♪ The Simpsons ♪
(bell ringing)
D'oh!
-Ahh! -(tires screech)
Ah, is there nothing so intoxicating
as the school hallway at early morn?
(sniffing)
Hm. School normally doesn't smell so rank.
(sniffing)
Ah, washbasin fresh.
That funk must be coming from one of the classrooms.
Ugh!
Ah, poor fellow.
Crushed by his own water bottle.
(laughing)
(knocking)
Willie, sometime over the holiday weekend
the beloved grade four gerbil, uh...
Super Dude, lost his life.
I need you to air out the classroom and give
Super Dude a proper burial.
Gah!
Yeah, you're lucky you're getting a decent burial.
Me own father got thrown in the bog.
What in the name of Saint Ephisiocritus?
(rumbling)
(yells)
Yuck, what reeks?
Smells like one of Van Houten's.
It does not.
(rumbling)
Miss Hoover, the floor is shaking.
Ralph, remember the time you thought the--
(yells)
Now, before we adjourn, gentlemen, I have
one last matter of utmost importance.
I need to send this parcel
with the profit projections to Pete Porter in Pasadena
and it absolutely positively
has to be there overnight.
-Pete Porter. Pass it on. -Pasadena, promptly.
Package to parcel processing, pronto.
Profoundly pressing package of power plant profit projections
for Pete Porter in Pasadena.
-Priority? -Precisely.
Hmm? (growls)
(panting)
Here's your package, Mr. Burns!
(sputtering)
My name is the return address, you senseless dunderpate.
Smithers, who is this nincompoop?
I've worked here for ten years
and my boss doesn't even know my name.
Well, that's going to change right now!
My name is Homer J. Simp--
Ow! Son.
Hmm, sounded large when I ordered it.
I can't make hide nor hair of these metric booby traps.
My Lord!
Such destruction.
Superintendent Chalmers!
-How are you going? -Why is it when I heard
the word "school" And the word "exploded"
I immediately thought of the word "Skinner"!
(stammering)
MAN: Congratulations, gentlemen, your custodian struck oil.
You're standing on top of the richest elementary school
in the state.
He also found this.
Thank you, Super Dude.
(grunts)
(shudders)
A non-profit organization with oil?!
I won't allow it.
An oil well doesn't belong in the hands
of Betsy Bleedingheart and Maynard G. Muskeyvote.
(panting) Sir, have you had enough
exercise for this morning?
No.
Let's go another 20 miles.
Oh...
(pinballs rattling)
Hello, Lenny, Carl, Guillermo.
Hello, uh...
Oh, um, um...
Don't take it so hard, Homer.
He's always screwing up people's names.
Yeah, at the picnic he thought my son Renaldo
was my son Rolando.
Can you believe that?
Superintendent, we made the front page today.
Ah... What's that say under your hand there?
Hm? Oh! It's an unrelated article.
It's an unrelated article?
Within the banner headline?
Yes. Now to redirect our conversation slightly,
I had a few ideas on how to spend this oil money.
Well, we could give each student
a full college scholarship.
(laughing)
Oh, mercy...
Seriously, though, before we draw up the budget
I believe the students and faculty have
a few suggestions.
I want a crystal bucket for my slopwater.
Oh, and a brand new filthy blanket.
The cafeteria staff
is complaining about the mice in the kitchen.
I want to hire a new staff.
I'd like to start a jazz program for the music department.
We've got a really great instructor lined up.
BOTH: Tito Puente!
He's ready to give up the drudgery
of the professional mambo circuit
and settle into a nice teaching job.
Man, it would be my pleasure!
Lisa has told me all your students
are as bright and dedicated to jazz as she is.
Mm-hm, mmm, mmm...
Let's go now, Mr. Puente.
RALPH: Chocolate microscopes.
OTTO: You know those guitars that are, like,
double guitars, you know?
SKINNER: More rubber stamps.
(buzzing)
SMITHERS: Principal Skinner, this is your secretary.
There is one last student here to see you.
That's odd. I don't have a secretary
or an intercom, but send him in.
Ahoy, there, Dean.
I understand you're taking suggestions from students, eh?
(groans)
Well, me and my fourth form chums
think it would be quite corking
if you'd sign over your oil well to the local energy concern.
-(clears throat) Mr. Burns... -(gasps)
It was naive of you to think I would mistake
this town's most prominent 104-year-old man
for one of my elementary school students.
I want that oil well.
I've got a monopoly to maintain.
I own the electric company and the water works
plus the hotel on Baltic Avenue.
That hotel's a dump, and your monopoly's pathetic.
The school's oil well is not for sale
particularly to a black-hearted scoundrel like yourself!
I see.
Then I'll just have to... attack you!
I must have that oil.
(groans)
(panting)
Smithers, help me subdue this...
beast.
Sorry, sir, this is all I could find.
Take that! And that!
Please don't waste those.
I'm happy for the school.
It sounds like this money is gonna provide
a lot of new opportunities.
Big deal.
They didn't approve my idea. They said it was unfeasible.
