♪ The Simpsons ♪
(chalk screeching)
(bell rings)
(work whistle blows)
-(sucking) -(register beeping)
(jazzy solo)
(tires screech)
D'oh!
-Aah! -(tires screech)
(squeals)
HOMER: Here's good news.
According to this eye-catching article,
S.A.T. scores are declining at a slower rate.
Dad, I think this paper is a flimsy hodge-podge
of pie graphs, factoids and Larry King.
Hey, this is the only paper in America
that's not afraid to tell the truth--
that everything is just fine.
"To me bestest bud Milhouse.
Happy birthday, Bart."
Bart, that's so sweet.
May I see the card?
"Hey there, 10 year-old, I couldn't afford to get you a new drum..."
-Eww. -BART: Come on.
-Open it! Open it! Open it! -Uh, maybe a little later, Bart.
Aw, Milhouse, just 'cause your mom didn't let you have a party
doesn't mean you can't get a present.
We had a lovely time on Saturday, Milhouse.
-I liked the balloons. -I liked the party hats.
What are you girls talking about?
Nothing. (giggling)
Twins. Open your present.
They're official Krusty the Klown walkie-talkies!
I'll keep one and you keep one.
Now, whenever you want to talk to me,
just call me on the phone
and tell me to turn on my walkie-talkie.
Milhouse, I'd like to express my appreciation for Saturday--
jelly bean baskets, personalized noisemakers--
but the little touches are what made it enduring.
What's he talking about?
Hey, look at that dog.
Isn't that something?
-(tires screech) -Wow! Brown.
OTTO: Whoa! Springfield Elementary, last stop.
Oh, and by the way, I'd like to say thanks
and applause, applause to birthday boy Milhouse
for his totally bitchin' party on Saturday!
(cheering)
Oh, and Milhouse, I think I left my pants on your roof.
You did have a party.
You didn't invite me.
I thought we were best friends.
Sorry, Bart.
Bye, little dudes.
Don't learn anything I wouldn't learn.
Ah, Monday morning.
Time to pay for your two days of debauchery,
you hung-over drones.
-T.G.I.M., sir. -Yes.
So, what did you do this weekend, Smithers?
Well, I caught up on my laundry,
wrote a letter to my mother.
Oh, here's the kicker.
I took Hercules out to be clipped.
Who the devil is Hercules?
He's my Yorkshire terrier, sir.
He's kind of tiny, so...
you know, it's a joke.
Here's a picture of Hurky.
Whew. Well, Smithers,
don't you know how to paint the town red.
May I ask how you spent your weekend?
A bit overly familiar, but I'll allow it.
I took in a movie.
An appalling little piece of filth.
Its "leading lady" was a blonde harlot
who spent half the film strolling around naked as a jaybird.
-(gasps) -No, just give the great unwashed
a pair of oversized breasts and a happy ending,
and they'll oink for more every time.
What a movie!
And that blonde cutie-- does she have assets!
-(oinking) -Heh-heh-heh!
-Sounds like my kind of flick. -And how!
(all oinking)
(laughing)
Eww! Lemon.
Ugh! Cherry.
Ooh, custard.
Mmm, purple!
(grunting and smacking)
♪♪ (humming Edgar Winter's "Frankenstein")
Otto, welcome.
Apu, hey.
Got a bad case of the munchies, man.
-Time for a heat lamp dog. -Oh, Otto.
Otto, did you know there's a small child inside your bus?
Whoa, good thing you warned me. I was on my way to Mexico.
(snoring)
Call me old-fashioned, but movies were sexier
when the actors kept their clothes on.
Vilma Banky could do more for me with one raised eyebrow
than an entire--
ALARM VOICE: Warning. Problem in Sector 7-G.
7-G? Good God! Who's the safety inspector there?
-Uh, Homer Simpson, sir. -Simpson, eh?
Good man? Intelligent?
Actually, sir, he was hired under "Project Bootstrap."
Thank you, President Ford.
(snoring)
(alarm beeping)
Huh?
Noise. Bad noise.
FEMALE VOICE: Five minutes before critical mass.
Critical wha-- Okay, okay. Don't panic.
Whosever problem this is, I'm sure they know how to handle it.
-(popping) -Huh?
(screaming) It's my problem! We're doomed!
Sector 7-G is now being isolated.
My best friend shafted me.
I'll never get over this, Otto-man.
Sure, you will.
Once, my old lady ran off and married my brother.
