The Simpsons s33e03 Episode Script

1 Love is a song that never ends Sunshine turns to rain In Disney cartoons, a parent dies Life will be full of pain We bring tears to children's eyes They'll never sleep again Ooh.
Barti, wait for me.
Shh! Stop all that noise.
A hunter has entered the forest.
Cool.
What's a hunter? - Run, Barti, run! - Not without you, Mama.
Owl season starts next week.
Next week! - Death.
- Barti, if you love me, run! I made it, Mama.
Mama? Mama?! Where-where's my mama? I'm fine, sweetheart.
I'm fine.
Your father took care of the bad man.
Time for a little "stag party.
" - Thank God you're herbivores.
- That's right.
And today your name is "Herb.
" This family is so poor.
I hate to say it, but you are a bad provider.
Hey, I put a roof over your head.
Okay, under your head.
Family, I have excellent news.
I got a job as a tutor in a nice, rich home.
How deep is the water in their living room? There's no water in their living room.
That's a thing? Oh, Homie, use a coaster.
Okay, here's a math problem.
How long can the two of us watch your hundred-inch TV before anyone gets wise? "Y" equals 102.
What the hell are you talking about? I want to watch TV.
Tickets.
Oh, this works on two levels: blood and guts.
Sir, you're not happy with me? Why? You have the poor person smell.
Gas station ramen, a whiff of despair.
May I? Oh, also class resentment.
Almost boiling over.
- Very dangerous.
- Mm-hmm.
Now leave.
I just have to find another idiot to take your job.
Idiot, eh? How did you hear about this position? Well, through proper channels.
Certainly not through your tutor, who I never met, Or your new maid, Marge.
Or your Lisa, what's your job again? Uh, sir, I'm the art teacher.
Aw, you've loved art ever since you were a little late for the job interview.
Ja, ja.
Gut.
We are leaving on a long vacation.
Here are the keys to the beer garden, the saxophone room, and my armory of stink bombs.
- Can we trust you? - Honored sir, we are beyond reproach.
Especially the new groundskeeper.
Ah.
I think she has a thing for the pool boy.
Stupid rich people.
While they're gone, we eat their food, drink their booze, and break their complicated toilets.
I was not built for the American ass.
He thinks I am a drinking fountain.
Ugh.
Who could that be? At this hour? In the pouring rain? Please let me in.
My jeans are wet.
And they're my only pair of pants.
Oh, you poor, poor man.
Can I get you some tea? Oh, yeah, I-I know where it is.
Sir, what are you doing? I need to go downstairs.
Daddy's coming! Go on without me.
Really, fatso? You're that exhausted going downstairs? Why, you little Huh? That's right, I hid my family in this cramped, windowless basement.
This is nicer than our house.
See what I mean? Bad provider.
Everything was great until you parasites took our jobs.
You're squatting in the basement and you're calling us parasites? Well, maybe the truth is the master is the parasite because he exploits us all, and, um, yeah, okay.
This is where you're supposed to be smacking them - with the frying pan.
- Sorry.
- Parasites.
- Parasites! Geez, how many people live down here? People of all incomes.
This house is an allegory.
Emphasis on "gory.
" You don't have a worthwhile bone in your body.
Wait! If we all work together, regardless of class, we could finally change everything for the better.
Wow, that sounds great.
Unless it's socialism.
Not totally, but certain aspects are - similar to social - Kill her! Seeing all that horror and poverty makes me think - we should lower the corporate tax rate even further.
- Agreed.
There's no way they can get up here, is there? Heh, heh, heh.
My last words are "I'm too young and beautiful to die.
Take a baby instead.
" Well, Marge, I finally got you a house with no leaks.
Yeah, but it's filled with dead bodies.
Some people are never happy.
And they say on moonless nights, just like this one, in ordinary neighborhoods, just like this one, the ghost of the murdered squirrel leaps, treehouse to treehouse, biting the toes of little girls.
You sure scared them.
- Can you get off my lap? - In due time.
Oh, Marge.
I did a chore today.
Which one? Unloaded the dishwasher.
All the way.
Ooh.
Mom, Dad, can we sleep in your bed? Oh, which scary story did Bart tell you this time? The one where the little girl's head is filled with potato bugs, and there's no way she can tell? 'Cause that's only partially true.
No! And that's even worse! Lousy treehouse.
Every year, three scary stories: two of them good, and a lame one in the middle.
I'll put an end to that.
Stupid hard work.
I'll put an end to that.
Who dares cleave my trunk, because You keep talkin'.
I'm gonna chop you down before you finish that sentence.
I am Groot.
Hmm.
You're real mature.
Laughin' at a brain-damaged tree.
Help! Help! S-O-S! Is there a dendrologist in the house? And this is the Doppler Effect Always teaching science Oh, ain't that nice? A tree farm.
No! This holiday is worse than Dutch Elm Disease.
Eh, no offense there.
Oh, yeah Humans have abused us for too long.
Today we celebrate our Arbor Day.
We have got to get a better name for that holiday.
I may live in the human world, but I never forget my tree roots.
Hey! How'd you like me to pick something off you? I didn't like it at all.
Feed me.
Feed me! You're not a tree.
You're a plant.
Yes, but I identify as a tree.
I'm a trans-plant.
A legion of forest grumps is heading into town, bent on revenge for years of bad tree-tment.
