The Simpsons s01e10 Episode Script

So, how was the office birthday party? Oh, it was delightful.
The frosting on the cake was this thick.
And Eugene Fisk-- my poor sucker of an assistant-- didn't know the fruit punch was spiked and he really made an ass of himself putting the moves on the new girl in Valve Maintenance.
Does this girl like him? I have to warn you, Marge, I think the poor young thing has the hots for yours truly.
Homer.
Just keeping you on your toes, babe.
Two hundred and thirty nine pounds! Oh, I'm a blimp.
Why are all the good things so tasty? From now on, exercise every morning.
You're not a blimp, Homer.
You're my big cuddly teddy bear.
Aw, baloney.
Yeah, right.
Aw, baloney.
Yeah, right.
Oh, give me a break.
Wow, cool, man! Oh, no! Two hundred and thirty nine pounds? I'm a whale.
Why was I cursed with this weakness for snack treats? Well, from now on, exercise every morning, Homer.
Oh.
Don't strain yourself, dear.
Good idea, Marge.
By the way, this Friday night I'm gonna be attending a little get together with the boys at work.
Eugene Fisk is marrying some girl in Valve Maintenance.
Homer, is this some kind of stag party? No, no, Marge.
It's gonna be very classy.
A tea-and-crumpets kind of thing.
Eugene Fisk.
Isn't he your assistant? - No! My supervisor.
- Didn't he used to be your assistant? - What is this, the Spanish Inquisition? - Sorry, Homer.
- Uh-oh, it's the "fe-mailman.
" Female carrier, Bart.
Lady, where's my spy camera? - "Where's my spy camera?" - Where's my spy camera? Where's my spy camera, lady? - Evey day for the last six months-- - Where's my spy camera? Where's my spy camera? Where's my spy camera? Here's your stupid spy camera! Oh.
Thanks, ma'am.
Whoa, man.
Look at the size of this thing.
I wonder if it really works.
'Cause I got a lot of spying to do.
Bart! What are you doing? Sorry, Dad.
The answer to that is top secret.
- Oh, Bart.
- What? Go take some wildlife pictures or something.
Ew, gross.
Mom, Bart was taking a picture of his butt.
Oh, sure.
Like I'm really gonna take a picture of my butt.
Stop it, you two.
And put on some nice clothes.
Since it's just the four of us tonight, - we're having dinner at The Rusty Barnacle.
- Yea, fried shrimp! Aw, Mom.
Can't we just grab a burger at-- Only four of us? Who escaped? Your father.
He's having a boys' night out.
Just as I was asking myself, "Where did my seven-year-old boy get the money for a Father's Day present?" I opened the box.
And inside was little Eugene's baseball glove.
He had given me the one thing that mattered most to him in the whole world.
Eugene, when I see you-- the one thing that matters most to me in the whole world-- married tomorrow, I'm going to know just how you felt that day.
- I love you, Dad.
- I love you, son.
Where am I, the planet Cornball? Hey, don't worry.
Things are gonna pick up once the entertainment gets here.
- Ooh, entertainment.
- Yes, sir.
Ahoy! I spy the children's menu.
- Ahoy, this place bites.
- Bart.
So, what's it gonna be, me little bucko? Hm, let's see.
This evening I shall go for the - squid platter, - Ew.
With extra tentacles, please.
Oh, Bart.
Excuse me, sir.
The party next door seems to be a little raucous.
Could you please ask them to quiet down a little bit, please? Aye, aye.
Eh, eh, eh, eh.
Hey, try to keep it down, guys.
- Okay? - Hey, shut up.
Open the door and lie on the floor said Barnacle Bill the sailor Hmm.
Here you go.
There you are.
For the baby.
And one squidplatter, extra tentacles.
- Bart, quit fooling around and eat your dinner.
- Yeah, eat it, Bart.
Ugh.
May I please be excused for a minute? Okay, but don't dawdle.
Your food will get cold.
Okay, Eugene.
One last taste of bachelor freedom.
Presenting Princess Kashmir, queen of the mysterious East.
Now this is what I call a party.
How do I tell you this, my boy? We're in hell.
Look at him squirm.
- You care to dance? - She wants you, Homer.
Go for it, Homer! Shake his buns.
I'm sorry.
I don't usually laugh like this.
Ai, caramba.
Wow, man.
Oh, this is the most fun I've ever had in my life.
The meeting of the Future Photographers of America is now in session.
We would like to welcome our new member, Bart Simpson.
Whoa.
People, people.
Don't applaud.
Let's get to work.
My goodness.
Quite exciting.
- Extremely sensual.
- The subtle gray tones recall the work of Helmut Newton.
Who's the sexy lady, Bart? Beats me.
But the guy dancing with her is my pop.
- Wow! - He brings to mind the later work of Diane Arbus.
Bart, I'd really appreciate a print of your masterwork.
