♪ ♪
Oh, boy, Lenny is gonna be so surprised.
And I got the perfect card.
CARL: Uh‐huh!
"Over the hill than under it." Yeah.
Having chipped in, you may now sign.
Nice work.
No "best wishes," I like the restraint.
Yeah, I thought about "regards," but Lenny knows how I feel.
(pens squeaking)
Okay, everybody, be quiet.
Lenny's gonna be here any minute. Shh.
(chuckles excitedly)
ALL: Sur... prise.
‐(all groaning) ‐I thought this was my blood transfusion room,
but, uh, there's not a baby in sight.
It's a surprise party for Lenny, sir.
Everybody chipped in five bucks for a card and a cake
and a show by close‐up magician Abraca‐Debra.
‐(all gasping) ‐What? Damn!
Well, in that case, I suppose I should sign, too.
"With regards, C. Montgomery Burns."
Mm. Hmm.
(humming)
Ah, Lenny, happy birthday.
(all groan)
(groans angrily)
This is the greatest birthday ever!
And best of all, Mr. Burns signed my card.
To everyone who chipped in.
(echoing): Chipped in. Chipped in.
(distorting): Chipped in.
What kind of person signs a birthday card
and doesn't chip in?
You sign the card, you got to chip in.
‐It's the code of the card. ‐How big did he sign?
Eddie Bauer big.
(gasps)
Stupid unpaid signature.
This is the worst thing that ever happened
at a nuclear power plant.
Homie, just let it go.
Don't let a signature drive you crazy.
You're right, honey.
I'll let it go.
I don't know what I'd do without you.
‐(screams) ‐(Homer gasps)
BURNS: Happy birthday, Lenny.
No. No!
No!
(gasping)
Homie, what is it?
I had the most horrible nightmare
where I listened to your advice.
HOMER: Okay, okay.
Okay, Homer, you can do this.
You can make things right.
(grunting)
(imitates guitar)
(gobbling)
Mr. Burns, everyone who signed
that birthday card chipped in except for you.
You owe five dollars.
How dare you...
give that the slightest worry.
Hope you didn't lose any sleep
over this little misunderstanding.
Here, have a cricket on a thread for good luck.
(chirps)
You monster...
taking advantage of an old man.
What are you talking about?
Mr. Burns is heavily medicated
on a round‐the‐clock regimen of skin thickeners.
(sighs)
The side effect of that medication
is bouts of uncontrollable decency.
And you exploited that.
I'm demoting you to the worst job in this place:
supervising the nuclear plant interns.
♪ ♪
(groans nervously)
(chirps)
(bird caws)
Listen up, millenniums. I'm Homer Simpson,
your new supervisor.
So stop Snapchatting, Fortnite‐ing
and swiping right on your Uber Venmos.
We're actually replicating plant start‐up sequences
to simulate the effects of high‐demand energy draws.
Contamination versus irradiation‐‐
your thoughts?
Address rate of reaction.
What variables can we assume?
Uh...
Der... Uh... Der‐der...
Der...
This guy is denser than osmium‐188.
(interns laugh)
Are my ears hearing this?
Are you seriously busting the clangers
of Homer J. Simpsons?
This man is a god and his clangers are unbustable.
You're looking at the Michael Jordan
of Sector 7G.
And you humps aren't worthy to swill his backwash.
You're sticking up for me?
Who are you?
Mike Wegman, nuclear intern.
And your number one fan.
Yeah, well, your hero has a Pop‐Tart
in his cell phone holster.
‐(laughter) ‐(groans)
Are you kidding?
(groans angrily)
No one disrespects Homer Simpsons.
Not you, Ricky, with your standing desk.
It's not a workout; it's been disproven.
And not you, Gretchen,
drinking coffee creamer straight from the bottle.
You exude amaretto, you freak.
And, Benjamin, no one ever got trampled
at a Michael Bublé concert.
Drop the friggin' lawsuit, you're clogging up the system.
This man is a dynamo.
So you shaved coconuts give him your full respect.
All right, all right. Sorry, Mr. Simpson.
Looking forward to learning from you, Mr. Simpson.
People at work usually yell at me, not for me.
How do you know who I am?
(laughs) So modest. What a dynamo.
‐Because of this. ‐Hmm?
Whenever there's trouble,
you are at the heart of the action.
Number six is why all those horses went bald.
Yeah. Well, I‐I‐I've been looking up to you for so long
from the cheap seats, and now we're finally face‐to‐face,
I can't believe I'm saying this, but I got to ask,
w‐will you be my coach? My sensei?
