise.
Mm...
(doorbell rings)
(sighs)
Mr. Smithers! Come in, come in.
(chuckling): Oh! Well, there's our tangle-foot!
Already on the mend.
Yeah, right.
They say it'll be three months
before I can scratch my ass.
Six before I can really go at it.
Listen, I-I don't want to take up your time.
I just need Homer's signature on a couple of things.
First, a get well card to himself.
And what else does he need to sign?
Oh, a... (coughing)
...waiver of liability.
I know, I know.
There are solid reasons to sue.
But do you really want to fill your life
with parasitic attorneys with get-rich-quick schemes?
Schemes? Rich? Quick?
Parasitic? Woo hoo!
How could I have forgotten to sue Mr. Burns?
That's how you get rich in America.
Sue S. A! Sue S. A!
Oh, Lord.
Finally, a chance to use this.
It was designed ironically, but I would die for it.
Are you home during the day because you were injured
at work, school, museum, church, Iraq, elevator plummet,
uneven sidewalk, hit by foul ball, hit by fair ball,
or Iditarod viewing party?
The first one! The first one you said!
Call me, Maxwell Flinch,
at 555-555-5555.
Five, five, five...
Wait, what was the number after the first three fives,
but before the last six fives?
Uh, Simpson, before you do anything rash,
Mr. Burns wanted you to enjoy this get-well cake.
What's that writing on top? Oh!
It's just, uh, strawberry boilerplate
absolving us of liability.
Now just bite here, here, here,
nibble here, lick here...
Uh, your wife needs to eat this cupcake...
Sir, you cannot bribe me with cake.
Because I just ate several pies.
Hello, Mr. Smithers.
I see you haven't given up.
(sighing)
Just enjoy the cake. As long as you don't eat it
in front of a notary public, you're fine.
I'm a notary public.
You gave your ink pad to Maggie.
(moans) I'll, um, I'll walk out with you.
Don't go yet. You guys can help me
brainstorm a pattern for my new quilt.
Marge, I mean this in the nicest way:
your idea of fun makes me want to blow my brains out.
(murmurs disappointedly)
Oh, Razzmatazz is perfect, Marge.
It's-it's uh-- it's red,
but not, uh, too red.
You're right!
Why don't you stick around
and we'll discuss stitching patterns over tea?
I'd like that.
And I'll take the cake back to the home
and share it with the seniors.
Typical.
I'll keep Dad company.
Thank you, Bart.
GRAMPA (moaning): Oh, I dropped it.
Hey, wha-what did you put down my back?
Could be a tarantula,
could just be some yarn.
I'll be at Milhouse's.
(whining fearfully)
(sighing)
What the hell?
Oh, it's such a pleasure to pour tea for someone
and not have to help him chew it.
We've made our choices.
And the world doesn't understand them,
but we do.
Oh! Ew...
Oh... Aw...
You know Marge, somehow I feel that
more than anyone, you understand
those horrible words, "What do you see in him?"
I never said this,
but did you ever think we cling to these guys
because we're afraid to admit we were wrong?
Do you really think that?
Well, I've tried to use it constructively.
I try to have "the serenity
"to accept the things I cannot change
and the courage to change the things I can."
HOMER: That's what they said to me
at that Alcoholics Unanimous meeting!
(groans)
LISA: Attention, bus riders!
My new seating plan avoids conflict
through the use of complex social algorithms.
It teams up compatible seatmates
and places Milhouse with no one.
Yet somehow, I'm still a little scared.
Otto, why are you sitting in back?
Waiting for my assignment, chief.
The driver's seat. You're the driver.
Still me?
(scoffs) New management, same mistakes.
It's so quiet. I've never been able to hear my music before.
(rock music plays over headphones)
Ooh, it sucks.
LISA: This is just the beginning.
Soon I'll have control over
every aspect of their lives.
And then I'll make them achieve their un-dreamt dreams.
Sherri next to Terri.
Jimbo next to Dolph.
No one next to Milhouse.
Ralph next to his invisible friend.
Kearney next to Nelson.
Martin next to Wendell.
Cosine next to Database.
(gasps)
My first PG-13 fantasy.
Since we haven't been able to get a settlement,
we'll have to start preparing you for your deposition.
Caroline here will stand in for the opposing attorney.
Good afternoon, Mr. Burns.
Release the hounds.
Uh, sir, you should try to project a friendlier demeanor.
Release the hounds.
Please.
Seriously, sir, it would really be wise
not to mention the hounds.
Oh, that's like telling Three-Finger Brown
he can't play for the Brooklyn Tip-Tops.
(groans)
MARGE: Waylon,
now I can see why
so many women in movies have gay friends.
Like Princess Leia and C-3PO.
Listen, I made this for you.
(gasps) Oh, my God.
No one ever gives me a gift. Thank you.
No one ever tells me thank you.
I think you see my true self.
The one I never pay attention to at all.
Oh, my God. I want to kiss him.
