♪ The Simpsons ♪
D'oh!
-Ahh! -(tires screech)
(honking)
SMITHERS: Testing. Testing for Mr. Burns.
Here you go, Sir. I've warmed up the crowd for you.
Welcome, employees!
Come in.
The whole night's entertainment is on me.
Monty Burns!
(cheering)
ANNOUNCER (on PA): Welcome, welcome, welcome
to an evening of exciting quarter-mile
action, action, action.
Our first race is a benefit for daredevil Lance Murdock
Murdock, Murdock, who's hospitalized
with cirrhosis of the liver, liver, liver.
CROWD: Yay!
All right, liver!
Boy, it sure would be fun
to car-pool in one of those, huh, kids?
I'd be a real hot-rod mama, wouldn't I?
Huh? Huh?
You missed the race, Mama.
Hmm. I wish I'd pay more attention.
Smithers, this beer isn't working.
I don't feel any younger or funkier.
I'll switch to the tablespoon, Sir.
ANNOUNCER (on PA): Coming up next
our feature race:
The Nuclear Power Plant Championship!
Plant, plant.
Ah, at last!
Smithers, fetch the bi-oculars.
Ooh, damnation!
Tell them to go slower.
Yes, Sir.
Hi, guys, can we keep it in first gear
for a couple laps?
Go! Go!
Slow down.
BURNS: Excellent.
Oh, this novelty foam hand is ludicrously oversized.
Go swap it for a smaller one.
It is a bit ostentatious, Sir.
I'll be right back.
Hey, Burnsie!
Ha! This was some swell shindig.
Thank you very much.
Smithers, what's happening?!
I had a great time.
I just want to shake your hand.
(mumbling) You're the greatest.
Smithers, help!
Doesn't seem as funny to me, but what do I know?
BURNS: Smithers!
Oh, my God!
Yah.
(yelling)
You should have seen
the murderous glint in his eye, Smithers,
and his breath reeked of beer and pretzeled bread.
I'm so sorry, Mr. Burns. This was all my fault.
Don't concern yourself.
If things had turned ugly, I always had my mace.
Don't let me off the hook that easily, Sir.
I failed you and I'll never forgive myself.
Never! Never! Never! Never! Never!
(phone ringing)
SMITHERS: Never! Never! Never!
Good morning, Sir.
To make up for my failure last night
I've alphabetized your breakfast.
You can start with the waffles
and work your way up to the Zwieback,
and to prevent newsprint
from rubbing off on your hands
I've laminated today's newspaper.
I appreciate the thought
but my pen won't write on this.
How am I supposed to do the Junior Jumble?
Oh! I can't even grovel properly.
I'm a buffoon!
I don't deserve to live on your planet anymore!
(crashing)
(gurgling)
(gasps)
Pull yourself together, man.
I daresay you're in need of a long vacation.
No! Don't make me take a vacation!
Without you, I'll wither and die!
That's a risk I'm willing to take.
But what would you do without me, Sir?
(scoffs) I'm not a baby
who needs a nursemaid to burp me.
(burps)
You see?
Now, I insist you take a vacation
just as soon as
a temporary substitute can be found.
Yeesh!
I've got to find a replacement who won't outshine me.
Perhaps if I search the employee evaluations
for the word "incompetent."
-(beeps) -714 names?
Better be more specific.
"Lazy," "clumsy,"
"dim-witted,"
"monstrously ugly."
Aw, nuts to this.
I'll just go get Homer Simpson.
HOMER: I think Smithers picked me
because of my motivational skills.
Everyone always says
they have to work a lot harder when I'm around.
You know, Dad, assisting Mr. Burns
could give your career a real shot in the arm.
You know, Homer, assisting Mr. Burns
could give your career a real shot in the arm.
Mom, I just said that.
Sor-ry!
Next time, get your own darned corn.
Um, is this the chair I'll be sitting on?
Yeah.
Now, I realize caring for Mr. Burns
seems like a big job
but actually, it's 2,800 small jobs.
Uh-huh, but this is the chair, right?
Your new duties will include answering Mr. Burns' phone
preparing his tax return, moistening his eyeballs,
assisting with his chewing and swallowing,
lying to congress and some light typing.
(phone ringing)
Montgomery Burns' office.
Oh, hello, Mrs. Burns.