Homer J. Simpsons, will you be my mentor?
(gasps)
♪ ♪
If you accept, let me know
by taking this half a PowerBar.
I rolled up the wrapper really good so there's no pocket lint.
Mike Wegmans, I will be your mentor.
(sighs)
Okay, which of these ties is better
for my first day as a mentor?
Purple stripes or this one?
(sniffs) Are you wearing my perfume?
I like it on you, he'll like it on me.
Dad, it's not often that you‐‐
how do I put this?‐‐
care so much about your job?
Well, now that I'm a mentor, everything's changed.
For the first time, another human being
is dependent on me to guide them through life.
(Bart and Lisa groaning)
This guy I'm menting is so cool.
He listens with his mouth open.
He's been blocked by so many celebrities on Twitter.
And he thinks I'm the most valuable worker
at the entire nuclear plant.
Oh, I get it.
He's super dumb. (laughs)
Mock all you want.
I finally have someone at work who admires me.
(all laughing)
He's fat.
Homer, your pants.
They'll come around again.
They always do.
There's my thoroughbred.
I‐I got your coffee just the way you like it.
No coffee, just doughnut holes.
Oh, my God, are you busting my bricks?
I‐Is this real?
Sector 7G.
7G, where Olympus fears to tread.
He sure does.
Okay, you are a category five hurricane of knowledge,
and I'm like that old idiot who won't leave his beach house.
Please, drown my in my attic with what you know.
I thought you might say that.
So I've prepared inspirational posters.
I feel like Amar'e Stoudemire
when he first set foot in Jerusalem.
(chuckling)
W‐What else you got?
‐Uh, let's see... ‐Uh‐huh.
‐Don't forget about the, uh... ‐Y‐Y‐Y‐Y‐Y‐Yeah.
‐Oh, uh, and, of course, ‐Gold.
‐you got to, you just got to. ‐Gold. Okay.
‐Because if you don't... ‐Soakin' it in. Gold.
‐Well, oh. ‐Soakin' it in.
‐Well, they don't have that anymore. ‐I can remember this.
‐And you see these? ‐Yeah.
‐I'm gonna tell you that later. ‐Y‐Y‐Y‐Y‐Y‐Yeah.
I can't believe this.
I‐I'm only 35 and I am sitting at the feet
of the atomic Baba Booey.
Mm. You're 35?
Then why do you have a job of a 20‐year‐old
and talk like a ten‐year‐old?
Here's how it is.
So, my buddy 'Nesto and me
were cleaning gutters for cash,
when that idiot 'Nesto falls off
and lands on a doghouse. Stupid 'Nesto.
Then my parents are on my case to get a real career,
something "closer to the ground."
So I thought, "Why not follow my hero
"into man's greatest calling?
Nuclear whatever."
So I went down to the plant,
told them I was part Native American‐‐
I could be, I always liked those guys‐‐
and boom! I'm an intern.
Three short years later, got myself a mentor.
Wow. My posters really worked.
But you don't need me telling you how great you are,
y‐you get enough of that at home.
(distorted laughter)
BURNS: Happy birthday, Lenny.
Say, Mike,
why don't you come over to my house for dinner?
I've got some people I'd like to introduce
to the way you act around me.
Okay. I‐I could do that.
I could make that happen.
Huh. I got this.
Hey, Lenny, you duck‐faced psycho,
guess who's going to Homer Simpson's house
for a meal? Me.
CARL: Uh, I'm Carl.
I wish you would give me more of a heads‐up
before inviting a mentee for dinner.
I guess we'll have enough
if I double the chip layer on the casserole.
Don't worry, you're gonna love this kid.
Kid? He looks 40‐plus.
Oh, Homer, she is a beaut.
Now I know why you're always napping at work.
Mr. Plow, indeed.
Hello. I'm Marge.
Mike Wegman. This is Maureen.
And this is Patrick Ewing Wegman.
It's a girl. You can't name her Patrick.
2.4 blocks per game, lifetime.
She's Patrick.
Look at this spread.
I‐I was expecting, like, a‐a party sub,
but hot carrots? Who thinks of that?
Slow it, you'll burn your mouth again.
All right, all right, I'm gonna blow on 'em.
(blowing)
Thank you for having us.
Mike admires your husband so much.
Do you hear that? "So much"!
They don't admire me any much.
(chuckles)
You better hold on to this guy, Marge,
'cause if he were single, he'd be cleaning up.
I mean cleaning up, knee‐deep.
(chuckles): Don't worry, honey.
