-CHOIR: ♪ The Simpsons ♪ -(bells jingling)
Ho, ho, ho!
Welcome to the Montgomery Burns Prize rewarding
"excellence" in the field of alternative energy.
Local inventors are vying for a million-dollar stipend
donated by C. Montgomery Burns
as part of a court settlement
for causing one billion dollars of environmental damage.
Shoo. Go have one of your enormous litters.
(growls, screeches)
First inventor, you, bus driver,
give us the gist of your terrible idea.
Well, I've harnessed the ancient power of slavery
to run the school bus of tomorrow.
(kids groaning)
(groans, sighs)
Whose boy is this?
I'll take him home.
You'll take his place.
Ah!
I would like to present
my Kwik-E-Smart perpetual energy machine.
Three years ago, I tripped over the cord,
but the hotdogs, they kept rolling.
Some say they're powered by decaying nitrates,
others by tiny insects beneath the hot dog skins.
(wry laugh)
Hard to believe I once turned down a job in Tampa, Florida,
because I believed in this city.
That was 15 years ago. They wouldn't take you now.
Is anyone here an actual scientist?
Uh, yes, I have, on occasion,
dabbled in the scientific arts.
Frink Labs, a division of Allied Frink,
the Good-Glavin people,
are proud to present the Frinkasonic MHV.
And what, pray tell, is MHV?
Oh, yes, it's the Moyvin-Hoyvin Vehicle.
This non-magnetic babe magnet
is powered entirely by, you guessed it,
(quietly) sound waves.
-(crowd murmuring) -(engine starts)
Ah, yes, you see? Your quite appropriate oohs and ahs
are propelling me forward. It's wonderful.
(gasping, murmuring excitedly)
That's slightly more enthusiasm than I had anticipated.
For the love of God, step on the brakes!
The brakes are powered by silence.
(people yelling)
(Willie yelling)
Look out because of the zooming.
Why is it ejecting? It's just a normal seat...!
(gasping, shouting)
ALL: No!
I'm okay.
I'll just go live with my son.
ALL: No!
Hurry up.
I want to get Grampa back here by 3:00,
so we can get him and Maggie on the same nap schedule.
I've labeled all his boxes.
(laughs)
Well, I can't pick up something this heavy without my lifting belt.
(sudden shout) Ow!
You know you can't lift your lifting belt
without wearing your belt-lifting-belt.
Oh, no. I won't be able to help you pack up Grampa.
Fine.
Just stay here and hold down the fort.
Hold down the fort?
With my bad back?
(groans)
(chuckles)
Man, that keyboard-playing cat is so cute.
(playing jazzy tune)
"Villageville"?!
"Build your own authentic medieval village."
I must have something better to do.
And ca-lick.
(fanfare plays)
Finally, a woodcutter that will do what I tell him.
(humming happily)
Holy moley!
He's already made a clearing.
Let's go for a glade.
(chopping and bell dinging repeatedly)
(chuckles)
Just call me DeForest Kelley.
I gotta write that down and send it to Conan.
Oh, move this here-- tap.
Mill, mill. Barn, silo.
Tavern, tavern, tavern, tavern, tavern, tavern...
Brothel.
Parsonage.
A Theater in the Round.
And...
hay pile.
(panting)
"And the Lord saw
what He had made,
and it was good."
(groans)
VILLAGERS (over speaker): Ew.
Yeah, that's right,
your Lord sticks his hand in his pants.
And yes, it is the same hand I tapped you with.
(bell dings)
Well, if I've learned anything,
it's that you can't have too much iron ore.
Maybe one of your tavern wenches can do the laundry.
(shrieks) You're back.
Did you spend this whole time
doing fake chores in a fake village?
-It's real to them. -(groans)
Um, where's Santa's Little Helper?
I don't know. The backyard?
The backyard? But what if he got out
through your half-completed tunnel to Flanders's fridge?
I don't see him anywhere.
You jackass. You lost our dog!
Oh, my God.