- Me too.
- Yeah, come on.
Sorry, guys.
No can do.
Aw.
Oh.
Come on, Bart.
You're gonna make me a print, aren't you? Will you swear not to let another living soul get a copy of this photo? - Okay.
Yep.
- Cross your heart and hope to die? - Stick a needle in your eye? Jam a dagger in your thigh? - Yep.
Yep.
Eat a horse manure pie? - Yep.
- Well, okay.
- Pst.
Look what I got.
- Whoa.
I gotta have a copy of that.
- Sorry.
- Aw, come on.
Well, okay.
Hey, Bart.
How come Milhouse gets a copy of your girlie picture and I don't? - I thought I was your friend too.
- Well, okay.
Son, why are you wasting your time with this sleazy trash? Sorry, Dad.
Wait till I show the guys at work this little doozy.
Mike, this is Al.
Just wanted to thank you for the "informative memo" you faxed me.
Whoops.
Here comes the boss.
Gotta go.
Reverend Lovejoy, your wife confiscated this from one of the boys in the choir.
Why this sheep has strayed from my own flock.
His name's-- Homer Simpson, sir, a low-level employee - in sector 7-G.
- Simpson, huh? - A family man? - Wife and three kids, sir.
I'd like to see our self-styled Valentino tomorrow morning, Smithers.
What are we laughing at? One glazed and one Scratch-'N-Win, please.
You look familiar, sir.
Are you on the television or something? Sorry, buddy.
You got me confused with Fred Flintstone.
Oh.
Liberty Bell.
Another Liberty Bell! One more and I'm a millionaire.
Come on, Liberty Bell, please, please, please.
D'oh! That purple fruit thing.
- Where were you yesterday? - Hey, hey.
Looking good.
- What do you want, pal? - Hey mister.
Do, do, do, do, do Do dee do dee do Well, a "do dee do dee do" to you too, pint size.
Jeez, you get a lot of nutcases in here.
Oh, sir, I've seen things you can't imagine.
- Hey, hey, hey.
- I hear you, buddy.
Whew.
Full moon.
Hmm.
Still got it.
What is the meaning of this? Meaningless, Marge.
Don't even attempt to find meaning in it.
There's nothing between me and Princess Kashmir.
- Princess who? - Hey, my photo.
- Your photo? - Uh-oh.
- Why you little-- - Why you big-- - Bart, go to your room.
- I'm out of here.
- Look, Marge, honey, baby, doll, I-- - Homer, I don't even want to look at you right now.
What are you saying, honey? - But where will I sleep? - My suggestion is for you to sleep in the filth you created.
Would a motel be okay? Oh, I knew you'd come to your-- Here.
If you have any soul left, you'll need these.
I know I will.
What's the matter, Homer? Hottest ladies' night in months - and you're not even checking out the action.
- Oh, Moe.
My wife gave me the old heave ho because of some lousy picture.
- What, this one? - D'oh! - So, uh, where are you staying tonight, Homer? - Motel, I guess.
Oh, no.
No pal of mine is gonna stay in some dingy flophouse.
Ah.
If you get hungry in the middle of the night, there's an open beer in the fridge.
Look, Barney.
See the row of tiny lights up there? The middle one is my house.
Someone must have left the porch light on.
Hey that's rough, pal.
Hello, Marge.
- You left your damn porch light on.
- Barney! - You left your damn porch light on.
- Barney! Homer's not made of money, you know.
- Who is this? - Don't listen to him, Marge.
He's-- - Oh, it's you.
- Oh.
Homer, you're overwrought.
Why don't you unwind a bit? Party down the hall.
You know, this apartment complex caters to upscale young singles like me.
No, Barn.
I just want to crawl into bed.
Suit yourself, Homer.
Nighty-night.
I wonder when Dad's coming home.
Homer Simpson.
Homer Simpson.
Report at once to Mr.
Burns' office.
Oh, no.
What in blue blazes do you think you're doing, Simpson? - What do you mean, sir? - I mean this.
A plant employee carrying on like an oversexed orangutan in heat.
This is a family nuclear powerplant, Simpson.
Our research indicates that over 50 percent of our power is used by women.
I will not have you offending my customers with your bawdy shenanigans.
It won't happen again, sir.
I promise.
- May I get out of your sight now? - Just a second, Simpson.
Smithers, would you leave the room for a minute? Yes, sir.
Simpson, I am by most measures a successful man.
I have wealth and power beyond the dreams of you and your clock-punching ilk.
And yet, I've led a solitay life.
The fair sex remains a mystery to me.
You seem to have a way with women, a certain-- how shall I put it-- animal magnetism.
Help me, Simpson.
Tell me your secret.
Uh, Mr.
Burns, in spite of what everybody thinks, I'm no lover boy.
Simpson, I'm asking you nicely.
- I don't really know, sir.