You're the only woman for me.
I wasn't worried.
So, Mrs. Wegman, how did you two meet?
Oh, well, you're gonna love this story.
It's so romantic. Tell her, honey.
Go ahead, tell her.
He was a waiter at my wedding.
She was so beautiful, like one of those girls
you see leaving Vinny's bedroom on Entourage
that don't say nothin'.
(Mike laughs)
(slurps)
So, Mike, you seem like a sharp tack.
What exactly is my dad teaching you?
How to eat doughnuts while napping?
(snorts, laughs)
Did this little hump just say what I thought I heard?
It's okay, Mike. I don't sweat it.
Yeah, Mike, the only thing Homer sweats is gravy.
‐(laughs) ‐(groans angrily)
No one disrespects Homer Simpsons!
Especially not an ugly little punk like you.
That's right, I said "ugly."
Your head looks like a rejected Muppet.
Two golf balls glued to a can of oats.
Between that Tommy Lasorda gut and those toothpick legs,
you are not a kid‐‐ you are a walkin' potato clock.
Ha‐ha‐ha! Ugly! Ha!
(laughing uncontrollably)
Muppet... (continues laughing)
Ah! Toothpick legs!
Potato clock!
(sobbing)
I'm just bustin' your clangers, kid.
All right, it's okay.
I want you out!
(Bart sobbing)
I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.
Where's the baby registered?!
MAUREEN: DraftKings!
How many times do I have to say I'm sorry?
Once would be nice.
Wow, you're really bustin' my clangers.
That guy's a lunatic.
He's not crazy.
He's the only one that respects me!
The kids and I respect you.
All you guys ever did was love me.
But look me in the eyes and tell me you respect me,
as a nuclear guy.
(laughs nervously)
I just liked the feeling
that one person thinks I'm good at something.
Mm, I get it, Homie.
But if you really want to help this guy,
help him grow up.
(groans softly)
(bird caws)
MIKE: Come on, Fordham,
Bucknell's got no rim protection.
They're garbage. Just cover the spread.
(groans)
Hey, Homer. How's it clangin'?
I'm, uh, just tunin' in to a little college hoops.
Yeah, Mike, I was thinking,
if you weren't a 35‐year‐old unpaid intern
with a baby on the way, do you have any other dreams?
Ah, man, you are mentoring me hard right now.
Oh, okay, I'm gonna tell you, but don't laugh.
I won't.
‐Slices. ‐Uh‐huh.
Nothing better than getting a slice of pizza, right?
But it's always been under the heat lamp all dried out.
Damn heat lamp.
Right. So why not make the pizza one slice at a time,
hot and fresh?
Every slice is Derek Jeter.
No Scott Brosius in the bunch.
(gasps) That's genius!
Oh, my God, I can't believe you like it.
Mike! You know what you should call your slices?
Mike's Slices.
I'm Mike!
Yeah! Okay, what you need is an investor,
and I know the perfect person.
He gave me five dollars.
Every slice hot and fresh
from the oven into your mouth.
Every slice a Jeter.
No Scott Brosiuses.
Why can't I get a whole pizza and slice it myself?
There are no whole pizzas.
It's just slices, hot and fresh.
And don't worry about investing with this guy, Mr. Burns,
because he's backed by the full mentorship
of Homer J. Simpsons.
Then it's my pleasure to tell you...
that that is the stupidest idea I've ever heard.
Get this intern out of my office, you nincompoop!
(groans angrily)
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!
Ho! No one disrespects Homer J. Simpsons.
No, Mike, don't.
Nin...
com... poop!
Listen to me, you skunk‐bag full of Centrum Silver
sitting on your peanut brittle ass
with your turn‐of‐the‐century buzzard face.
You ain't worthy to squeegee this man's back sweat.
You smell like Chinese food that someone left
in an old jack‐o'‐lantern.
My mentor is the shiniest diamond in the whole Zales,
so stuff your organs back in their jars
and crawl in your mummy box,
you sick, fungused‐up, hep‐C Dracula!
(gasps)
By the way, he's off his happy pills.
You're lucky Mr. Burns's gun was 200 years old.
Yeah, but now my doctor says
I can't get shot in the face again.
Who's ugly now, pellet‐head?
(chuckles mockingly)
Come on, it's okay. Don't cry.
I'm not. All the BBs in my head are making it heavy.
Mike, this is all my fault.
I know you think I'm a great nuclear guy, but I'm not.
I didn't stop those accidents.
I caused them.