I'll see if your son is available.
Mr. Burns has a mother?!
She must be a hundred million years old!
She has limited capacities.
All she can do is dial and yell.
I'm sorry.
Monty can't come to the phone right now.
He's in a very important meeting
and can't be disturbed.
Uh-huh.
Okay, I'll give him the message.
Mr. Burns can't stand talking to his mother.
He never forgave her
for having that affair with President Taft.
(chuckling)
Taft, you old dog.
Really, Smithers.
I'll be fine.
I'm sure your replacement
will be able to handle everything.
Who is he anyway?
Uh, Homer Simpson, Sir.
One of your organ banks from sector 7G.
All the recent events of your life
have revolved around him in some way.
Simpson, eh?
HOMER: Uh, Mr. Smithers?
I don't understand 2,700 of my new duties.
Well, the van's leaving.
Which one duty is giving you the most trouble?
Um...
What do I do in case of fire?
(muffled) Sorry. Can't hear you. Bye!
(crackling)
Aw. Just my luck.
(panting)
(gasping) Good Lord, Smithers,
you look atrocious!
I thought I told you to take a vacation.
Uh, Smithers already left, Sir.
I'm his replacement, Homer Simpson.
Ah, yes, Simpson.
I'll have my lunch now.
A single pillow of shredded wheat
some steamed toast, and a dodo egg.
But I think the dodo went extinct.
Get going! And answer those phones,
install the computer system, and rotate my office
so the window faces the hills.
Uh-huh, uh-huh. Okay.
Um, can you repeat the part of the stuff
where you said all about the things?
Uh, the things?
(quiet snarl)
(alarm buzzes)
(grunting)
Lousy two-legged pants.
Homie, it's 4:30 in the morning.
Little Rascals isn't on till 6:00.
I know. I'm taping it.
I want to get to Mr. Burns' house
bright and early to make his breakfast.
Mm, poor Homie.
Poor, poor...
(snoring)
Hmm...
One of these must be a breakfast-maker.
Well, it's my job to cook him breakfast
and I'm gonna cook the best damn breakfast
he ever ate.
Hmm...
(groans)
Doughnuts?
I told you I don't like ethnic food!
Here. Tell me how my stocks did yesterday.
Uh...
They all won.
Hm? What about my options?
Well, you can either get up or go back to sleep.
I believe I'll get up.
(brush scrubbing)
BURNS: Scrub harder.
Got to get that layer of dead skin off.
HOMER: Ugh.
I think... the fangs today.
BURNS: Simpson?
Simpson?
Did you get that report
on the accounting department?
Yes Sir, I did.
"The accounting department is located on the third floor.
"Its hours are 9:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m.
The head of this department is a Mr. Johnson or Johnstone."
Here are your messages.
"You have 30 minutes to move your car."
"You have ten minutes."
"Your car has been impounded."
"Your car has been crushed into a cube."
"You have 30 minutes to move your cube."
(phone rings)
Yeah-lo, Mr. Burns' office.
Is it about my cube?
It's Mr. Smithers. He's calling for you.
How's everything going there, Sir?
I have a lot of free time on my hands.
If you Fed-Ex me your mail,
I'd be happy to open it and return it to you.
Everything's fine, Smithers.
This Simpson fellow seems to be getting dumber by the minute.
I've never seen anything quite like it.
Anyhoo, you just enjoy your vacation.
(groans)
(snoring)
Look alive, Simpson!
I'm not paying you to goldbrick!
Yes! Yes, Sir...
Now get cracking on my long division
and don't forget to show your work, Simpson.
I'll have it on your desk in the morning, Sir.
Bart, leave Simpson alone.
(whispering) Simpson, I need a ride to the library.
Kids, stop exploiting your father.
Homie, why don't you lie down and relax?
No time, Marge.
I think Mr. Burns wants me to do some long division.
Simpson! Lie down!
Sorry, but you need a good night's rest.
(sighing)
(bell clanging)
BURNS: Simpson!
(bell tinkling)
(panting)
The telephone's been ringing for some time.
Answer it.
Yello?
It's for you.
♪ Relax... ♪
Mr. Burns-- 48 rings.
Are you all right?
What did Simpson do to you?
Oh, nothing other than drive me to distraction
with his incompetent boobery.
Terrible at everything. A complete moron!