- Simpson! Well, I wine them, I dine them, bring them flowers, write them love poetry, sir.
Of course.
It's simplicity itself.
I won't forget this, Simpson.
Now return to your work and tell no one of what transpired here.
- Anybody home? - Hi, Daddy.
Welcome back, Dad.
- How's your mom? - Still kind of ticked off.
Yeah.
Good luck, man.
Oh, thanks, boy.
Hello, Marge.
It's me, Homer.
Are you still mad? You are still mad.
Don't need to say it.
I'm your loving husband.
I can read you like a book.
I'll just have some milk.
Look, I'm not drinking out of the carton.
Look, I'm not drinking out of the carton.
Come on, Marge! Please forgive me.
I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry.
Homer, you don't even know why you're apologizing.
Yes, I do.
Because I'm hungry, my clothes are smelly, and I'm tired.
I've been thinking, Homer, and you know what bothers me the most about this whole thing? You taught Bart a very bad lesson.
Your boy idolizes you.
- Oh, he does not.
- Yes, he does, Homer.
And when he sees you treating women as objects, he's going to think that it's okay.
You owe your son better than that, Homer.
So what should I do, Marge? Well, I think you should take Bart to meet this exotic belly-person.
I want him to see that she's a real human being with real thoughts and real feelings.
I want Bart to see you apologize for the way you treated her.
Okay.
Your wish is my command, my little-- Do it! Princess Kashmir? You must mean April Flower.
She's working over at the Girlesque.
See, I'm tying to teach my son here about treating women as objects.
Oh, that's a good idea.
Uh, but April's over at Foxy Boxing tonight.
Just let me say that it is an honor to have Springfield's number-one swinger here with us to-- Forget that.
I'm teaching my boy a lesson.
Is she here or not? Uh, try Mud City.
We're gonna try one more place, the Sapphire Lounge.
Bart! I said look at the floor.
he really loves me-- There she is.
Hey, Princess, it's me, the guy from the snapshot.
Oh.
Oh, hi.
Places, ladies, places.
Can I get just a little cooperation? It's show time.
I'm here because I want to apologize for treating you like an object.
- Uh-huh.
- I also want my boy to find out that you're more than just a belly.
I want him to meet the woman behind all the spangles and glitter and find out that she has thoughts and feelings too.
- Oh, well, okay.
But can we make it quick? - Nice to meet you, ma'am.
Could you tell him a little about yourself? - Well, uh, my real name is Shawna Tifton.
- Uh-huh.
- My pet peeve is rude people.
- Uh-huh.
- And my turn-ons include silk sheets - Uh-huh.
- and a warm fireplace.
- Thank you very much, ma'am.
We'll be on our-- - I've heard them say so often They can love their wives ooh But I think that's just foolish Men must have hearts Made of stone Now my heart is made - Cool, man.
- Of softer stuff Get out of my cage.
- My boss will freak out.
- Oh, no.
- A pretty girl can't look my way without -Don't.
Don't! - Don't.
No.
- Get out.
Get out of here.
Get your hands off.
A new romance Oh I could love a million girls And every girl a twin I could love a Chinese girl an Eskimo or-- Get off of my stage, fat boy.
Hey, it's the guy from the picture.
- Homer Simpson! - Sorry, partner.
I didn't recognize you at first.
Ladies and gentlemen, it's an honor to have a real swinging cat with us tonight.
Homer Simpson, party guy.
Mr.
Maestro.
Oh I could love a million girls And every girl a twin Yeah I could love a Chinese girl An Eskimo or Finn I could dig a Deutschland chick a girl with golden curls In fact I think that we could love About a million girls Heh.
Hey.
Ooh.
Look out.
Yeah.
- How does he do it, Smithers? - He's a love machine, sir.
Da, da, da Way to go, Dad.
Uh-oh.
Wait a minute.
Wait a minute.
Stop the music.
Quiet, please.
I have something to say.
Quiet.
You with the hair, down in front.
Oh, no.
He's sunk even lower.
I have something to say to all the sons out there.
To all the boys, to all the men, to all of us.
It's about women, and how they are not mere objects with curves that make us crazy.
No, they are our wives, they are our daughters, our sisters, our grandmas, our aunts, our nieces and nephews.
Well, not our nephews.
They are our mothers.
And you know something, folks? As ridiculous as this sounds, I would rather feel the sweet breath of my beautiful wife on the back of my neck as I sleep than to stuff dollar bills into some stranger's G-string.
Am I wrong? Or am I right? My wife gets the cutest little thing, right here, when she smiles.
- This is my Suzie.
- Oh, she's so cute.
Here's mine.
You know, my mom sounded a little down the other day.
I'd better give her a call.
- Homer.
- Marge.
All right, folks.
Show's over.
No more to see, folks.
Come on.
Only sick people want to see my folks kiss.