♪ The Simpsons ♪
(tires screech)
D'oh!
-Aah! -(tires screech)
SMITHERS: Attention. All workers trudge immediately to the main yard
for the mandatory worker of the week award festivities.
Clean. Clean. Pistol. Uzi.
Two kids posing as an adult.
-Oh, hey, Homer. -Hey!
(chittering)
I hate these Worker of the Week award ceremonies.
Who even cares anymore?
Everyone that works here has already got one.
Except for--
(footsteps approaching)
Hello. Well, today's the day for Homer J.
I know I'm gonna win this time.
-Yeah? How come? -Union rule 26.
"Every employee must win worker of the week at least once,
"regardless of gross incompetence,
obesity or rank odor." (chuckles)
SMITHERS: Attention everyone.
Let's have an awed hush, please, for Mr. Burns.
-(crowd gasps) -Compadres, it is imperative
that we crush the freedom fighters
before the start of the rainy season.
And remember, a shiny new donkey
for whoever brings me the head of Colonel Montoya.
-(whispering) -Hmm? What? Oh.
And by that I mean, of course,
it's time for the Worker of the Week award.
I can't believe we've overlooked this week's winner
for so very, very long.
We simply could not function without his tireless efforts.
So, a round of applause for...
this inanimate carbon rod.
(cheering, whooping)
(grumbling)
Inanimate, huh?
I'll show him inanimate! (shouts)
(blows raspberry) Stupid carbon rod.
It's all just a popularity contest.
Wow! Did you actually get to see the rod?
-I'm sorry, Homie. -Nobody respects me at work.
Well, we respect you.
(Lisa, Bart laughing)
Bart, I told you. Don't draw on your father's skull.
(chuckling)
What? What does it say? I wanna see.
-(grunting) -(all laughing)
(grunting continues)
(muttering)
(grunting continues)
Ah, TV respects me.
It laughs with me, not at me.
You stupid-- (laughing)
-D'oh! -It's a lovely day for a launch here,
live at Cape Canaveral
at the lower end of the Florida peninsula.
And the purpose of today's mission is truly,
really electrifying.
That's correct, Tom.
The lion's share of this flight will be devoted
to the study of the effects of weightlessness
on tiny screws.
Unbelievable. And just imagine
the logistics of weightlessness.
Of course, this could have literally millions
of applications here on earth
in everything from watchmaking to watch repair.
Boring.
Oh, no! The batteries!
Now let's look at the crew a little.
They're a colorful bunch.
They've been dubbed the Three Musketeers.
(chuckling)
And we laugh legitimately.
There's a mathematician, a different kind of mathematician,
and a statistician.
Make it stop! (shouting)
No, not another boring space launch.
Change the channel! Change the channel!
I can't! I can't!
(grunts)
(both sigh)
Sir, we've run into a serious problem with the mission.
These Nielsen ratings are the lowest ever.
Oh, my God!
We've been beaten by "A Connie Chung Christmas"!
People, we're in danger of losing our funding.
America isn't interested in space exploration anymore.
Maybe we should finally tell them the big secret--
That all the chimps we sent into space came back superintelligent.
No, I don't think we'll be telling them that.
(chittering)
We need a fresh angle to get the public interested.
The public see our astronauts as
clean-cut, athletic go-getters.
They hate people like that.
Well, who do they like?
Here are the most popular personalities on television or "TV."
I did it! I supercharged my riding mower!
(grunting)
(screams)
Oh, no! I've killed Wilson!
Looks like it's back to jail for me.
(grunting)
Al, let's have sex!
Uh, no, Peg.
(audience laughing, applauding)
(flushes)
(audience whooping, cheering)
Why, they're all a bunch of blue-collar slobs.
People, that's who we need for our next astronaut.
I suggest a lengthy, inefficient search,
at the taxpayers' expense, of course.
I wish there was an easier way.
(ringing)
-HOMER: Hello, is this NASA? -Yes.