It is unfeasible to resurrect the dead, Bart,
and even if the Three Stooges were alive
I doubt they'd want to hang around with you.
Oh, yeah. I guess they'd probably want to be
with their families or something, huh?
Oh, I hate my job.
I mean, what's the point when your boss
doesn't even remember your name?
-I have an idea. -What? What's your idea?
When my father was first trying to catch my mother's eye
he sent her a box of candy with his photo in it.
After that, she never forgot him.
That's all well and good
but it's not really your idea, is it now, Marge?
That's it.
Fumble about with your widgets and do-bobs.
It'll all be a monument to futility
when my plan comes to fruition.
Sir, uh...
what I'm about to say violates
every sycophantic urge in my body
but I wish you would reconsider.
This isn't a rival company you're battling with.
It's a school. People won't stand for it.
Pish-posh.
It will be like taking candy from a baby.
Say, that sounds like a larf.
Let's try it right now.
There's some candy right here, sir.
Why don't we eat this instead of stealing?
Oh, very well.
Mm.
Look, there's a photo in here.
BURNS: Mmm, Yes. I believe that's little
Maggie Simpson, the baby who found
my precious teddy bear, Bobo.
Oh, and that Simpson mutt.
My former guard dog.
Ooh, and that's Bart Simpson.
He was my heir for a brief period, you know?
Yes, sir. I remember.
Anything left?
Uh... only the sour quince log, sir.
Ew. Dispose of it.
And send a thank you note
to Marge, Bart, Lisa and Maggie Simpson.
SKINNER: Today Springfield Elementary embarks on a new era--
An era of unbridled spending
where petrodollars will fuel
our wildest educational fantasies.
These young minds will enjoy every academic advantage
till they enter Springfield High School
which has no oil well.
We got an air hockey table.
Fine. Now to switch on our oil pump
for the very first time,
here's our top student, Lisa Simpson.
-(scattered applause) -JIMBO: Nerd!
(gasping)
(rumbling)
There's no pressure!
Someone else has tapped this well.
Ay caramba!
Ah...
Soon that mighty apparatus
will burst forth with its precious fluid.
Almost sexual, isn't it, Smithers?
Meh. Huh?
(rumbling)
Oil ho!
Huzzah!
Huh?
Whoa!
(whimpers)
(groaning)
Holy Christmas!
Your dog's condition has been upgraded from stable to frisky.
And he's free to go.
His legs should be as good as new in a few months.
In the meantime, he'll have to use
the wheelabout.
I'll get even with whoever did this to you, boy.
I swear it.
Whoops. Almost forgot.
Wouldn't want you gnawing on those casts, eh, boy?
Ha ha!
(squawks) Ha ha.
I'm afraid we've got no legal recourse
against Mr. Burns and his slant drilling operation.
The oil belongs to whoever pumped it first.
What about all the expensive stuff we wanted?
-Can we still have it? -No.
(all chattering)
-Blast it! -In fact,
to pay for the construction and operation
and demolition of our new derrick
the school will have to eliminate
all nonessential programs--
-Music-- -What?
And maintenance.
(growls) I'll kill that Mr. Burns!
And... wound that Mr. Smithers.
Guh, out of my way!
Oh, no, that's awful, Mr. Puente.
What?
Oh. He owns the nuclear power plant.
Yeah, I'd like to settle his hash too.
Dad, how can you work for a man like Mr. Burns?
Well, he's not all bad.
He did send me this nice thank-you card.
"Marge, Bart, Lisa and Maggie."
Dad, this doesn't have your name on it.
Kids, would you step outside for a second?
F--
(organ playing)
Dear Lord, that's the loudest profanity I've ever heard.
These fumes aren't as fun as beer.
Sure, I'm all dizzy and nauseous
but where's the inflated sense of self-esteem?
(gasping)
(stammering)
Hey, if you guys are getting loaded off them fumes,
I'm gonna have to charge you.
Man alive, there are men alive in here.
I'm detecting over 20 different toxins in the air.
(belches)
(rapid beeping)
All right, everybody out.
As long as Burns is pumping oil, this bar is closed.
Damn Burns.
Let me just get one thing.
Me, too.
Ah...
Now there's the inflated sense of self-esteem.
(rumbling)
Earthquake!
GRANDPA: Nurse.
WOMAN: Nurse. MAN: Nurse!
Well, sir, you've certainly vanquished all your enemies--
the elementary school, the local tavern
the old age home.
You must be very proud.
No, not while my greatest nemesis
still provides our customers
with free light, heat and energy.
I call this enemy the sun.
Since the beginning of time
man has yearned to destroy the sun.
I will do the next best thing--
block it out.
Good God!
Imagine it, Smithers.
Electrical lights and heaters running all day long.
But sir, every plant and tree will die.
Owls will deafen us with incessant hooting.
The town sundial will be useless.
I don't want any part of this project.
It's unconscionably fiendish.
I will not suffer your insubordination!
There has been a shocking decline
in the quality and quantity of your toadying, Wayland.