I forgot to feed my jackass.
(bellowing) Hank-hew.
(bellowing) You're welcome.
Santa's Little Helper!
I love that dog,
but that is one long, stupid name.
(both groaning)
(meows)
-What the hell? -Oh, right.
The animal shelter hasn't had any greyhounds turned in.
Just a dachshund, a chow, and a pregnant raccoon.
A lot of good backups. How pregnant is the raccoon?
We don't want a raccoon.
Good, Marge.
Get their price down.
Dad, I just noticed something.
You're not upset enough about this.
Hey, Lisa's right.
You're the only one who hasn't cried about the dog.
-Not a crier. -What? You cry all the time.
You cried when they canceled that show you hated.
Goofing on it made me feel wise.
(whimpering)
-Where is that coming from? -From the kitchen.
-He's alive! -And he didn't pee on the floor.
For me, that's a perfect day.
(everyone talking at once)
Dad, why'd you shut our dog in a cabinet?
I'll answer that.
Your father's an "Idjit."
I believe the word is "idiote."
How did Santa's Little Helper get in there?
(gasps) I know what must have happened.
I'm going to get a snack,
but first, should I introduce the black plague?
Mm... what could be the harm?
(man screaming over speaker)
Whoa, now I've got to buy a corpse wagon.
Well, that's how they get you.
Hmm... Ooh!
It's amazing how many things they can make taste like cheese.
Oh, yeah, baby, I'm drinking you down to your knees.
(sniffing)
♪ Gonna drink ammonia ♪
♪ 'Cause it tastes like cheese ♪
♪ I wonder what will happen... ♪
A minstrel has composed a roundelay mocking me?
-Torture, torture, torture. -(people screaming)
Well, it's time we showed this dog some love.
(all speak soothingly)
Attaboy.
Hey Homer, how come you're not hugging the dog?
He knows I love him, and he loves me.
(growling)
That's short for "Rrright you are."
I don't think you even like Santa's Little Helper.
You never take him for walks or sleep with him in your arms.
And I suspect you've been chewing on his treats.
How are they his treats if I paid for them?
Okay, okay. I'll be nicer to the dude.
I've just never really been a dog person.
Really? What about Bongo?
Bongo?!
I told you never to ever talk about Bongo.
(sobbing)
Ever!
What just happened? Who's Bongo?
Bongo was Homer's dog when he was a boy.
HOMER: He's still my dog!
We got him years ago.
HOMER: I don't know what you just said, but it's wrong!
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
(sighs) I was working long hours
at the Springfield Smokestack Factory.
Oh, I was so tired when I got home.
Then little Homer would start crying and crying,
but Bongo knew just what to do.
-(howling) -(crying stops)
(snoring)
Now, my dear, we can watch Mannix as a couple.
Unfortunately, like all true stories,
this one has a crappy ending.
You have a story with an ending?
Uh-huh. All my stories have endings now.
They're putting something in my Jell-O down at the home.
Anyway, Homer and that dog
went together like Christmas and suicidal thoughts.
♪ Me and my Arrow ♪
♪ Straighter than narrow ♪
♪ Wherever we go ♪
♪ Everyone knows ♪
♪ It's me and my Arrow ♪
(tires screech)
♪ Me and my Arrow ♪
♪ Taking the high road... ♪
(alarm sounding)
♪ Wherever we go ♪
♪ Everyone knows ♪
♪ It's me and my Arrow... ♪
Aww.
(stammers, gasps) I had no clue.
Then came the fateful day
when Mr. Burns was lobbying
for the go-ahead on his nuclear plant,
and he was giving away
stuffed Isotoads to all the children.
Have a toy. Don't thwart my ambition.
Look, they even talk.
ELECTRONIC VOICE: Cancer clusters are random occurrences.
Creepy.
You can have mine, Bongo.
Those toys are people bribes, you good-hearted little brat.
-(growling) -Ugh! He bit me!
-(growling) -Get him out of here, son.
Now.
