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Oh, no! 239 Pounds? I'm a whale! Why was I cursed with this weakness for snack treats? Well, from now on, exercise every morning Homer.Homer
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239 Pounds! Oh, I'm a blimp. Why are all the good things so tasty? From now on, exercise every morning!Homer
- Permalink: 239 Pounds! Oh, I'm a blimp. Why are all the good things so tast...
Milhouse: Come on, Bart. You're gonna make me a print, aren't you?
Bart: Will you swear not to let another living soul get a copy of this photo?
Bart: Cross your heart and hope to die?
Bart: Stick a needle in your eye?
Bart: Jam a dagger in your thigh?
Bart: Eat a horse manure pie?
Milhouse: (Thinks for a second) Yep!
Bart: Well, okay.
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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 somethin', 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 stuff dollar bills into some stranger's G-string. Am I wrong? Or am I right?Homer
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Barney: If you get hungry in the middle of the night, there's an open beer in the fridge.
(Homer gazes out of Barney's window.)
Homer: Look, Barney. See the row of tiny lights up there? The middle one is my house. Someone must have left the porch light on.
Barney: Hey, that's rough, pal. (Dials phone) Hello, Marge. You left your damn porch light on!
Barney: Homer's not made of money, you know!
Marge: Who is this?
(Homer takes the phone away from Barney.)
Homer: Don't listen to him, Marge. He's--
Marge: Oh, it's you. Hmph. (Hangs up phone.)
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Marge: Homer, you don't even know why you're apologizing.
Homer: Yes, I do. Because I'm hungry, my clothes are smelly, and I'm tired.
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Waiter: Ahoy! I spy the children's menu.
Bart: Ahoy, this place bites.
Waiter: So, what's it going to be, me little bucko?
Bart: (Chuckles) Hmm, let's see. This evening I shall go for the...squid platter--
Bart: --with extra tentacles, please.
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Homer: 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.
Marge: Homer, is this some kind of stag party?
Homer: No, no, Marge. It's gonna be very classy. A tea-and-crumpets kind of thing.
Marge: Hmm. Eugene Fisk. Isn't he your assistant?
Homer: No! (Mumbles) My supervisor.
Marge: Didn't he used to be your assistant?
Homer: Hey! What is this, the Spanish Exposition?
Marge: Sorry, Homer.
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Marge: So, how was the office birthday party?
Homer: Oh, it was delightful. The frosting on the cake was this thick. (Uses thumb and index finger to indicate the thickness.) 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. Ha, ha, ha.
Marge: Does this girl like him?
Homer: Pffft. I have to warn you, Marge. I think the poor young thing has the hots for Yours Truly.
Homer: Just keepin' you on your toes, babe.
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Mr. Burns: What in blue blazes do you think you're doing, Simpson?!
Homer: What do you mean, sir?
Mr. Burns: I mean this! (holds up the picture of Homer with belly dancer)
Mr. Burns: A plant employee carrying on like an over-sexed orangutan in heat! This is a family nuclear power plant, Simpson. Our research indicates that over fifty percent of our power is used by women. (wrinkles up the picture into a ball) I will not have you offending my customers with your bawdy shenanigans!
Homer: It won't happen again, sir, I promise! Can I get outta' your sight now?
Mr. Burns: Wait a minute, Simpson! Smithers, could you please leave the room?
Smithers: Yes, sir.
Mr. Burns: (sadly) 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 solitary life. The fair sex remains a mystery to me. You seem to have a way with women. A certain, how should I put it?... "Animal magnÃ©tisme". (begging) Help me, Simpson. Tell me your secret.
Homer: Uh, Mr. Burns, in spite of what everybody thinks, I'm no loverboy.
Mr. Burns: (pleasantly) Simpson, I'm asking you nicely.
Homer: I don't really know, sir--
Mr. Burns: (angrily) Simpson!
Homer: (scared) Well, oh, wine 'em! Dine 'em. Bring them flowers. Write them love poetry... sir.
Mr. Burns: Of course! It's simplicity itself! I won't forget this, Simpson. (angrily) Now return to your work! And tell no one of what transpired here.
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Lisa: Bart, I read about what happens to kids whose parents no longer love and cherish each other. They go through eight separate stages. Right now, I'm in Stage three, fear. You're in Stage two, denial.
Bart: No, I'm not.
Lisa: Yes, you are!
Bart: No, I'm not!
Lisa: Yes, you are!
Bart: I'm not! I'm not! Am not!
Lisa: I stand corrected.
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Bart: Look, Dad. I don't know what's going on, but once you gave me some advice that might help.
Homer: I gave you advice? Get outta here.
Bart: Yeah, you did. You told me when something's bothering you and you're too damn stupid to know what to do, just keep your fool mouth shut. At least that way, you won't make things worse.
Homer: Hmm. Good advice.
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