Good. Listen. I'm sick of your boring space launches.
I'm just an ordinary, blue-collar slob,
but I know what I likes on TV.
-How did you get this number? -Shut up!
And another thing, how come I can't get no Tang around here? Also--
Hold on a second.
(toilet flushes)
People, our long search is over.
Hello, is this President Clinton? Good!
I figured if anyone knew where to get some Tang, it'd be you.
Shut up!
-Excuse me. -(screams)
Are you the person that called NASA yesterday?
(gasps) No, it wasn't me! I swear!
-It was... him! -(gulping)
Sir, how would you like to get higher than you've ever been in your life?
-Be an astronaut? Sure. -Well, welcome aboard.
I think you'll find that this will win you the respect
of your family and friends.
(gasps) Respect? No!
It was me! I made the crank call!
I do it all the time!
Check with the F.B.I.! I have a file! I have a file!
Eh, better take both of them.
I don't really think that was necessary.
-They wanted to be astronauts. -I know.
♪♪ (hillbilly music plays)
Ladies and gentlemen and members of the press,
I'd like to present the new generation of NASA astronaut--
the average American.
(reporters chattering)
Jim Wallace, Associated Press.
(clears throat) Is this a joke?
(chuckles) Well, far from it, Jim.
One of these men will prove space travel
is within the reach of the common man.
Toby Hunter, Minneapolis Star.
No, really, is this a joke?
No, Toby!
And no more questions about whether this is a joke.
(reporters groan)
Uh, question for the barbecue chef.
Don't you think there is an inherent danger
in sending under-qualified civilians into space?
I'll field this one.
The only danger is if they send us
to that terrible Planet of the Apes.
Wait a minute. Statue of Liberty.
That was our planet!
You maniacs!
You blew it up!
Damn you!
Damn you all to hell!
(sobbing)
(Barney burps, groans)
Thank you. I'm afraid that's all we have time for.
Now, of course, only one of you
will be chosen to go into space.
So the next few weeks will be a grueling series of tests
to determine which one of you is most qualified.
Oh, and, Mr. Gumble, for the duration of the training,
there'll be no more beer.
What? Three whole weeks with only wine?
-I'll go crazy! -And may the best man win.
He's got a big drinking problem. Could embarrass the program.
Meet me up in that tree later, and I'll tell you more.
Wow, my father, an astronaut.
I feel so full of--
-What's the opposite of shame? -Pride?
No, not that far from shame.
-Less shame? -Yeah.
You know, Homer, when I found out about this,
I went through a wide range of emotions.
First I was nervous, then anxious, then wary,
then apprehensive, then kind of sleepy,
then worried and then concerned.
But now I realize that being a spaceman
is something you have to do.
Who's doing what now?
Well, here I am, right on time. I don't see...
Barney "Let's crash the rocket into the White House
and kill the president" Gumble.
Actually, he's been here since sunrise.
(grunting)
Hi, Homer. Since they made me stop drinking,
I've regained my balance and diction.
Observe.
♪ I am the very model of a modern major general ♪
♪ I've information vegetable animal and mineral ♪
Aw, that's nothing. Watch this.
There once was a man from Nantucket, who--
(shouting, groaning)
(shouting)
(shouting continues)
(shouting)
POPEYE'S VOICE: I can't stands no more!
(panting)
(slurping)
Mmm. Mediciney.
I wager 400 quatloos on the newcomer.
Gentlemen, I'd like you to meet the two experienced astronauts
who will accompany the winner into space.
Race Banyon and Buzz Aldrin, the second man on the moon.
Second comes right after first.
So, Barney, we hear you're kickin' ass.
(clearing throat) I, uh, don't think this contest is over yet, Buzz,
if that is your real name.
I believe there is still a little something called
the swimsuit competition.
There's no swimsuit competition, Homer.
You mean I shaved my bikini zone for nothing?
(grunting)
Gentlemen, you've both worked very hard.
And in a way, you're both winners.