Mr. Burns, I'm awfully sorry.
Oh, I'll be all right.
Once I hold your dying pet in my arms
and feel his wagging tail go stiff.
Uh, sir, you are aware you're at a PR event for children.
(chuckles)
Bring in the clown.
Hey-hey!
(laughs)
So, Lady Godiva gets a haircut,
right, and... kids?!
Uh, no problem. I'll just cut to my clean material.
(muttering)
Farmer's daughter, no.
A man from Nantucket, no.
Bring out the monkey!
(laughing)
Next time I'm getting a smaller monkey.
Ow! Gow! Ooh!
Oh! Gah! All right!
So Mr. Burns wanted to kill Homer's dog.
Homer had no idea.
He was so innocent and chubby.
Course now, he's just stupid and fat.
-Focus. -Huh? Oh, right.
Little Homer didn't know it,
but Burns had unleashed the local dogcatcher
to bring Bongo in.
(sirens wailing)
♪ Little Homer had a dog ♪
♪ And Bongo was his name-o ♪
♪ B-O-On-On-Go ♪
♪ B-O-On-On-Go... ♪
-(tires screech) -Get in quick.
GRAMPA: This was before the day of safety seats
and coming to a complete stop to let your child get in.
When God closes a door, he opens a gun shop.
Wait.
How could you know what Herman said?
You were driving away.
-He wrote a memoir. -Oh.
Uh-oh.
Huh.
Oh.
Anyway...
(siren blaring)
Son, I've got an idea.
A hole next to the seat to hold my cup?
That's a stupid idea.
Holding cups are what thighs are for.
Now hang on tight.
(sniffing, panting, barking)
(inhales) Mmm!
Smell them sausages, Lou.
Are you sure the Big Brother Program
couldn't find me anybody else?
Yeah, well, you were my last pick, too, okay?
Tipping, aah!
(barking)
Oh, I'm a washout as a dogcatcher.
What do I do now?
Well, my dream is to be police chief.
Oh, no, you can't 'cause, um, that's my dream. I'm gonna be chief of police.
Well, then I'll be a spokesman for my people,
like Ralph Abernathy.
Ralph, I like that name.
Man, this story is filling in a lot of gaps.
But I want to know about Dad and his broken heart.
Your father lost a lot in his life--
his hair, his mother,
more games of Monopoly than any man ought.
He'd go to jail and stay there 'cause he loves the easy life,
but I think losing that dog
was the toughest blow of all.
HOMER: Where are we going, Daddy?
Remember our old neighbor, Miss Viola?
Well, she moved to the country, where there was no limit
on how many pets one single lady could own.
Miss Viola?
Isn't she cuckoo?
Now, son, a lot of people are cuckoo
till you need something from them.
I knew that Bongo would have a good home there
and Burns would never find him.
Gosh, Miss Viola,
I want you and your husband to know
how much I appreciate this.
(both groan)
Well, let's get this dog in.
-(whimpers) -Come on.
Son, uh, why don't you give him your sweatshirt
so he'll remember you.
Okay.
How long till we come back and get him?
I had to tell my boy
we were giving away his dog for good.
I wasn't sure if a six-year-old
could even understand the concept.
What? No.
No! No!
Bongo!
(wailing)
Turns out, he caught on pretty quick.
Your father was devastated.
-(crying) -(scoffs) Women and their crying.
(sobbing) Finish the damn story.
I've got a hockey game tonight.
When I finally got back to the house...
Simpson, release your hound.
He's already gone where you'll never get him.
I'm a powerful man, Simpson.
I can walk into McDonalds, order soup,
and they'll make it.
Go on. Get.
I got a bug zapper, and I ain't afraid to use it.
Is that sugar water I smell?
-(electrical zapping) -(groans)
Well, I'm afraid I already told my dogs
they could tear yours apart.
Don't make me look into those pitiless black eyes and say,
"Daddy didn't bring you a friend-friend to rip-rip!"
Where's Bongo?
