♪ The Simpsons ♪
(chalk screeches)
(bell rings)
(work whistle blows)
-(sucking) -(register beeping)
(jazzy solo)
(tires screech)
(tires screeching)
(horn honks)
(tires screech)
D'oh!
-Aah! -(tires screech)
I don't need your crummy job, Mister Employer.
I won the lottery!
Well, who needs employees? I won the lottery too!
We both won the lottery!
ALL: Why don't you win the lottery too?
MAN: Where everybody wins!
Actual odds of winning: one in 380 million.
The lottery--
exploiter of the poor and ignorant.
You know, I heard the jackpot's up to $130 million.
(sputtering)
$130 million?
Did you say $130 million?
-Yeah. -Wow!
(clamoring)
Yes, yes. Here's your lottery ticket.
Thank you for knocking over my inventory.
Please, come again.
Bart, I need some lucky numbers fast.
How old are you?
Uh-huh, and what's your birthday?
No kidding.
And what's Lisa's birthday?
What? You don't know your sister's birthday?
What kind of brother are you?
Strap on your bulletproof vest, Sanjay.
It's time for another bank run.
Alright, but if I don't make it
promise you won't sleep with my wife.
I promise nothing.
You'll never guess what happened, Marge.
Are you ready?
I have a feeling that we may win...
the lottery!
But we never, ever...
I know you're excited,
but calm down and listen to me carefully.
Go get all your money...
I buy one lottery ticket a week
with the girls at the hair salon.
We each play our birthday,
and that's enough excitement for me.
You don't understand, Marge.
The lottery is the one ray of hope
in my otherwise unbearable life!
Uh, the lottery and you.
Homer, we're on a tight budget, here.
Promise me you won't get carried away.
Yes, money-- I mean honey.
Ooh! Here comes the news report about the lottery.
Hey, down in front.
The whole state is suddenly in the grip of lottery fever
and Springfield is no exception.
In fact, every copy of Shirley Jackson's "The Lottery"
has been checked out from the Springfield Public Library.
Of course, the book does not contain any hints
on how to win the lottery.
It is rather a chilling tale of conformity gone mad.
Ohh....
But there's already one big winner--
our state school system
which gets fully half the profits from the lottery.
Just think what we can buy with that money:
History books that know how the Korean War came out.
Math books that don't have that Base-6 crap in them.
And a state-of-the-art detention hall
where children are held in place with magnets.
Magnets, always with the magnets.
HOMER: I've never been so sure of anything in my life.
I am going to win this lottery.
Homer, the odds are 380 million to one.
Correction: 380 million to 50!
So, what are you gonna do with your share of the money, kids?
Put it in the bank.
Give it to the poor.
Pfft. What do kids know about spending money?
What are you gonna do, Homer?
Hmm...
Hey Homer, what did you do, get a haircut or something?
(booming voice) Look closer, Lenny.
Oh, I know what it is.
You're the biggest man in the world now
and you're covered in gold.
14-karat gold.
Take a hike, boss.
I'm running things now.
All hail King Homer.
(triumphant laughter)
(chuckling)
We now take you to the drawing live.
I hope you've got your tickets. I've got mine.
-(phone rings) -They're about to start, Chief.
No, you got the wrong number.
This is 91... 2.
We'll be with you in a minute, kids.
This could be our ticket out of here, Mel.
I will now draw the first winning number.
(groaning)
I've got so many tickets I can't lose.
The first number is 17.
D'oh!
You can still win some money
if you have five out of six.
Woo-hoo!
And the second number is... three.
D'oh!
Yeah, I knew we wouldn't win.
Well, why didn't you tell the rest of us?
Why did you keep it a secret!?
If you were 17, we'd be rich.
But no, you had to be ten.
And the final number is... 49.
38... 49!
Oh, my God... I won. I won!
(screaming)
(crazed laughter)
(clearing throat)
Recapping our day's top story:
the winner of today's state lottery is...
me, Kent Brockman.
Can we get a shot of me?
There you go. In other news, uh...
A tragic mix-up today in Cleveland.
Many people killed. Uh...
Good-bye!
Oh, well, we lost the money
but at least we've still got each other.
Hey, the dog's dead.
(gasping)
BART: Grampa, he's not dead.
HOMER: Dad, you shouldn't say the dog's dead when he's not.
It's not fair to toy with people's emotions like that.
He is dead. I'll get a shovel.
Well, he's not dead, but he is awfully sick.
Oh, sure, the old man's off his rocker.
If Grampa says he's dead, he must be alive.
He is alive.
He's wagging his tail.
That don't mean nothin'!
Dogs wag their tails for hours after they die.
I'm tired of this conversation.
Let's talk about something else.
I'm going home.
Clear.
Doctor, he's gone.
Ugh! This is the part of the job I hate.
Hey, you did the best you could.
I love animals.
