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The-simpsons

(Homer puts some pressure on Bart to win the Miniature golf tournament.)
Homer: Look, son, all I'm asking is that you'll try.
Bart: Okay, I'll try.
Homer: D'oh! Anybody can try! I want you to win!

(Lisa tries to mentally prepare Bart for the miniature golf tournament with some meditation.)
Lisa: I want you to shut off the logical part of your mind.
Bart: Okay.
Lisa: Embrace nothingness.
Bart: You got it.
Lisa: Become like an uncarved stone.
Bart: Done.
Lisa: Bart! You're just pretending to know what I'm talking about!
Bart: True.
Lisa: Well, it's very frustrating!
Bart: I'll bet.

(Bart and Homer finish a round of miniature golf.)
Bart: Final score: Bart, 41. Homer--Let's see. Six plus six plus six plus six plus six plus--
Homer: Never mind!

(Using the phone, Ned Flanders seeks some counsel in the middle of the night.)
Ned: Hello, Reverend Lovejoy?
Helen Lovejoy: (Yawns) No. This is Mrs. Lovejoy. (Sighs) Just a minute. (Covers the phone) Honey. Honey, wake up. It sounds like Ned Flanders is having some sort of crisis.
Reverend Lovejoy: (Groans) Probably stepped on a worm.

(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!

(After hanging out in Ned Flanders' basement and seeing his "perfect" family get along well together, Homer blows up in anger.)
Homer: All right, knock it off!
Ned: Knock what off, Simpson?
Homer: You've been rubbing my nose in it since I got here! Your family is better than my family! Your beer comes from farther away than my beer! You and your son like each other! Your wife's butt is higher than my wife's butt! You make me sick!
Ned: Simpson, I'm afraid I'm gonna have to ask you to leave! I hope you understand.
Homer: I wouldn't stay on a bet!
(Homer has one last gulp of beer and grabs a sandwich.)
Homer: One for the road.

(Ned Flanders shows Homer his "rumpus room.")
Homer: (Gasps) Holy moly! It's beautiful.
Ned: (Chuckles) Say, that's right. This your first visit to the Flanders homestead, huh?
Homer: Well, we've only been neighbors, what--(Mumbles and counts on fingers.)--eight years.

(Ned visits with Homer, while Homer mows his lawn.)
Ned: Uh, Sa--Say, Simpson, uh, I--I've got some, uh, time release granules that'll get rid of that crabgrass in just a half a jif.
Homer: Crabgrass? What are you talking about? Where?
Ned: Well, uh, (Starts pointing in various spots.) ooh, there, there, and, uh, there's a big patch over there.
Homer: There's nothing wrong with crabgrass. It just has a bad name, that's all. Everyone would love it if it had a cute name, like, uh, elf grass.

(After some miniature golf practice Bart enters his bedroom and throws his putter on the floor.)
Homer: (Yelling) What are you doing?
(Homer picks up the putter.)
Homer: That putter is to you what a bat is to a baseball player, what a violin is...to the--the guy that--the violin guy! Now, come on! Give your putter a name.
(Homer hands the putter back to Bart.)
Bart: What?
Homer: Come on. Give it a name.
Bart: Mr. Putter.
Homer: D'oh! You wanna try a little harder, son? Come on. Give it a girl's name.
Bart: Mom.
Homer: Your putter's name is Charlene!
Bart: Why?
Homer: It just is, that's why!
(Homer pins up a picture of Todd Flanders.)
Homer Now, this is a picture of your enemy, Todd Flanders. Every day, I want you to spend 15 minutes staring at it and concentrating on how much you hate him and how glorious it will be when you and Charlene annihilate him!
Bart: Who's Charlene?
(Homer snatches Bart's putter out of his hands.)
Homer: I'll show you who Charlene is! Now start hating!

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