‐Huh? No. No. ‐(BBs clattering)
All my posters‐‐ "Bet on Yourself,"
"Go Big or Go Home"‐‐
I was caught shoplifting those from a poster store.
I was trying to go big, and they wouldn't let me go home.
Mike, face it, I'm a bad mentor.
No one disrespects Homer Simpsons.
Not even you.
You're the best mentor a lousy bride‐banger like me
could ever ask for.
And I'm gonna prove it.
‐(door closes) ‐Who spilled BBs
‐all over the... whoa! ‐(BBs clattering)
MIKE: Yo! Mentor!
("That's Amore" instrumental playing over P. A.)
(tires screech)
Anybody want a slice of pizza
that wasn't sliced from a pizza?
Where'd you get a food truck?
It's all cause of you, mentor, all cause of you. Deal with it.
The boys and I will take a large pie.
Can't you read a truck, Cookie Puss?
Slices only!
All righty, three slices, please.
They'll be ready in 13, 26 and 39 minutes.
And don't block the window, sizzle chest.
When will my slice be ready?
And by "slice," I mean the first payment
on your outstanding loan.
You borrowed money from the mob?!
No, no, no, no, no, no. It's all good.
I took a one‐week loan from Fat Tony for a hundred grand.
I put $50k into the truck
and then bet the other 50 on tonight's Lehigh game,
which is a lock.
So when I win the bet, I pay back the mob,
and I own the truck free and clear.
Oh, no.
You bet on yourself!
Go big or go home, baby.
ANNOUNCER: And Lehigh's in trouble
as Holy Cross goes on an unanswered 20‐point run.
(shouts) No, no, no, Lehigh is a lock!
They're undefeated on floors with hockey ice beneath them.
Yet again, a man's life hangs by the gossamer thread
of Patriot League basketball.
Guns up.
(cocking guns)
ANNOUNCER: But Lehigh takes the lead with a three
from way behind the arc.
‐BOTH: Yes! ‐Guns down.
(uncocking guns)
ANNOUNCER: But the Crusaders answer
‐with a floater in the key! ‐(cocking guns)
And Lehigh comes back with a monster dunk!
‐Yeah! ‐(uncocking guns)
As the final seconds tick awa, Lehigh has this one in the ba!
BOTH: Whoo‐hoo!
The body bag!
As a last‐second half‐court heave
gives Holy Cross the win.
Guns up.
Safeties off.
(guns clicking)
(tires screech)
Don't worry, I know a place
where they will never find us.
(dog howling)
HOMER: (gasps) A food truck graveyard.
Why are there so many failed ones?
'Cause they don't have an original concept, like me.
(tires screech)
(Homer whimpering)
(both gasp)
(both moaning nervously)
Homer, I got to tell you one thing.
Your boy's not ugly.
He's gorgeous.
Just like his old man.
He's gonna clean up.
Tell baby Patrick I loved her.
All right, do me.
(sniffing)
I smell mozzarella
gently melting over a single slice of triangular dough.
Before the end, we will share a pie.
It's just slices, you goombah caveman!
Mmm! Usually a slice is dried out
from sitting under a heat lamp, but this is hot and fresh!
See? This guy has good ideas.
What if...
you let Mike work in the truck to pay you back?
No. The food truck business is too big a gamble.
And even our gambling operation is in trouble
with the advent of legal online wagering.
Too bad you can't take action out of my food truck,
let the betting come to you.
Now, do me already!
A food truck that takes bets?
I'll take a slice of cheese
and the moneyline on Georgetown.
Yo, Tony! We're raking it in on the sportsbook.
And it was a great idea to sell weed out of this thing also.
Homer, you believed in this stagelagoots
when no one else would.
You listened to him, nurtured his ideas,
and now he is a success.
Truly, you are an excellent mentor.
♪ Let ♪
♪ The river run ♪
♪ Let all the dreamers ♪
♪ Wake the nation ♪
♪ Come ♪
♪ The new Jerusalem... ♪
♪ Silver cities rise... ♪
♪ It's asking for the taking ♪
♪ Trembling, shaking ♪
♪ Oh, my heart is aching ♪
♪ We're coming to the edge ♪
♪ Running on the water ♪
♪ Coming through the fog, your sons and daughters ♪
‐♪ Let the river run ♪ ‐♪ Let the river run ♪
‐♪ Let all the dreamers ♪ ‐♪ Let all the dreamers ♪
‐♪ Wake the nation ♪ ‐♪ Wake the nation ♪
♪ Come, the new Jerusalem... ♪
Captioned by Media Access Group at WGBH
Shh!