("Deck the Halls" instrumental plays)
Ho! Ho! Ho!
(school bell ringing)
Happy birthd...!
(grunts)
(whistle blows)
(Lenny yells)
(playing slow-tempo "Jingle Bells")
(playing lively jazz)
Mm.
*
(whistle blows)
(dogs growling)
(penguins squawking)
(monkeys chattering)
(cats yowling)
(Crazy Cat Lady muttering)
D'oh!
(bicycle bell jingling)
(grunts)
("Hark! The Herald Angels Sing" instrumental plays)
(sizzling)
(popping)
HOMER: D'oh!
* Pickin' up trash
* Put it in the bag *
* Kentucky chicken bucket
* Put it in the bag *
* Makin' four cents an hour and free cigarettes *
* Oh, yeah! *
You have done a beautiful job, ladies.
I think we're ready to move on.
(cans clattering)
(shuddering)
-(gasps) Homer! -(snores)
I'm awake! I'm awake! What?
Oh, I wish you hadn't done that.
Someone adopted this highway.
Not so loud.
The highway doesn't know it's adopted.
But we love it just the same.
Well, at least you rented an SUV for this trip.
Now I don't have to clean up the mess.
(Lisa groaning)
I'm starting to get carsick.
Quick, stick your head out the window!
No, no, no, no, it's a rental.
Aim inside and blast away.
Anyone want a caramel apple?
-It's a rental. -No, thanks.
Shave the dog?
-(razor buzzing) -It's a rental.
Thank you, no.
(tires squeal)
HOMER: Get me candy.
(laughs)
What's so funny?
Ha! You checked this out with half a tank,
but now it's three-quarters full.
I'm callin' you Santa 'cause you just gifted us one-quarter tank.
Nobody, and I mean nobody, calls me Santa.
(tires squeal)
What are you doing, Dad?
I'm gonna burn that quarter tank.
Wasting gas while sitting on my ass.
It's the American way.
(tires squealing)
HOMER: Whoo-hoo!
(Homer laughs)
Amazing, son!
Unfortunately, your left foot just grazed the sideline.
Incomplete pass.
Dad, I've got to pee.
Huh? Huh?
I know it's a rental, but I'd rather go in the woods.
Maybe I should come with you.
Dad, come on. I'm ten years old.
I can pee by myself. It's easy.
You just shake it when you're through.
You do what now?
(zipper opens)
-Sketch what you see. -Hmm?
-(students exclaiming) -(zipper closes)
(zipper opens)
(sighs)
-(zipper closes) -(metallic clang)
(clanging)
(screams)
(body thuds, Bart grunts)
Bart, where are you?!
-Bart! -What is it?
(animalistic shouting): Bart...!
(bellowing): Bart!
I don't know, but I can't shoot it.
Looks like it's pregnant.
Ah, let's wait till they're born,
and then we'll, uh, shoot 'em all.
-(Homer grunting) -(hunters laughing)
(tires squeal)
Where the heck were you?
Where's Bart?
HOMER: Okay, this is the hardest news
in the world for a mother to hear.
Just ease her into it.
Um, you know that sewing room you wanted,
but we could never figure out where?
Oh, my God. Oh, my God.
What? My special little guy.
Don't worry, Lou. (laughs)
If there's one thing I've mastered,
it's consoling distraught parents.
Ma'am? Ma'am?
Can you describe your son's skeleton?
Ooh! You incompetent...
Look, look, your boy's gonna be fine.
Now we laid out a grid
and have search teams fanning out over the forest.
(searchers grunting)
(woman screams)
I'm sorry, but, uh, because of the grid,
we have to suspend the search and bring in some ambulances.
(siren wailing)
Where is my son?!
Where am I?
Hmm.
Huh.
(electrical crackling)
("U.S. Air Force Song" begins playing)
Welcome to Strategic Air Command, Springfield Station.
If you're watching this tape, half the world is doomed.
(chuckles) Says you, General Dead Guy.
GENERAL: Behind you is a Titan II missile,
key to a mighty line of defense
that will reduce our casualties to an acceptable 200 million.
-(clang) -(sighs)
Dud.
Ay, caramba!
-WOMAN: Bart? -GROUP: Bart!
-Bart! -Bart! -HOMER: Bart!
Now don't worry, I have the best dang bloodhound in the county.
Uh, does your boy smell like a fox?
-No. -We're of no use to you.
(howling)
Come on, Bart. You made your point!
The whole town is looking for you.
Even that scary old man from the house with the broken windows.
Bart broke my windows!
It used to be a normal house! (angry growl)
All right, listen up. We have a boy-comma-missing,
and you maggots-- you're gonna help find him.
I thought we were ladies.
-You're lady maggots. -Now see here, Sergeant.
You haven't fed us. We're pretty close to riot mode.
This is the boy.
Never seen him in my life.
We all get tattoos we regret.
I will find that boy,
and I will toast you with his blood!
-(groans) -What'd I tell you about blood toasts, Bob?
To do them, but not brag about them.
PRESIDENT KENNEDY: Ask not what your country can do for you.
Ask what you can do for your country.