Well, it hurt, but here it is a month later, and I'm sleeping on their couch.
Marguerita, I want you.
Mr. Devereaux, I can't work under these conditions.
Have it your way, baby.
You're fired.
(moaning)
-Oh, Avery. -Call me Mr. Devereaux.
ANNOUNCER: We interrupt Search for the Sun for this special news bulletin.
Forget the hair. Just give me the blush.
Oh, we're on.
This station has just learned
that a serious crisis is in progress
at the Springfield Nuclear Power Plant.
-Oh, my Lord! -On the line with us now
is plant owner C. Montgomery Burns.
-Mr. Burns? -Oh, hello, Kent.
Right now, skilled nuclear energy technicians
are calmly correcting a minor, piffling malfunction--
(screaming)
...but I can assure you and the public
that there's absolutely no danger whatsoever.
Things couldn't be more shipshape.
-Sir, where's my radiation suit? -How the hell should I know?
BROCKMAN: Mr. Burns, people are calling this a meltdown.
BURNS: Oh, meltdown. That's one of those annoying buzz words.
We prefer to call it an "unrequested fission surplus."
Homie, please, be all right.
Got to think! Got to think!
Okay, somewhere there's a thingy
that tells you how to work this stuff.
The, um, the, uh, the manual!
The manual, right.
Aha!
(screaming)
It's as fat as a phone book!
"Congratulations on your purchase
of a Fissionator 1952 slow fission reactor."
D'oh! Get to the point, man.
Ooh, what's this?
D'oh! Who'd have thought a nuclear reactor
would be so complicated?
Ninety seconds to core meltdown.
Sir, there may never be
another time to say... I love you, sir.
Oh, hot dog.
Thank you for making my last few moments on earth socially awkward.
Looks like this is the end.
That's all right. I couldn't have led a richer life.
After the meltdown, we can expect roving bands--
I don't like this program.
Change the channel.
...traffic for hours.
AUDIENCE: Wheel of Fortune!
I don't understand anything.
When they look up "stupid" In a dictionary
there will be a picture of me.
Dear Lord, if you spare this town
from becoming a smoking hole in the ground,
I'll try to be a better Christian.
I don't know what I can do.
Um... Oh, the next time there's a canned food drive
I'll give the poor something they'd actually like
instead of old lima beans and pumpkin mix.
-One minute to core meltdown. -Shut up!
Simpson, it's all up to you.
It's show time!
Okay, okay, think back to your training.
INSTRUCTOR: Homer, this may very well save
your life one day-- This-- Homer?
-Yeah? -Please pay attention.
This button here controls the emergency override circuit.
In the event of a meltdown, push this button, and only this button.
Ooh, a side.
-Simpson! -What?
You see which button I'm pushing?
Yeah, push the button. Got it.
-(alarm blaring) -This is all your fault!
Got to pick a button, pick a button, pick a button.
One potato, two potato three potato four-- No, wait.
Bubble gum, bubble gum, in a dish.
How many pieces do you wish? No! No!
30 seconds to core meltdown.
Oh Smithers, I guess there's nothing left to do
but to kiss my sorry ass good-bye.
-May I, sir? -Ughh.
These unfortunate people here, will be instantly killed.
This circle, which I am sad to say we are in, will experience
a slower, considerably more painful death.
Good Lord!
They called me old-fashioned for teaching
the "duck and cover" method,
but who's laughing now?
Fifteen seconds to core meltdown.
Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.
Catch a tiger by the toe.
If he hollers, let him go.
Eeny, meeny, miny...
moe.
(button clicks)
(alarm blaring)
All systems returning to normal.
Danger in 7-G neutralized. Have a nice day.
Whew.
(cheering)
-Will I ever see you again? -Sure, baby.
Next meltdown. Heh.
(squeaking)
TV CONTESTANT: I'd like to solve the puzzle.
"Three loins in the fountain."
-(buzzer) -(all laughing)
BURNS: Yes, we've isolated the problem.
Wouldn't you know-- false alarm.
It seems a single wayward crow
-flew into our warning system. -Very good.
Well sir, your point about nuclear hysteria
is well-taken.
This reporter promises to be more trusting,
and less vigilant in the future.
Excellent.
Well, ta.
Smithers, I can still sell them snake oil.
Now, bring me a wine spritzer,
and don't be stingy with the vino.
Yes, sir.
So, Smithers
it seems you've underestimated one Homer Simpson,
-our next employee of the month. -(glass crashing)
(Bart chuckles)
-Milhouse, a little salt? -Sure.
