CHORUS: ♪ The Simpsons ♪
(theme music playing)
(bell ringing)
(whistle blows)
(beeping)
(playing the blues)
(jazzy solo)
(chimes)
(tires screech)
(honking horn)
D-oh!
(screams)
(tires screeching)
Woof.
Hey, open up!
I've been standing here all morning.
Hey, Homer. What are you doing at work?
The plant's closed for fumigation.
(humming)
Uh-oh!
(panicked gasping)
Ohh...
No one told me the plant was closed.
Didn't you get the e-mail?
What's an e-mail?
It's a computer thing
like an electric letter.
Or a quiet phone call.
I don't have a computer.
(laughs)
Too bad. That's why you're at work
while we're living it up on our day off.
Hey, Karl, turn up the car radio.
Why not? Anything goes today.
(swing music playing on radio)
That does it. I'm getting a computer...
as soon as somebody lets me out of here.
(rattling)
Oh. (chuckles) I'm so stupid.
Um, I guess I'll take that one.
Do you need a paperweight?
Because if you buy that machine that's all you're going to have
is an expensive paperweight.
Well, a paperweight would be nice
but what I really need is a computer.
How about that one?
Mm-hmm. That technology is three months old.
Only suckers buy out-of-date machines.
Uh, you're not a sucker, are you, sir?
Heavens, no.
Oh, good. Because if you were, I'd ask you to leave the store.
I just need something to receive e-mail.
(whistles)
You'll need a top-of-the-line machine for that.
That's the same computer
astronauts use to do their taxes.
I was an astronaut.
Of course you were.
Hmm.
$5,000?
You only have ten seconds to decide, sir.
(whimpering)
This is the best computer in the world
and always will be, right?
Absolutely.
Just run the deed to your house through here.
ELECTRONIC VOICE: You are on your
(male computerized voice) ...fifth...
(female computerized voice) ...mortgage.
(nervous laugh)
Hey, Lisa.
Check out my new computer.
Dad, you shouldn't drag that around.
(laughs)
That's right, top of the line.
(screams, groans)
Stupid pothole.
Don't worry, head.
The computer will do our thinking now.
Oh, yeah, perfect.
Now, then, computer, kill Flanders.
Did I hear my name?
My ears are burning.
Good start.
Now finish the job.
Oh, you're busy.
Catch you later, compu-tater.
Oh, $5,000 for a computer
and it can't handle a simple assignment.
(grunting)
(whines)
Dad, I'll set up your computer.
Why don't you and Bart go play in the backyard?
You're it.
(laughter)
(Bart groans)
(laughter continues)
-HOMER: Why you little! -(grunting)
OK, you're ready to go.
I've written down the basic commands
so that anyone can understand them.
Hmm...
-(flies buzzing) -MARGE: Homer,
bring that back in the house.
HOMER: Fine.
(electronic beep)
Ooh, it's dancing Jesus.
♪ Dee, dee, dee, dee, dee ♪
If there's a better use for the Internet
I haven't found it.
If you've committed a crime and you want to confess
click "yes."
Otherwise, click "no."
You have chosen "no"
meaning you've committed a crime but don't want to confess.
-A paddy wagon... -(siren wails)
...is now speeding to your home.
Hey!
While you wait... why not buy a police cap or t-shirt?
You have the right to remain fabulous.
-(beeping) -Here it is, everybody.
The world's greatest website.
(fanfare music plays)
-Dah, dah, dah, dah, dah... -Hello, hello, hello, hello...
You'd think all the noises would be annoying
but they're not.
I got suspended from school today.
No kidding?
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.
They found a switchblade in my locker.
Well, a web page is supposed to be a personal thing.
You've just stolen copyrighted material from everyone else.
They can sue you for that.
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.
-(keyboard clacking) -(electronic beep)
I'm just mad all the time.
Yup, 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.
(alarm rings)
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.
Ooh, 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 have been Jimbo.
Beautiful. We have confirmation.
(groaning)
Hmm.
Let's see here.
X-rated girls... already bookmarked...
Dial "X" for sex.
Mr. X?
Hmm, shall I cross the final frontier?
(electronic beeping)
What's this?
"Stolen funds?
Pothole money used for swimming pool"?
There's no emoticon for what I'm feeling.
Our Mayor's corrupt?