Doesn't sound like any president I know.
(belches)
Freedom!
Oh, I can smell Springfield!
(rumbling)
(yelling)
(grunts)
Aw.
Nothing good ever comes from trying.
(Southern accent): Private Homer,
you fat stack of mop buckets!
You find something funny about this?
How about I wipe that smile off your fat face?
(imitating Marge): Not my Homie!
Avert your eyes, ma'am. (grunts)
(gasps) A phone?! Please.
Dial tone. Dial tone.
-(dial tone) -Oh, thank God!
(dialing)
I'm looking for a Miss Culls.
First name Tess, middle initial "T."
Uh, just a sec. I'll check.
Uh, Tess T. Culls. Tess T. Culls!
Uh, come on! I know you're hangin' around here somewhere.
-(laughter) -Why, you little...
When I catch you, I'm gonna stick a beer tap in ya
and pull till the foam comes out your ears!
(laughs)
Oh! Oh! (groans)
Oh. I give up.
If you find Bart, give me his lunch money.
Well, I'm never giving up.
Why not?
Because searching forever is much easier
than me finding a new friend.
I could be your new friend.
-What was that? -Nothing.
Shut up!
His lucky cap!
Bart? Bart? Are you down there?
Milhouse!
I have never been so glad to see you.
Thanks for not noticing my new haircut.
Just give me your phone.
I'll go get help!
You can count on me!
I lit these for our son.
Marge, honey, he's never gonna come back
if he thinks it's a church.
With 78% of the search area reporting,
Channel Six is now projecting that Bart Simpson is dead.
That's right. Self-proclaimed underachiever Bart Simpson,
dead at the age of ten.
Now let's look at the districts where he's deadest.
(crying)
(doorbell rings)
Lisa, I have news about Bart.
We already know.
(crying)
Oh, Milhouse, you were his best friend.
(whimpers)
What did you come here for?
Um...
MILHOUSE: I came to tell her he's alive,
but this feels almost as good as hugging Harry Horse.
I came to comfort you in these uncertain times.
Aw.
-(whistle blows) -It's over!
We're callin' off the search!
-Did they find him? -No, he's dead.
(cheering)
No! That can't be.
Lord, why do you kill things that I want to kill?
Take me now, vile rake!
(rhythmic grunting)
(grunting continues)
I think you should look at Bart's death this way, Bob.
You're free. You're totally free.
Oh, this slipped off.
Have you ever thought of how your life could've gone
had you committed to good instead of evil?
Evil isn't a choice.
Mm. I see.
Why don't we try a little psychological exercise, Bob?
If I unshackle you, will you behave?
Try me.
(beeps)
Cut out Bart's picture.
And by so doing, cut him out of your life.
Don't listen to them, Bob.
-I'm alive. -(psychologist continues indistinctly)
(grunts)
*
(music stops)
Are you okay there, Bob?
I won't believe he's dead
until I've made soup from his bones!
-(grunts) -(groans)
(sighs) Why do I keep giving them scissors?
(dial tone, dialing)
-(phone rings) -(crying) Hello?
Hey, Mom, it's me. Still married?
Oh, my God, oh, my God!
He's alive! And sassy!
(groans)
Um, one for the road?
(grunts)
It's a long road.
(grunting)
I'll see you soon.
(laughs)
Hello, Bart...'s friend.
Bart's alive!
Lead me to Bart.
You'll have to kill me first.
But if you kill me, you'll never find Bart.
Hmm. A conundrum.
How to break you?
Tell me, do you like light operetta?
Oh, how light?
And a-one and a-two.
* I have a song to sing, O
* Sing me your song, O
* 'Tis sung to the moon by a lovelorn loon *
* Who fled from the mocking throng, O *
* The song of the knell of a churchyard bell... *
I give! I give!
I'll take you to Bart!
* He cracked like an egg
Please stop!
* And began to beg
(groans) You promised.
* As I sang this song-o
* It's a song of a popinjay, bravely born *
* Who turned up his noble nose with scorn... *
Can you at least stab me in my ear?
No.
Okay, we'll split up and find Bart.
Thanks for lending this to us, Ned.
And I'll do the three things that help the most:
pray, pray, pray.
(starts engine)
What about me?!
I ain't ridin' in that!
No, you're pulling it!
(grunting) Lousy, no good...
I couldn't pull you when you were eight! (grunts)
Mm-hmm.
Hmm. Hmm.
Hmm. Angry dad, wise-ass kid.
Now, there's a formula that never fails.
DAVE: Okay, boys, we're gonna sing a nice little song.
CALVIN: I want to play cowboys and Indians.
DAVE: Calvin, put down that tomahawk.
Calvin. Calvin.
-(whoosh, blow landing, squish) -Calvin!
CALVIN (chuckles): You look funny, Dave.
Dave? Dave?!
HIPMUNKS: * God bless America
CALVIN: * Give me back my tomahawk...
That's where he is. But if you jump down,
you can't get back up and you'll be caught.
So, uh, I guess that's checkmate.
We're not playing chess.
We're playing a game called After You.
After me?
If you insist.