I spend my life saving them, and they can't thank me.
Well, the parrots can, but anyway,
let's see what's wrong with this little fellow.
(dog whimpering)
Hmm...
I'm afraid that your dog has a twisted stomach.
He needs an operation to correct it
-or he'll die. -♪♪ (dramatic)
How much will it cost?
$750.
Oh, dear.
This is never an easy decision. It's an awful lot of money.
Well, I guess we'll have to talk it over.
Talk what over? What's there to talk about?
What are we gonna talk over?
Mr. Teeny needs a refill of his nicotine gum.
I can't help but notice we're leaving the hospital.
When's the dog going to get his operation?
Uh... later. First I want to tell you
about the most wonderful place
in the world--
Doggie Heaven.
In Doggie Heaven, there's mountains of bones
and you can't turn around
without sniffing another dog's butt.
And all the best dogs are there--
Old Yeller and about eight Lassies, and--
Is there a doggie hell?
Well, of course, there couldn't be
a heaven if there weren't a hell.
-Who's in there? -Oh... Hitler's dog,
and that dog Nixon had, what's his name? Chester?
Checkers.
Yeah, and one of the Lassies is in there too.
The mean one-- the one that mauled Timmy.
Hey, wait a minute,
does this have anything to do with Santa's Little Helper?
Oh, honey, $750 is a lot of money.
We really can't afford this operation.
You're gonna just let him die?
I know you're upset.
Darn right I'm upset!
Bart, watch your language.
Oh... you did. Sorry.
We're not going to let our dog die, and that's it!
Lousy, dog-killing son-of-a--
(sighing)
Well, it will be okay.
We'll get him a new dog--
one with an untwistable stomach.
(whimpering)
Oh, come on.
I'm sorry but we just can't afford it.
Marge, make him stop.
Oh!
All right, all right, we'll find a way.
Lousy, manipulative dog.
Uh, Mr. Burns I need to borrow some money.
Please, do go on.
HOMER: I know you're a good man
and I have a dog that's very sick.
Oh, please, continue.
I thought maybe you...
Oh.
Well, thanks for your time.
What makes a man endanger his job
and, yes, even his life by asking me for money?
People like dogs, Mr. Burns.
Nonsense. Dogs are idiots.
Think about it, Smithers, If I came into your house
and started sniffing at your crotch
and slobbering all over your face
what would you say?
If you did it, sir?
Exactly. You'd be fit to be tied. Dogs!
Hmm...
-No! -What?
You are not going to perform that operation yourself.
But Marge, it looks so easy.
Just like carving a turkey.
ALL: Oh! Oh!
Eww!
(grunting)
Maybe you're right, Marge.
I found a way we can pay for the operation.
-BOTH: All right! -Hear that, boy?
-What do you got, Marge, insurance scam? -No.
I'm afraid we're just going
to have to make a few sacrifices.
Homer, you're going to have to give up beer for a while.
Bart, from now on,
you'll have to get your hair cut for free
at Springfield Barber College.
No problemo.
I'm going to give up buying my weekly lottery ticket
and I found a way to stretch the food budget.
Fried chicken night will now be organ meat night.
Ham night will be Spam night, and pork chop night--
-(sobbing) -Will be chub night.
Chub? I don't even know what that is.
Lisa, I'm afraid we'll have to stop getting you
those volumes of Encyclopedia Generica
from the grocery store.
But Mom, next week is volume four--
Copernicus through Elephantiasis.
We all have to make sacrifices, dear.
Maggie's baby clothes will have to last for a little longer.
Marge, I've figured out
an alternative to giving up my beer.
Basically, we become a family of traveling acrobats.
I don't think you've thought this through.
-(gasping) -Good news, Mr. Danielson.
We saved your gamecock,
but I'm afraid he'll never fight again.
That's what you think.
He'll fight and he'll win.
Clamp.
(beeping)
Wipe.
(flat tone)
No!
MAN'S VOICE: Come to the light, boy.
Come into the light.
Come on now.
There's a good boy.
Come on. Come on.
(rhythmic breathing)
(monitor beeping)
-Um, Simpson? -(gasping)
(barking)
Oh, Santa's Little Helper, you're alive!
Oh, you're all better now!
It's times like this I'm glad
I flunked out of dental school.
HOMER: Lousy chub night.
Hey, how come he gets meat and we don't?
You wouldn't want what he's eating.
It's mostly just snouts and entrails.
Mmm... snouts.
Yes, I'm back.
Kent Brockman is not the kind of man
who would leave a $500,000-a-year job
just because he won a lottery.
Hey, I'm a journalist.
Well, he's got all the money in the world
but there's one thing he can't buy.
-What's that? -A dinosaur.
Of course, I'm not the only one
who benefitted from last week's big payoff.
Our state schools got their share too.
Here, lottery officials present Springfield Elementary
with a brand-new eraser.