But in another more accurate way, Barney is the winner.
Mmm.
Congratulations, Barney.
That's very gracious of you, Homer.
Please join us in a toast.
BOTH: To the mission!
It begins! (shouts)
-Give me that! -Stop him!
Barney, no! Give me that bottle!
No! No! No!
♪♪ (vocalizing)
Hey!
(humming)
-Uh-oh. -(engine sputtering)
Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!
(grunts, groans)
I don't understand it.
That was non-alcoholic champagne.
(sighs)
Well, Homer, I guess you're the winner by default.
"De fault"! Whoo-hoo!
The two sweetest words in the English language.
De fault, de fault, de-- (shouts)
-Where'd you get that anyway? -Sent away.
♪ The Itchy and Scratchy Show ♪
Mmm. (gulps)
(groans)
(shouts)
(screaming)
(screams)
(laughing)
(screaming)
(gasps)
(screams)
-(both laughing) -(Homer whimpering)
(deep breathing)
(gasps)
(slow, distorted) No!
-(pop) -(whimpering)
Marge, I don't really wanna go through with this.
But being an astronaut is how I got you to respect me.
Homer, when I met you, you weren't an astronaut.
You didn't even know how to use a touch-tone.
But I still respected you,
and I always will, no matter what.
(touch-tones beeping)
-Homer, you already dialed. -Oh.
But on the other hand, when you don't take advantage of an opportunity,
you can end up regretting it for the rest of your life.
You're right, Marge.
Just like the time I could've met Mr. T. at the mall.
The entire day, I kept saying,
"I'll go a little later. I'll go a little later."
And then when I got there, they told me he just left.
And when I asked a mall guy if he would ever come back again,
he said he didn't know.
Well, I'm never gonna let something like that happen again!
I'm going into space right now!
Oh, I am so proud of you.
And I know it's going to go just fine.
-(tones beeping) -(groans)
MAN: T-minus three minutes till liftoff and counting.
Mission control, this is Corvair.
Launch sequence initiated. All systems go.
-Are we there yet? I'm thirsty. -(scoffs)
Mission control, request permission to sedate cargo ahead of schedule.
Permission denied.
Payload checklist.
-I.R.S. surveillance satellite. -Check.
-Ant farm. -Check.
-Children's letters to God. -Check.
Three, two, one. Make rocket go now.
(all groaning)
(groaning, Nixon's voice)
Go, Dad, go!
How doth the hero, strong and brave,
a celestial path in the heavens pave.
(quizzical murmurs)
(quietly) Go, Dad, go.
Sir, the TV ratings for the launch
are the highest in 10 years.
(people cheering)
-And how's the spacecraft doing? -I don't know.
All this equipment is just used to measure TV ratings.
HOMER: It's beautiful.
It's the most awe-inspiring sight I have ever seen.
Giver of life, mother of us all.
Hey, guys, look what I smuggled aboard.
Homer, no!
Huh?
They'll clog the instruments!
Careful. They're ruffled.
I'll take care of this.
♪♪ ("Blue Danube Waltz" plays)
(crunching along with tune)
♪♪ (continues)
(moans)
Mmm.
(screams) Ants!
-(chittering) -(shouting)
You fool! Now we may never know
if ants can be trained to sort tiny screws in space.
MISSION CONTROL: Some good news, gentlemen. We have quite a treat for you.
We've been able to coax superstar James Taylor in here
to mission control to wish you well
and play you a little of his own brand
of laid-back, adult contemporary music.
Wow, former president James Taylor.
How ya doin', fellas?
With all due respect, Mr. Taylor,
this isn't the best time for your unique brand
of bittersweet folk rock.
We have a potentially critical situation here.
-I'm sure you'll understand. -Listen, Aldrin.
I'm not as laid-back as people think. Now here's the deal.
I'm gonna play, and you're gonna float there and like it.