(whispering) But I'm not really free
to talk right now.
Now look, stop calling me and start enjoying your vacation.
Remember, I want to see lots of pictures
when you get back.
Actually, sir, picture-taking
is not allowed at this particular resort.
Oop. I got to go now.
There's a line forming behind me.
(shuddering)
(yelps)
60 watts!
What do you think this is? A tanning salon?
I asked for light starch on my night cap.
(yelling)
You call this Postum?
You call this a tax return?
You call this a super computer?
-(grunting) -D'oh! Ow!
(yelling) You're a travesty of a joke of an assistant!
(whimpering)
(yelling)
(clock ticking)
(whimpering)
(shrieks)
(gasping)
Is there something wrong, Homie?
No.
Except?
Except...
I killed Mr. Burns!
What happened, Dad?
I punched Burns right in his 104-year-old face.
Are you sure he's dead?
Maybe you just really, really hurt him.
Okay. Maybe everything's all right.
Maybe if you go apologize, he won't even fire you.
If he's alive.
Mr. Burns?
(raspy breathing)
-(gasps) -(screams)
I'm really sorry I hit you, Mr. Burns.
Here-- let me put some salt on that eye.
No, please! I can't bear another thrashing.
Just leave me be.
Y-Yes, Sir.
Must call Smithers.
He'll protect me from this beast.
I've seen people activate this machine a thousand times.
Doesn't seem to be any trick to it.
Let's see-- Smithers.
S-m-i-t-h-e-r-s.
(ringing)
Success! It's ringing!
Moe's Tavern.
I'm looking for a Mr. Smithers.
First name, Waylon.
Oh, so you're looking for a Mr. Smithers, eh?
First name, Waylon, is it?
Listen to me, you! When I catch you
I'm gonna pull out your eyes and shove them down your pants
so you can watch me kick the crap out of you. Okay?!
Then I'm going to use your tongue to paint my boat.
Oh, Smithers if only you could hear me.
(gasps)
Something tells me Mr. Burns needs me.
(shouting)
Praise God. I think the thug
has finally gone home for the day.
Now I can make my escape.
(yelps)
Hi, Mr. Burns. You want your coffee now?
Uh, no, I'm, uh... making it myself.
(rattling)
Hear that?
The percolations are imminent.
No need to come in.
Cease your ingress.
(nervous laugh)
(sighs)
(knocking)
Stay back, Homer.
Approach no further. Coffee's already made.
I stomped the beans myself.
Well, can I at least drive you home, Mr. Burns?
-It's 5:00. -No! I thought, uh--
I thought I'd chauffeur myself this evening.
Yes, that's what I thought.
How difficult could it be?
I'm sure the manual will indicate
which lever is the velocitator and which the deceleratrix, hmm?
I can't believe it.
All my life I've avoided doing things for myself...
but I'm actually enjoying this.
Plus, I'm making incredible time.
(honking)
Beep beep! Out of my way!
I'm a motorist.
(screeching)
That's some nice reckless driving, Mr. B.
Would you like me to shred
those environmental reports for you, Sir?
Already taken care of.
(chuckling)
Cappuccino, Simpson?
(phone rings)
Ahoy-hoy?
No. You have the wrong number.
This is 5-2-4-6.
I suspect you need more practice working your telephone machine.
Not at all. Ahoy.
Mr. Burns, is there anything at all I can do for you?
No, Homer.
You've already done more for me than any man.
Your brutal attack forced me to fend for myself.
I realize now that being waited on hand and foot
is okay for your average Joe,
but it's not for me.
I want to thank you.
Thank you.
Oh, my God.
I knew I shouldn't have left.
Ah, welcome back, Smithers.
Say, do you know Homer Simpson?
He pitched in around the office
while you were away.
Bang-up job, Simpson, but I guess it's back
to your trusty post in sector 7G.
(sighs)
You heard the man, Simpson.
Ahh.
And my dear, dear Smithers
You're no longer needed at all.
You're fired. Ta!
You shouldn't have gone away on vacation.
(gobbling)
Cheer up, Homie.
I just feel terrible about getting Mr. Smithers fired.
That job was all he had.
Imagine how you'd feel, Marge
if you got fired from the...
those things that... you do.
Quick, Mom, whip up a cake before Dad fires you.
Don't worry, Dad.