(Milhouse screaming)
Oh, God. I am so sick of these.
(sighs)
Twelfth time's the charm!
Sideshow Bob?!
That's right. I found your hidey-hole!
You found my heinie hole?
(laughing)
Ah, yes. (chuckles)
Always the back-of-the-class wit.
Well, today you're going to be a real blast.
I don't like the way he really hit the word "blast."
(both grunting)
(clicking)
BART: Uh, Bob, it takes two keys.
That way, no nutcase can do it by himself.
Well, no one ever said launching two boys
on a 50-year-old missile would be easy.
Wow! For a 50-year-old missile, it's in terrific shape!
Shut up!
I'm a kid who appreciates things that last.
(grunting)
Come on, boy. Get a good whiff of his scent.
(sniffing)
(Sideshow Bob theme playing)
(phone rings)
MARGE: Did you find anything?
Uh, we found Bart's sock drawer.
Get back out here!
HUNTER: Well, you can't shoot her. You know that's a woman.
HUNTER 2: Oh, this is the last time I hunt with my lawyer.
Son, I can't go no further.
I want to just lie down and die.
Dad, you can't die here.
You have to die in a nursing home,
where your body falls apart as you burn through your savings
till you're a worthless vegetable.
You know, with dignity.
You're right, son. We're here on a mission.
Now, let's pick out that Christmas tree.
We're here to find Bart.
Right, right. But we got a nice eight-footer over here.
She's got a bare patch, but we'll turn that to the wall.
That's it. I'm not listening to another word.
BART AND MILHOUSE: Help! Help! Help!
(strained): For this, you can thank my time
at Cirque du Soleil.
BART: More like Cirque du So Lame.
Yes, they are pretty much all the same.
(grunts) Just a little further...
Oh, wait, wrong key.
(alarm blaring)
FEMALE VOICE: Five minutes to launch.
(hissing)
*
(alarm blaring)
BART: Bob, why are you doing this?
Well, it's perfectly obvious.
Uh, it's... (sighs)
Give me a moment.
It's an ICBM.
I Commit Bart's Murder!
That's your justification for killing two kids?
I... Hmm?
Dad, look! It's either Sideshow Bob or Shaq.
Not me. I'm going that way.
Boy, am I lost.
Shaq, can you help us?
I'm not Superman.
You have a Superman tattoo on your arm.
How do you know so much about me?
You're scaring me. I don't have any money.
(whooshing)
Have you ever thought of how your life could've gone
had you committed to good?
It is true. I had talent.
I was on Zoom. Just send it to Zoom!
Box 350, Boston, Mass.
* 02134. (chuckles)
You don't want to do this. You're losing it, Bob.
I don't know what's real and what's hallucination.
*
-(phone rings) -Hello?
Hello, Doctor. Bob Terwilliger.
Did I catch you at a bad time?
Oh, Bob, how thoughtful of you to call.
Most prisoners rarely follow up after leaving me to die.
I just need to know,
should I kill these children?
Sounds like someone's got a case of the shoulds.
If you're calling to ask,
it means you already know the answer.
FEMALE VOICE: T minus two minutes.
Clear blast area.
Just tell me, please!
He's not allowed to talk.
*
(alarm blaring)
(metallic clacking nearby)
Hmm, that sounds like the ignition sequence
of an LGM-25C Titan II-II ballistic missile.
I've had just about enough of your nonsense!
(whooshing)
All right, I owe you one.
So, why'd you save us?
Because I realized I don't want to kill you anymore.
Milhouse, is there a knife in my back?
Not that I can see.
Milhouse, is there a "kick me" sign on my back?
Not that I can see.
-(chuckles) -Aw!
I just can't get a clean shot.
Also, you don't have a gun.
I'm useless, all right.
What a brilliant conceptual piece.
Who's it by?
"Norad."
More like Snore-ad.
(laughing)
-(ticking) -Wait, is it ticking?
*
WILLIE: Sooner or later,
it all comes down to mopping.
(Sideshow Bob theme playing)
Doctor, I'm happy.
And when I'm released,
after three consecutive life sentences,
I think I'll open a flower shop.
Oh, that's great, Bob.
Not all my patients are this successful.
-(electrical crackling) -Well,
I won't be needing his file anymore.
And if you're interested, tomorrow's 9:00 appointment
-just opened up. -(electrical crackling)
And a 10:00.
(Sideshow Bob theme playing)
(seabirds squawking)
(footsteps approaching)
Your New York Magazine, sir.
This is The New Yorker. Totally different.
One is the gossip rag of the glitterati.
The other, an asthmatic dinosaur that hasn't been relevant
since William Shawn breathed his last!
Can I go now? I've got 15 other lighthouses,
and every one's a weirdo.
Not that you are.
Fine. Leave me. I'll just polish the bulb
and ponder a wasted life as I walk along the shore.
I rewrite it every time the tide goes out.
Listen to me!
Life is short.
Don't spend it on foolish, empty revenge!
If you buy a mailbox, I wouldn't have to talk to you anymore.
Fine.
Captioned by Media Access Group at WGBH
Shh!