♪ When you're down and troubled ♪
♪ And you need a helping hand ♪
♪ And nothing ♪
♪ Oh, nothing is going right ♪
We're just about to get our first pictures from inside the spacecraft
with "Averagenaut" Homer Simpson.
And we'd like to-- (shouts)
(all screaming)
Ladies and gentlemen, we've just lost the picture,
but what we've seen speaks for itself.
The Corvair spacecraft has apparently been taken over,
conquered, if you will,
by a master race of giant space ants.
It's difficult to tell from this vantage point
whether they will consume the captive earthmen
or merely enslave them.
One thing is for certain: there is no stopping them.
The ants will soon be here.
And I, for one, welcome our new insect overlords.
I'd like to remind them that as a trusted TV personality,
I can be helpful in rounding up others
to toil in their underground sugar caves.
Mmm. Don't worry, kids.
I'm sure your father's all right.
What are you basing that on, Mom?
Who wants gingersnaps?
♪ There's hours of time on the telephone line ♪
♪ Talking 'bout things to come ♪
♪ Sweet dreams and flying machines ♪
♪ In pieces on the ground ♪
Uh--
♪ Sweet dreams and flying machines ♪
♪ Flying safely through the air ♪
♪ I've seen fire and... ♪
Oh, my God!
The ants are shorting out our navigation system!
(astronauts shouting)
Ants, huh? We had quite a severe ant problem at the vineyard this year.
I had Art Garfunkel come by with his compressor,
and we created a total vacuum outside the house,
and we blew the ants out the front door.
But I'm sure you high-tech NASA people could care less
about our resort-town ways.
-Quiet, you-- -Wait a minute.
This unkempt youngster just might be onto something.
Okay, everybody. Grab on to something.
All right. Here we go.
Three, two, one.
Make hatch blow now.
(all shout)
And that is that. Yow!
(shouting)
Oh, my God! This is a disaster!
Gotta go.
(whimpering, shouting)
(grunting)
Homer, you broke the handle.
With that hatch open, we'll burn up on reentry!
That's it! If I go, I'm taking you to hell with me.
Wait a minute, Race. Wait a minute. Wait!
(grunts) Aha! Now I'll bust that pretty face of yours!
(laughs, shouting)
Oh! Aw, stupid bar!
Wait, Homer. If that bar holds,
we just might make it back to earth.
Hmm.
I'll bash you good!
(all shouting)
-Give me that! -(shouting continues)
Well, this reporter was possibly a little hasty earlier,
would like to reaffirm his allegiance
to this country and its human president.
It may not be perfect, but it's still
the best government we have... for now.
Hmm? Oh, yes.
By the way, the spacecraft's still in extreme danger.
May not make it back. Attempting risky reentry.
Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. We'll see you after the movie.
♪♪ (both hum "Battle Hymn of the Republic")
♪ Oh, those Golden Grahams oh, those Golden Grahams ♪
♪ Crispy, crunchy graham cereal brand-new breakfast treat ♪
(beeping)
Come on, Dad. You can make it.
Oh, of course he'll make it. It's TV.
(reporters shouting)
Uh, how'd you solve the door dilemma?
Homer Simpson was the real hero here.
He jury-rigged the door closed using this.
-Hey, what is that? -It's an inanimate carbon rod!
(crowd cheering)
-♪♪ (marching band plays) -(crowd cheering)
(Homer groans)
Oh! They were just about to show some close-ups of the rod.
Oh, stupid rod. I got gypped.
Homie, you should be proud.
Only a handful of people have done what you've done.
Yeah, Dad. How many people have seen
the ice caps and the deserts all at once,
or the majesty of the northern lights from 100 hundred miles above?
Yeah, maybe I do have the right--
What's that stuff?
Anyway, thanks, Marge, Lisa.
Bart, do you have something nice to say to your father?
Nah, he knows how I feel.
(grunts)
♪♪ ("Thus Spake Zarathustra" plays)
D'oh!
♪♪
Shh!
CAPTIONS ENHANCED BY ROUNDABOUT ENTERTAINMENT INC.