Mr. Smithers is a resilient man.
I'm sure he can get a great job at any corporation he wants.
SMITHERS: Meet your new piano mover.
(groaning)
Now, we're gonna have to put
a steel rod where your spine was.
Will I ever move a piano again?
(laughing)
Oh, my goodness gracious, no.
SMITHERS (on PA): Get ready for exciting quarter-mile action
at the Springfield Dragstrip.
It'll be motorized mayhem, mayhem, mayhem...
(lowers voice) Do we need all those "mayhems"?
We do? All right, fair enough.
I suppose you know your business.
(loudly) Get ready for fun, fun, fun!
(softly) The people are already here.
We don't need to keep hustling them like this, do we?
Let go of me!
Where are you throwing me?!
Uh... hello,
is that a "help wanted" sign in the window?
Uh, yeah. I need someone to help me
with the midnight beer delivery.
Your job is to distract Barney
until it's safely off the truck.
I'll just wait out back until then.
I look forward to working with you.
Mr. Smithers, wait.
You can't let yourself end up in a place like this.
You've got two choices.
You can give up on yourself and take the Barney-guarding job
like so many of us have contemplated
in our darkest moments,
or you can admit to yourself
there's only one person that can make you happy
and do whatever it takes to get them back!
You're right.
But I'm gonna need your help.
(clock strikes)
Oh, my God!
TRUCK DRIVER: Beer delivery. Just sign here.
Oh, no! It's you!
(loud crashing)
(Barney laughing)
-DRIVER: Hey! -BARNEY: Oh, boy!
DRIVER: Give me that!
(metal clattering)
(loud burp)
Okay, I got you covered.
Mr. Burns may have mastered 2,799 of my 2,800 duties,
but I'll wager dollars to doughnuts
he still can't handle a call from his mother.
You're on.
(phone ringing)
What?
Hello, Mrs. Burns?
This is Waylon Smithers.
I have your son Montgomery on the line.
That improvident lackwit.
Always too busy striding about his atom mill
to call his own mother.
I'll give him what-fors till he cries brassafrax!
(chuckling) Perfect. When I give the signal
you transfer the call to Mr. Burns.
After she tears into him, I'll rush in and save the day.
Got it.
I'm transferring a call in to you, Mr. Burns.
BURNS: No problemo.
Uh...
ooh.
Um...
-(dial tone) -Uh-oh.
BURNS: Ahoy-hoy?
Hoy?
(in falsetto) Hello, Mr. Burns.
This is your mother.
(whispering) No!
Ugh...
Oh, hello, mater.
Um... sorry about pulling the plug on you and all.
Who could have known you'd pull through and...
live for another five decades?
Ooh, is my face red.
(whispering) Mrs. Burns is 122 years old
so try to sound more desiccated.
And she doesn't call her son "Mr. Burns."
(cracking falsetto) Son, this is Mrs. Burns.
I just called to say I don't love you.
You are a bad son, Mon... tel.
So...
(screams)
Impersonate my mother, will you?
And you, Smithers, you must have put him up to it.
I'm glad I fired you.
You really blew it this time, Smithers.
(yells)
Stop that! Stop that at once!
You're fighting!
Stop fighting like a girl, Simpson.
(grunting) Okay.
Heh-heh-heh.
(screams)
Stop it! Stop it, I say!
I'll teach you how to use a phone, you boob!
D'oh! D'oh! D'oh!
It's for you.
D'oh!
I'll show you! (growling)
(chortling)
Ow!
(screaming)
(thudding)
Oh, my...
Here comes the endangered condor
into the power lines.
Mmm. Mmm, mmm.
I've got Bobo hot from the dryer.
Careful not to burn yourself on his eye.
I don't need you to do any of this.
I'm totally self-reliant now.
What I would like, though, is a Spanish peanut.
Skin?
Mmm. Mmm.
It's a remarkable thing.
In the short time you were gone
I learned to be completely self-reli...
...ant.
Oh, and as for that brutish fellow
who knocked me out the window,
see that he gets what's coming to him.
I already have, Sir.
What'd you get that for?
For knocking Mr. Burns out of a third-story window.
Makes sense to me.
Did he die?
What am I, a doctor?
♪♪
Shh!
CAPTIONS ENHANCED BY ROUNDABOUT ENTERTAINMENT INC.