Ohh!
Ha-ha-ha. Now we're even for your party.
Come on, let's go play.
Bart, my mom won't let me be your friend anymore.
That's why you couldn't come to the party.
What's she got against me?
She says you're a bad influence.
Bad influence, my butt!
How many times have I told you? Never listen to your mother.
But Bart, she threatened to cut off my allowance.
Whatever she's paying you, I'll double it.
-I'm really sorry, Bart. -(groaning)
Sir, about employee of the month. If you'll recall,
I'm the one who put a five-percent ceiling
on the Keogh Plan, which saved this company--
Smithers, you bean counter, give it up.
Simpson's my man.
(slurps loudly)
Hey, way to save our lives.
Yeah, we owe you one.
Well, you know, boys,
a nuclear reactor is a lot like a woman--
you just have to read the manual and press the right button.
(slurps loudly)
Simpson? Monty Burns. Come with me.
(all chanting) Homer! Homer! Homer!
Now, now, that will do.
(grunting) Homer, for your bravery and skill
we award you
this ham, this plaque,
this discount coupon book,
and my own personal thumbs-up.
(grunting)
Ahh!
Hah!
And to ensure your immortality,
your heroic visage will be added
to our wall of fame.
Oh, and what's this?
A congratulatory phone call from Earvin "Magic" Johnson?
(gasps)
Magic Johnson?
Yello.
Is this really Homer Simpson?
Yeah.
Wow. Homer, I just used our last time out
to call and congratulate you
on averting that nuclear holocaust.
Well, thank you.
Magic, if you play on that ankle,
you'll be in incredible pain.
I don't care.
Magic, what if people think a guy's a hero,
but he was really just lucky?
Don't worry. Sooner or later,
people like that are exposed as the frauds they are.
-Thanks, Magic. -(receiver clatters)
♪ Fight-fight-fight ♪
♪ The Itchy & Scratchy show ♪
Oh!
(slurping)
(screams)
Aah!
Hee-hee-hee-hee!
(screaming)
-(screaming) -(bell dinging)
(laughing)
Bart, you're not laughing.
Too subtle?
No, I'm just depressed.
Milhouse's mom won't let me play with him anymore.
Homer, did you go out and buy a 20-pound ham?
-What's all this? -D'oh!
"For heroic competence.
"For narrowly averting a meltdown
and proving without question
that nuclear power is completely safe.
Employee of the month!"
Oh, Homer!
Ohh...
A role model in my very own home,
how convenient.
Look, I get enough admiration and respect at work.
I don't need it here at home.
(door slams)
How are you enjoying your ham, Homie?
Tastes so bitter, it's like ashes in my mouth.
Hmm. It's actually more of a honey glaze.
Maybe you ate a clove.
What's your problem, boy?
I had a fight with Milhouse.
That four-eyes with the big nose?
You don't need friends like that.
How Zen.
(bowling pins clatter)
What?
What is it?
What are you doing?
Looking at you with quiet awe.
Well, as long as it's quiet.
Milhouse to Bart. Milhouse to Bart.
Please don't hate me.
Please?
HOMER: Ooh, right next to the boss.
(loud bump)
Aw, he'll never know who did it.
(Smithers grumbling)
(Smithers muttering)
(Smithers groaning)
Ah, Simpson, there's someone
I want you to meet-- Aristotle Ametdopolous,
owner of the Shelbyville Nuclear Power Facility.
Huh? What?
It seems Ari's been having terrible worker problems at Shelbyville.
They've lost their zest for work.
You must help them find their eanae-eharatou-nah-duleve.
-Their eanae haratou doolawhat? -Yes.
We want you to give them a pep talk that turns them from
a bunch of donut-eating goof-offs
into a pack of Homer Simpsons.
I really can't tell them anything.
Oh, cut the false modesty! It's getting tiresome.
Besides, it's your duty. Employee of the month isn't all ham and plaques.
(Smithers panting)
Well, Smithers.
How kind of you to pay us a visit.
Couldn't help it, sir. The parking here is terrible.
-(gasping) -This man has no love
for his power plant.
Be gone from my sight.
That one's always been a problem.
One, two, three. Community chest.
Nah.
Nah. Ah!
I've won second prize in a beauty contest.
Collect ten bucks.
Ha, ha! You're losing.
Bart, don't feed your sister hotels.
Don't worry, Mom. There's tons of these things.