This just in, my chest All right, this is it.
No tree is a match for a human with a wooden bat.
First, we kill them, then we hang our hammocks! Finally I'll get my revenge for all the leaves I had to rake, and all the prunin'.
And the times a tree leaped out in front of me tractor when I was textin' me friends.
Gah! Oh, no.
Pollen! And I'm all out of antihistamine.
- Huh? - Time to hit me a homer.
Whee! Oh, the trees won.
Another crass play for an environmental award.
You will make a fine beanbag chair.
That is very difficult to dispute.
However Oh, boy Halloween isn't over, and they're already starting with Christmas.
In January, Bart was awful, put earthworms in his father's waffle.
In February, the dead of winter, Bart catfished teacher, right on Tinder.
In March, we saw the start of spring.
Bart unscrewed the playground swing.
April's known for paying taxes.
For Bart, it's known for nude butt faxes.
- In May - Oh, how many months are there?! In May we dance around a pole.
Bart knocked it down with a car he stole.
June is halfway through the year.
Bart has a sip of his first beer.
July is when the Bastille falls.
Bart cuts heads off Lisa's dolls.
August is always a scorcher.
Bart perfects his turtle torture.
September, Bart won't even mention.
He spends the whole month in detention.
October ends with Halloween.
Bart eats candy till he's green.
In November, Bart can carve the turkey.
He'll be serving human jerky.
Then, worst of all, in cold December R.
I.
P.
Lisa, we have something to tell you.
We had a party and didn't invite you.
It was a week ago.
We watched a cool TikTok.
But anyone who watches the TikTok dies after seven days.
I watched it first.
Oopsie! Finally, I'm not a twin anymore.
I can have the top bunk and I killed Jerry and Larry.
Bart, have you heard about this deadly TikTok? Oh, yeah.
Everyone was invited to that party except you.
- Even Milhouse? - I was the bouncer.
Then I watched that TikTok eight times.
I didn't watch it.
But you can if you want.
Nice try.
If we knew what was in that video, maybe we could stop it.
We just have to find someone who isn't afraid of death and likes to watch TV.
I'm your man.
But, Grampa, if you do watch, you die in seven days.
That's three more than the doctor gave me.
Okay.
First, there's an evil-looking ring.
Then an empty chair.
Then a lady combing her hair.
I like the old movies where the combing was implied.
Now there's a bunch of maggots.
Satan head.
More maggots.
More maggots.
No, wait, that's an ad for Chipotle.
Now a woman's jumping off a cliff, and we end up with an abandoned well.
This is the kind of movie you watch in a museum when your feet hurt.
And my feet always hurt.
Seven days.
- What? - Seven days.
I can't hear ya.
Seven days.
Maybe I better jot this down.
What was your name again? I don't know who you are or what you want, but let me give you my credit card number.
I don't have time for your nonsense.
We have bigger problems.
Steroid allegations on the kickball team.
Psst.
I know about your infernal TikTok.
This is the tragic tale of a sad second-grader.
Mopey Mary, they called her.
Kids can be so cruel.
Ooh, "Mopey.
" The worst thing you can call someone in 1932.
One cold February, after receiving naught in her Valentine's box but a poop from the class rabbit, poor Mary ran to the old school well and threw herself in.
She was down there for seven days before anyone bothered to look.
Fortunately, it was the end of my shift.
Wait a minute.
We don't have a school well.
I covered it so no one would ever go near it again.
They say the unhappy spirit of Mopey Mary lurks in the murderous video shared by popular children.
Shouldn't you have told the police first? I tried to tell Wiggum.
He got scared and ran off.
Daddy, that's my pee-pee bed.
Uh, not anymore.
Looks like it's up to me to save the school.
I can do this.
Beware.
Milhouse? Yeah.
It was really nice of them to give me ghost glasses.
Now, be careful, Lisa.
And can you kill off a Hershey bar for me? I think that's how I get one.
The rules aren't very clear up here.
I will.
Seven days.
- Coward! - Say what? I don't want to wait seven days.
So come and get me now.
Uh, I have to move some stuff around; just a sec.
Killing you is very important to us.
Please hold.
Your curse will be answered in the order it was received.
Okay, um, how's Wednesday? I've got a guy coming to look at the air conditioner in the morning.
Kill me now or kill me never.
Fine! Hello, Mary.
I'm not scared.
Um, would you mind taking those black boots off in the house? Oh, wait.
Those are your feet! Um, I wanted to give you something.
Something that will change the way you look at the world.
Here it is.
A valentine? For me? I want to be your friend.
I want to braid your hair and see your beautiful face.
Ah! All right.
All right.
We'll work with that.
Oh You know why I'm smiling? 'Cause I have a best friend! Whoa, whoa, whoa.
Best friend? I've already suffocated.
Give me a little space.
Okay, no problem.
Hey, I wrote you a song on the saxophone.
It's called "Well Bottom Blues.
" I'll tell you what.
I'm just gonna walk right over here, okay? You sound great.
I bet it sounds even better from the bottom of the well.
We'll see you next Halloween With tales of horror and pain Treehouse X-X-X-I-I-I Take a trip down Dismembering Lane Where were Kang and Kodos this time? Crammed into the final frame.
We're dimmer stars than Proxima Centauri.
Let's go drown our sorrows in a child's blood.
Hasn't there been enough death in this episode? Really?