SMITHERS: Oh, my God. She wants to kiss me.
MARGE: I'm a married woman. SMITHERS: She would
look good with a mustache.
(phone vibrates)
Uh, I've got to go.
Thank God I've got a husband with benefits.
Come here, you.
Okay, but... (exclaims)
Mmm... Smithers.
HOMER: Wait a sec.
Marge is getting her emotional needs fulfilled by another man,
and now she needs me for nothing but sex.
I'm the luckiest husband in the world!
You haven't gotten that stupid signature yet?
No.
And I'm not sure I want to.
You defy me?
Smithers, pour me a glass of water.
Now squeeze my chest.
(coughs)
Now, either get that signature or you're in charge
of restarting our plant at Chernobyl.
That was us?
That doesn't leave this room.
Well brother, prepare to enjoy another day
of calm, peaceful behavior on the school bus.
I got to warn you, a lot of kids
are pretty unhappy with the required seating.
(chuckles)
Well, they'll be happy when I also organize
cafeteria seating, who's picked for teams,
and I've divided the playground into swingers and pushers.
That's insane.
You just bought yourself a year of pushing.
LISA: Order. Order. Maintain order.
Tunnel.
♪ ♪
Whee!
♪ ♪
This message couldn't be clearer.
The children need more sauce on their spaghetti.
Also, their spelling is atrocious.
(tires screech)
Well, at least I have me photos.
(screams)
(laughter)
I thought I had made things better.
Lisa, the bus is supposed to be crazy.
It's the brief respite between the twin nightmares
of home and school.
The one thing a know-it-all doesn't know
is that everyone hates a know-it-all.
Did we, uh, lose anyone?
Just the police chief's son.
(beeping)
I bit a rat.
(clears throat)
Marge, this is the last time I'm coming by.
Oh. Well, that's fine.
I mean, I do have my knitting to get to.
♪ Mm-hmm! ♪
I'm going to a living hell
followed by a certain death.
Here's a picture to remember me by.
Taken by my grandma from her deathbed.
(sniffles) The last thing she saw.
Mmm. Mmm. Mmm.
Mmm.
What's wrong, honey?
Oh, I don't feel like I have anyone to talk to.
I appreciate that, and I'd like to talk.
I'm just so drained after all the time I spend with the kids.
BART: What time?
I took you to that colonial village.
That was a pub at the airport.
I had an ale. You sat on a barrel. That makes it colonial.
Homer, I'm sorry, you have to understand.
Without Waylon to talk to, I feel completely alone.
I totally get it.
One question: who's Waylon?
Smithers.
Totally get it.
Oh, my wife really needs something and to get it
I may have to forego my settlement.
Homer, you fell down a trapdoor into a cement mixer.
Don't you think I deserve something for that?
I'm just trying to do what's right.
Then why did you file a lawsuit?
I really think you should
change the venue, sir.
You can't win a case in this town.
Oh, are they still mad about me eating the town panda?
Get over it.
Wait, wait, wait, wait.
I'm willing to sign anything you want on one condition.
Fine. What's your condition?
You have to keep Mr. Smithers here.
I see. And are you fool enough
to believe a man's handshake means anything?
I am.
Well, put 'er there.
Homer, no!
Why doesn't anyone ever think of the lawyer?
Aw, if I do a slip 'n' fall on the courthouse steps,
would that help?
(sniffs) It might.
See you Thursday.
And I'll see you Thursday night.
Oh. (chuckles)
And I'll see you early Friday morning.
Mm-hmm.
Oh, these slippery stairs.
(exclaiming)
(gasps) Homie!
Marge, no!
(honks)
Marge,
I know Smithers was good at talking to you.
And I want to talk to you too.
Oh.
Just don't expect me to be great at first.
Oh, honey, no one's great their first time.
It's like baking.
Uh, okay, well, uh...
I like you.
And I adore you.
You sacrificed yourself for my happiness.
There is nothing that makes a woman
feel more cherished and secure.
Thank you, my darling.
(whispers): Marge, this is going great.
GRAMPA: Now don't you worry, I made you both soup.
Ooh-hoo, it's pipin' hot.
Two hours in the microwave.
(exclaims)
Who knows what the "D.C." stands for in Washington, D.C.? Anyone?
Anyone?
Mustn't be a know-it-all.
Never again. Not worth it.
D.C. Anyone?
Daddy's kitchen? (grumbles)
Not quite. Anyone else?
No? Okay.
Children, "D.C." stands for "District of the Capitol."
No it doesn't!
The answer is "District of Columbia."
And Miss Hoover, I don't want to be a smarty pants,
but the previous answer was Texas.
Before that, 1848.
Before that, Seward's Folly.
And your dentist appointment is not tomorrow,
it's the day after. Thank you.
Captioned by Media Access Group at WGBH access.wgbh.org
♪ The wiki-wakka liki-lakka Mr. Burns ♪
♪ The wiki-wakka liki-lakka... ♪