Oh, Mr. X has done this town a great service
despite his poor grammar and spelling.
WOMAN: Seymour, are you looking at naked ladies?
No, Mother.
WOMAN: You sissy.
(groaning)
What's all this about a secret swimming pool?
Uh, well, what secret swimming pool is that?
Hey, let's look behind that door.
QUIMBY: Don't go in there.
(all gasp)
(indistinct chatter)
Good lord, we've discovered the ruins of an ancient city.
OK, you do better.
I did it.
I changed the world.
Now I know exactly how God feels.
You want turkey sausage or ham?
Bring me two of every animal.
(mews)
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'.
But we must never forget that the real news
is on local TV
delivered by real, officially licensed newsmen
like me, Kent Brockman.
Coming up, how do they get those dogs
to talk on the beer commercials?
Cowboy Steve will tell you.
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 going to keep on digging and probing
until every person in this town is in jail.
Argh! A coconut bagel!
Like poison, it tastes.
All right, I'll tell you a secret.
My bagels are nothing but week-old doughnuts.
Aw, who am I to point the finger?
I once ran over a guy in a parking lot
and dumped the body on a golf course.
What a bombshell.
CHIEF WIGGUM: In the interest of public safety
we have confiscated every doughnut, bagel, cruller
and bear claw in the city.
And some coffee.
(slurping)
This morning, Mr. X reported that your own department--
I know, I know, but I assure you the police do not take prisoners
out of their cells and race them... anymore.
What about using the electric chair to cook chicken?
Yeah, uh, this press conference is over.
-Wait. I have one more. -No, it's over, Phil. It's over.
KENNY: According to my uncle
Miss Springfield isn't as beautiful as she seems.
Word is, she uses appearance-altering cosmetics?
-Oh, my God. -That's shocking.
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.
But you talk 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?
-No, I tells you. -Oh!
♪ I've been sitting on the toilet ♪
♪ All the live-long day ♪
BURNS: Is everything ready for the secret meeting, Smithers?
SMITHERS: Yes, sir.
I hope no one finds out about this.
It's pure journalistic dynamite.
Uh... sir, this place could be bugged. Shh!
(dryer whirring)
OK, now we can talk.
(gasping)
Turn it off!
(groans)
Journalistic dynamite.
(gasps)
(speaking indistinctly)
Then it's agreed.
I'll supply you terrorists with deadly uranium.
You are a credit to the great Satan.
Oh, pshaw!
(humming)
HOMER: I love spying.
(groans)
Oh, don't worry about those fumes.
They'll be sucked into that air vent.
HOMER: Ohh!
This place is falling apart.
"And who's selling the uranium to the terrorists?
Mmm?
Mm-hmm. "Montgomery Burns."
Now we wait.
(groans) Let go of me!
I'm innocent.
Whoa. He's in trouble.
We'd like to award this year's Pulitzer Prize to Mr. X.
(cheering and applauding)
Unfortunately, we don't know who he is
so his cash award will be used to feed starving children.
No! Move! Move!
I'm Mr. X! Gimme! Gimme!
(clamoring)
We'll need some proof.
Ta-da!
He is Mr. X. Hah!
Thank you, folks.
And now I'm off
to expose more secret conspiracies and...
Ooh! Oh, I bit my tongue!
MARGE: 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 going?
Oh, don't worry about the Mr. X thing.
I'm just here for a beer.
(hesitates) Uh, I don't know if I want you
in here no more, Homer.
I got a lot of secrets I'd prefer to keep clandestine.
Terrible, disturbing secrets.
MAN: ...so hungry.
I smell another Pulitzer.
Yikes!
Well, Helen, as it says in the Bible...
-I'll tell you later. -Mmm.
Oh, nobody's visiting my web page anymore.
My counter is actually going down.
(wind blows)
Well, you can't post news
if you don't have any.
That's a great idea.
I'll make up some news.
(shudders) At least take off your Pulitzer Prize
when you say that.
(humming)
-Let's see now. -(growls)
"Bulletin-- New race discovered
living six inches under Denver."
Oh, Dad.
"All named Morton."
Or... "Mortonson."
This Mr. X says Spanish and Italian
are the same language.
(exhales deeply) Well, that's surprising.
They're controlling our minds with flu shots.
I knew it.
Well, kids, now aren't you glad
we don't believe in inoculations?