Is he still at the crazy lady's...
Back to sleep, son.
(chuckles)
(groans, snores)
Oh, listen,
I can think of something you'd enjoy
more than killing a dog.
Dropping a horse on a church?
No! Breaking a man's spirit.
Mine.
Well, I guess I could always
drop a horse on a church afterward.
Fine.
I had to take care of his hounds for a year.
I tried to wear a bite-proof suit,
but those satanic Snoopys always found their way in.
(growling)
(groaning)
I'm not done with you.
I insist you never wear shoes or a proper necktie again.
Just house slippers
and the most humiliating tie there is:
bolo.
(gasps)
But the hardest part
was that my son was so angry with me.
How was school today?
Ketchup, please.
You're probably wondering how I got rabies.
-Well... -I'm not hungry anymore.
Our relationship never recovered,
and no amount of ignoring the problem could ever fix it.
(sobbing)
Grampa, why is the saddest story you ever told
the only one that's ever made sense?
(scoffs) Doesn't make sense to me.
I happen to remember it just a little differently.
Well, tell us your version.
Now granted, I was just a kid, but I say...
Grampa always hated Bongo
and loved money so he sold Bongo
to a wicked farm witch just so he could hang out
with a bunch of rich dogs, and kidnapped Santa
so I'd never get the toy I actually wanted.
And then... then wha...
and then what happened... was...
(stammers)
Gee, my story doesn't make much sense,
except the Santa part.
Yeah, but at least it was short.
Wait. Wait.
There's one part of the story even Grampa didn't know about.
A few months later, I went to rescue Bongo.
(coughing)
Hendrix, come here, boy.
(barking)
But there was one thing I wasn't prepared for.
Bongo was...
happy without me.
He had become her dog.
Oh, Homie.
I'm so sorry.
Well, that's just the way dogs are.
The most disloyal, unfaithful creatures God ever made.
Homer, maybe you should take a look at this.
A Christmas card I got from Miss Viola years later.
HOMER: He still had my sweatshirt.
Bongo didn't forget you.
Unlike those gerbils of yours we gave away.
Oh, they were fickle as hell.
Oh, my God, Dad.
I owe you an apology.
You saved Bongo.
I never understood that till now.
(sobbing) All these years I thought
you loved that dog more than me.
(sobbing) Why would you think that?
Just because I put you in a home where they feed you dog food?
Aw, give me a hug, son.
Okay, but I'm a little out of practice.
Hold your arms like you're carrying a wedding cake.
-What flavor? -It doesn't matter.
If it doesn't matter, then I call Snickers.
-That's not a flavor. -Everything's a flavor
in the kitchens of today.
Just hug already.
Homie? Huh?
(snoring)
Come on, boy, time to go to bed.
My dog.
All right, Homer, it's your moment.
But he's mine tomorrow.
(both snoring)
♪ Me and my Arrow ♪
♪ Straighter than narrow ♪
♪ Wherever we go ♪
♪ Everyone knows it's me and my Arrow ♪
More tea, sir?
No. Any word from Karl Rove?
Sir, despite what he's been telling you, it's over.
-Romney lost. -Damn it.
I guess it's time I explain to these good people
the upcoming fiscal cliff.
Think of the economy as a car and the rich man as the driver.
If you don't give the driver all the money,
he'll drive you over a cliff.
It's just common sense.
Furthermore, rich people feel things
more deeply than the common man.
(screaming, sobbing)
And we've got to change our approach to immigration.
I have a progressive proposal to let into this country
200 grimy Irishmen a year.
I've got lots of potatoes that need peeling
and stables to be mucked out.
Sir, the insta-polls are in.
You're just digging yourself deeper.
Well, then let me just say this.
Marco Rubio... (speaking Spanish)
I'm afraid you just made things even worse.
How? Why?
You just said Marco Rubio is a pink handkerchief.
This public service announcement is over.
(glass breaks)
BURNS: Execute the cameraman.
Shh!
Subtitled by A. Vandelay