I think that game is too old for her.
Why don't you go play with Milhouse?
I don't want to play with Milhouse.
You mean you still haven't made up with him?
It's his mom. She says I'm a bad influence.
C'mon Maggie, let's go throw rocks at that hornets' nest.
(grumbles)
(bell chimes)
Mrs. Van Houten, I'm Bart's mother.
We met in the emergency room when the boys drank paint.
I remember. Please come in.
Marge, I'm sorry
but I think it would be better
if Milhouse didn't see your son.
Look, I know Bart can be a handful,
but I also know what he's like inside.
He's got a spark.
It's not a bad thing.
Of course, it makes him do bad things.
Well, Marge, the other day
Milhouse told me my meat loaf sucks.
He must have gotten that from your little boy,
because they certainly don't say that word on TV.
Well, I can't defend everything he does,
but let's face it.
All Bart and Milhouse have is each other.
They're too young for girls,
and they're a popular target for bullies,
and in the Christmas pageant, they're always sheep.
Please, please, let them be friends.
(sighing) I'll think about it, Marge.
So the next time somebody tells you
carny folk are good, honest people,
you can spit in their faces for me.
I will, Mr. Gumble. But if you'll excuse me,
I'm profiling my dad for the school paper.
I thought it'd be neat to follow him around for a day
-to see what makes him tick. -Aw, that's sweet.
I used to follow my dad to a lot of bars too. (belches)
MOE: Here you go. One beer, one chocolate milk.
Excuse me, I have the chocolate milk.
Oh.
(groans)
What's the matter, Homer?
The depressing effects of alcohol
usually don't kick in till closing time.
He's just a little nervous.
He has to give a speech tomorrow
on how to keep cool in a crisis.
What am I gonna do? What am I gonna do?
BARNEY: Hey, I had to give a speech once.
I was pretty nervous, so I used a little trick.
I pictured everyone in their underwear--
the judge, the jury, my lawyer-- everybody.
-Did it work? -I'm a free man, ain't I?
Milhouse to Bart. Do you want to come over and play?
Really? We can be friends again?
Did your mom die?
Uh, I don't think so.
Well, who cares?
Milhouse, I'll be right there.
Sorry, Maggie. Game's over.
Hey, Mom! I'm friends with Milhouse again.
Well I knew his mother would come to her senses.
Thanks for sticking up for me.
What makes you think I did it?
Who else would?
Aw...
You be good.
I will.
(gun cocking)
As I look out into this sea of smiling faces,
I am filled with a sense of loathing and revulsion.
You are not workers.
You are a pack of mangy, cud-chewing, ugly goats.
Well, you're in for a treat.
We have with us today a real man.
Behold the glory that is Homer Simpson.
(cheers)
(clears throat)
Uh... "Ladies and...
gentlemen."
Just picture them in their underwear...
Whew!
Ahh!
(voice cracking) "Grace under pressure is no..."
Three minutes to meltdown.
(screaming)
Whew! Saved by the bell.
Fifteen seconds to core meltdown.
Just do what you did before.
All right.
Eeny, meeny, miny, moe,
catch a tiger by the toe,
if he hollers let him go,
eeny, meeny, miny moe.
Crisis has been averted.
Everything is super.
Thank you, Homer, for saving my plant
with that idiotic rhyming!
Do you even know what button you pushed?
Sure-- Moe.
Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.
Is Homer a hero?
The answer is no.
I'm Kent Brockman and that was "My Two Cents."
Now, back to Scott Christian with "Laugh and a Half."
Thanks, Kent.
There was more dumb luck in the news today
when our own police chief Wiggum foiled a bank holdup
without even trying.
It seems the chief had gone to the bank
to cash in his penny jar.
...48, 49, 50.
-What the-- -Ooh!
Good work, Chief.
Just doing my job.
Yes, it seems the chief pulled a Homer Simpson of his own.
(men laughing)
Whoa!
Huh?
A pretzel?
Wow! Looks like I pulled a Homer.
CHICK HEARN: The Lakers have the ball.
Magic Johnson coming down the floor on a fast break.
Magic stops. His feet slip out from under him!
The ball flies out of his hands, hits the referee in the head
goes in the basket!
It's a three-point play! The Lakers win!
Looks like I pulled a Homer.
LISA: Our dad! Now he belongs to the ages.
♪♪
Shh!
CAPTIONS ENHANCED BY ROUNDABOUT ENTERTAINMENT INC.