BOTH (shivering): Yeah.
Mommy?
Hey, Mr. X, I got a tip for you.
In science class, they're dissecting frozen hoboes
and I have the bindles to prove it.
Real news is great, son,
but I'm getting 1,000 hits an hour with grade-A bull plop.
(bell chimes)
Give me 100 lotto tickets, Apu,
because Mr. X is on a roll.
(groans) Stop it, Apu.
You're scaring me.
(whining)
What's going on?
Help! I'm being kidnapped!
(humming)
(muffled talking)
(muffled)
Whoo! (sighs)
This is not a library. Whoo!
HOMER: Save me, Mr. X!
Wait. I'm Mr. X. (groans)
(Homer groaning)
(bird squawking)
Huh? Whuzza?
-(squawks) -Hmm, hmm.
(birds calling)
(peacock squawking)
What the hell?
How did I get here? What is this place?
This is the island.
How do I get out of 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!
Hello, operator?
I'd like to report a really weird island.
Please send lots of rescue 'copters to...
(hissing)
(groggily) Oh, well, all right. Whatever.
(thuds)
(snickers)
(groans)
Welcome, friend. I'm Number Six.
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 Five.
Ha-ha, in your face, Number Six!
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!
So, who brought us here?
I don't know.
-Did you bring us here? -No.
Don't worry.
If even half of your husband is out here
Officer Scraps will find him.
Oh, that's a darling name for a dog.
(barks)
(barking)
Yep, he's on the trail, all right.
-Uh-oh. -(barking frantically)
Better go fish him out, Lou.
OK, Chief.
Uh, the shoes are part of the uniform.
Right, Chief.
(groans)
Oh, they drugged the tea.
They knew my one weakness.
(hydraulic whirring)
Hello, Number Five.
How's every little thing?
Who are you and why are you holding me here?
I want answers now or I want them eventually!
Fair enough. I'll level with you.
(groans)
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!
Don't be cute.
I'm referring to the flu shot expose.
You see, we're the ones loading them
with mind-controlling additives.
But why? (grunts)
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 we 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 Five.
As far as your family knows
Homer Simpson is walking in the front door
right about now.
I'm sorry. What?
(humming fretfully)
(gasps) Homie!
(German accent) Marge, honey, fraulein, I'm home.
You're not my husband.
Jah, please forgive my unexplained two-week absence.
To make it up to you
we will go out to dinner at a sensibly priced restaurant
then have a night of efficient German sex.
Well, I sure don't feel like cooking.
(hissing)
Oh...
(buzzing)
Aren't there any evil movies on?
Maybe something about an evil island?
There's something really different about you, Dad.
I am a new tie wearing.
Oh, yeah.
(Homer groaning)
I'm tired of being drugged and gassed.
There's got to be a way to escape.
-Psst. -Huh?
I've worked on this for 33 years.
It's made out of toilet paper rolls
toothpicks and plastic forks.
And the sail is made of scabs and dynamite.
It's small and it's smelly
but it should carry both of us to...
-(groans) -Whoo-hoo!
Tha-that's the third time that's happened.
Oh, no, an anti-escape orb!
(groans)
(grunts)
Huh. That was easy.
Why did you think a big balloon would stop people?
Shut up, that's why!
Ooh! What a horrible four months!
Now to warn everybody.
Attention, some crazy creeps on an island somewhere
are secretly running the world.
-Hey! -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.
Wha...?
(gasps)
(gagging)
Yes, fight and struggle.
(grunts)
If I know me, he won't like being kicked in the crotch.
(in German) Gott im Himmel!
(in English) Oh, Marge, it's me, The real Homer.
Oh, Homie!
Mmm-mm.
(slow clapping)
Bravo, Number Five.
But you know what happens to bad little fishies
who wriggle through the net?
Can I turn this off?
-Absolutely. -Hey!
Nice to have you back, Homer.
(barking)
The dog thinks so, too.
(all laughing)
"The dog thinks..."
(all groaning)
Bad dog.
(laughing gaily)
Once you get used to the druggings
this isn't a bad place.
Oh, it's wonderful.
Truly God's country.
(snickers)
(hissing)
HOMER (sinisterly): See you on the island.
LISA (robotically): Yes, the island.
(theme music playing)
Shh!
Captioned by Visual Data Media Services