One eraser?
I'm used to my government betraying me.
I was in 'Nam. I served for 3--
And speaking of lotteries
here are the winning numbers for this week's
$40,000 'jackpot'.
3-6-17-18-22 and 29.
Oh, no!
Those are my numbers.
If it wasn't for that dog, I would have won.
Class, for tomorrow, I want you to write a report
on Copernicus.
D'oh!
MAN: Come on, booze hound.
You want the 25 cents, don't you?
Keep singing!
♪ Buffalo gals, won't you come out tonight? ♪
♪ Come out tonight? ♪
Who's that old rummy?
Before his dog got sick
that old rummy used to be my best customer.
♪ ...of the moon ♪
(all cheering)
Sing it, baby!
Go get it, pal!
My quarter! Aagh!
Okay, I'll just even this out and--
(buzzing)
Mr. Laswell... I've done it again.
(panting)
I know you can't understand me
but you're a lousy dog and I hate you.
Not now.
Can't you see I'm reading a third-rate biography
of Copernicus I found at the bus station?
Dumb dog.
(whimpering)
Homie, did you close the gate?
Yes.
(gate banging)
Oh, you mean tonight.
The dog will get out.
Bart, close the gate!
Oh, Lisa, close the gate!
Close the gate, Maggie!
(whimpering)
MARGE: Here, boy!
(whistles)
Here, Santa's Little Helper!
Oh...
it's all my fault.
I called him a dumb dog.
Oh, he's gone and he's never coming back.
Wait! There he is!
No, that's a horse.
(growling)
(both growling)
(meowing, barking)
(cat screeches)
(barking)
Have you found a picture yet?
Not one that I want the public to see.
Mmm...
Oh.
Mmm...
Oh, dear.
FLANDERS: So, recycling
is our way of giving Mother Earth a great big hug.
Yes, well, it does sound like fun.
I can't wait to start pawing through my garbage
like some starving raccoon.
Release the hounds.
Well, neighbor I see you've got
your running shoes on. That's a good thing.
(growling)
(screaming)
(tired panting and growling)
What's wrong with Crippler?
He's getting on, sir.
He's been here since the late '60s.
Ah, yes, I'll never forget the day
he bagged his first hippie.
That young man didn't think it was too groovy.
(chuckling)
I'm looking for something in an attack dog--
one who likes the sweet, gamey tang of human flesh.
Why, here's the fellow.
Wiry, fast, firm, proud buttocks.
Reminds me of me.
Ah, the last one.
D'oh!
Now, as an attack dog
you'll be expected to neutralize intruders.
Want to buy some cookies? Want to buy some cookies?
(barking and whining)
(groans)
If that were a real girl scout
I'd have been bothered by now.
I know how you feel.
I lost my dog too.
He's in here somewhere.
(muffled whining)
BURNS: Now here's a film
that will turn you into a vicious, soulless killer.
Enjoy.
♪♪ (Beethoven's "Ode to Joy")
Poor Santa's Little Helper.
I'm starting to think we'll never see him again.
That was his dish
and that was his leash
and that's where he took a whiz on the rug.
(sobbing)
Homer, get a hold of yourself.
Even if he has passed on, there's no reason to cry.
Remember, Doggie Heaven?
Oh, Marge!
There is no such place.
(Marge clears throat)
Or...
to put it another way...
there is.
I'm not giving up. I don't care if I have to
knock on every door in this two-bit town,
I'm gonna find my dog.
And I'll be right here watching TV.
Poka, poka, poka.
(snarling)
Poka, poka, poka...
(snarling)
(screams)
(growling)
Excellent.
(doorbell rings)
Hello, I'm Kent Brockman.
Excuse me, sir. I lost my dog.
Mm-hm. And I suppose you want me to buy you a new one, hmm?
You know, ever since I won the lottery
everybody wants a piece of Kent Brockman--
homeless this and hungry that.
Gee, I'm sorry, mister.
Sir, your llama just bit Ted Kennedy.
Good!
(doorbell rings)
I hate to interrupt your longevity treatment, sir,
but there's a sweet little boy at the door.
Release the hounds.
(growling and barking)
Santa's Little Helper! It's you!
(screams)
(gasps)
What's the matter, boy? Don't you know me?
I'm your buddy.
(growls)
I love you, boy.
(echoing)
(whining)
(growling)
(dogs whining)
(laughing)
HOMER: Let me pet him again.
You already petted him for ten minutes.
I know, I want to pet him again.
You can pet the cat.
The cat? What's the point?
Good boy, Santa's Little Helper.
Oh, good boy.
This will never, ever happen again.
BART: You can have anything you want.
You can sleep on my bed, you can chew on slippers.
HOMER: Yeah, he's a good doggie.
♪♪
Shh!
CAPTIONS ENHANCED BY ROUNDABOUT ENTERTAINMENT INC.