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The-simpsons

Homer: What does everyone say to some miniature golf, followed by a round of frosty chocolate milkshakes!
Bart: All right!
Marge: Mmm, I was going to wash my hair.
Lisa: And I'm studying for the math fair. If I win, I'll bring home a brand-new protractor.
Homer: Too bad we don't live on a farm.

Homer: (Yelling) Marge, where's the Duff?
Marge: Oh, uh, we're all out, Homer.
Homer: D'oh!
Marge: Would you like some fruit juice?
Homer: (Makes fist) Don't toy with me, woman.

(After getting into an argument with Ned Flanders earlier in the day, Homer can't sleep.)
Marge: Homey, quit tossing.
Homer: Sorry, Marge. But, it's just that I'm still steamed up about that jerk Flanders. Lousy bragging know-it-all show-off.
Marge: What exactly did he say?
Homer: Get this. He said--Now--He said--Well, it wasn't so much what he said, it was how he said it.
Marge: Well, how did he say it?
Homer: Well, he--
Marge: Was he angry?
Homer: No.
Marge: Was he rude?
Homer: Okay, okay, it wasn't how he said it either. But the message was loud and clear: Our family stinks!

Marge: Homer, I couldn't help overhearing you warp Bart's mind.
Homer: And?
Marge: I'm worried that you're making to big a deal of this silly little kiddie golf tournament.
Homer: But, Marge, this is our big chance to show up the Flandereses.
Marge: I'm sure it is, but why do we want to do that?
Homer: Because sometimes the only way you can feel good about yourself is by making someone else look bad. And I'm tired of making other people feel good about themselves.

(Before the baseball game at Springfield Stadium, the Simpson family watches the players warm-up.)
Bart: Oh, wow! There's Flash Baylor! I gotta get his autograph! He used to be a star!
(Bart makes his way to the outfield fence.)
Bart: Hey, Flash, will you sign my ball?
Flash Baylor: (Flatly) No.
(A disappointed Bart returns back to his seat.)
Bart: (Muttering) Lousy, washed-up, broken down tub of guts. Who does he think he is, anyway?
Homer: What's the matter, boy?
Bart: He wouldn't sign my ball.
Marge: (Upset) Well, he's a fine role model. Bart, give me that ball!
(Marge makes her way to the outfield fence.)
Outfielder: Hey, Flash, check out the mature quail headin' this way.
Flash Baylor: Well, hey there, little lady. What can Flash do for ya?
(Cut to Marge returning back to her seat and handing Bart's ball back to him.)
Marge: Here you go, Bart.
Bart: Hmm. (Reading baseball) "Springfield Kozy Kort Motel, room 26. How 'bout it? Flash."
Homer: Wow! Flash Baylor came onto my wife! You've still got the magic, Marge.

(The Simpson family make their way to their seats at Springfield Stadium.)
Lisa: I can't think of a better place to spend a balmy summer's night than the old ball yard. There's just the green grass of the outfield, the crushed brick of the infield, and the white chalk lines that divide the man from the little boy.
Homer: (Chuckles) Lisa, honey. You're forgetting the beer. It comes in 72-ounce tubs here.
Marge: I hope you'll space out the tubs this year, Homer.
Homer: What are you getting at?
Marge: Well, last year you got a little rambunctious and mooned the poor umpire.
Homer: Marge, this ticket doesn't just give me a seat. It also gives me the right--no, the duty--to make a complete ass of myself.
Marge: Mmmph.

A Simpson on a t-shirt. I never thought I'd see the day.

Marge

Homer: D'oh, Marge, sitting next to the boss! The best night of the year and it's ruined!
Marge: All this means is you can't wave your fanny around in public.
Homer: Oh, yeah, rub it in!

(In bed, Homer worries about what Mr. Burns said about making sure his dreams will go unfulfilled.)
Homer: Oh, my dreams will go unfulfilled? Oh, no. I don't like the sound of that one bit. That means I have nothing to hope for. Marge, make it better, please. Can't you make it better, huh?
Marge: Homer, when a man's biggest dreams include seconds on dessert, occasional snuggling and sleeping till noon on weekends, no one man can destroy them.
Homer: Hey, you did it!

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