And you will fall into line.
Now!
No. No, Monty, I won't.
Not until you step back from the brink of insanity.
I'll do no such thing.
You're fired.
(evil laughter)
Take that, Bowlarama.
Take that, convenience mart.
Take that, nuclear power pl--
Oh, fiddlesticks.
I must say Mr. Burns is being awfully inconsiderate.
Selfish even.
Burns needs some serious boost-a-fazoo right, Dad?
Dad?
Homer!
ALL: Ahh!
Sorry, Grandpa. It's just that for a second,
it looked like Dad had melted.
Well, get used to it, 'cause I'm living here now.
I ain't going back to the retirement home
until they fish my bed out of that sinkhole.
Strained carrots for Maggie.
Strained carrots for Grandpa.
I want a bib, too.
Smithers, who is that ignoramus?
Smithers, who is that lallygagger?
Who is that blubber pot?
Who is that baffle wit?
Lummox, puddinghead, limp noodle.
Drizzlepuss. Fumbleface.
Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!
Look out!
What? (screams)
Just a minute.
-(hissing) -(laughing)
Who the devil are you?
Homer Simpson.
What are you talking about? Make sense, man.
Homer Simpson! Shut up!
I can't understand a word you're saying.
-Homer Simpson! -You're just babbling incoherently.
My name is Homer Simpson!
Oh, you're a dead man, Burns. Oh, you're dead.
You're dead, Burns!
Hey, the lamp's running away.
That's my dog, man.
So long, lamp.
Now, stop loafing and help your grandpa unpack.
Wow!
That's my old Smith & Wesson.
If you're going to play with it
be careful 'cause it's loaded.
Aah! Bart, put that down!
Guns are very dangerous.
And I won't have them in this house.
How can you have a house without a gun?
What if a bear came through the door?
I'm going to bury it in the yard
where little hands can't get to it.
You should have fired into the air.
She would have run off.
(people chattering)
People, take it easy.
We're all upset about Mr. Burns' plan
to block out our sun.
It is time for decisive action.
I have here a polite but firm letter
to Mr. Burns' underlings
who, with some cajoling, will pass it along to him
or at least give him the gist of it.
(whispering) Sir, a lot of people are stroking guns.
Also, it has been brought to my attention
that a number of you are stroking guns.
Therefore, I will step aside and open up the floor.
Mr. Burns was the closest thing I ever had to a...
friend. (sniffles)
But he fired me.
And now I spend my days
drinking cheap scotch and watching Comedy Central.
Oh, dear God.
It's not that bad.
I never miss "Pardon My Zinger."
Burns cost me my groundskeeping job at the school
and I'm too superstitious to take the one at the cemetery.
'Cause of him, I lost my room, my things,
and my buddy's collection of old sunbathing magazines.
You bastard.
I lost my bar!
I lost his bar!
He robbed the school of music!
He robbed the school of financial security!
He robbed the school of Tito!
He can't remember my name!
He's causing us all to yell!
Look what he did to my best friend.
-(gasping) -Wha--?
No. My dog.
(wheels squeaking)
-(Burns laughing) -(gasping)
Oh, those wheels are squeaking a bit.
Perhaps I could sell him a little oil.
(growling)
You twisted old monster!
Mm-mm-mm.
I've decided to protect myself
ever since I was attacked in my office
by an unidentified assailant.
HOMER: D'oh!
Arr! Burns, your scurvy schemes
will earn ye a one-way passage to the boneyard.
I'd like to hear from Sideshow Mel.
I'll see to it that Mr. Burns suffers
the infernal machinations of hell's grim tyrant.
Yeah.
Ooh, you all talk big
but who here has the guts to stop me?
(murmuring)
Mm-hmm. Very well.
One last question--
Have you ever seen the sun set at 3 p.m.?
Ay. Once, when I was sailing around the arctic--
Shut up, you.
Take one last look at the sun, Springfield.
(people gasping)
(laughing)
Hey, hey! (laughs)
I've been in Reno for six weeks.
Did I miss anything?
What the--
Ohh...
Eternal darkness.
Well, that's just great.
Listen, someone's got to get that Mr. Burns.
Where's a gun-toting lowlife when you need one?
Sorry. I was in the can.
(sighs)
Perpetual twilight
bathed in the glow of Burns' brand electricity.
Hello, lamppost.
What you knowing?
I've come to watch your power flowing.
That's odd. Mr. Smithers left his jacket behind.
(whistling)
Whoa, that's odd.
Principal Skinner left his mother behind.
That's odd.
Where's Homer and Bart and Lisa and Grandpa?
(humming)
After all these years
things are finally starting to go my way.
I feel like celebrating.
I-- Oh, it's you.
What are you so happy about?
(gasping)
I see.
Well, I think you'd better drop it.
I said drop it!
(grunting)
Get your hands off...
(grunting)
Where is everybody?
(gunshot)
(groaning)
(gasps)
Hey, man, are you okay?
I won't...
dignify that...
with a response.
Mr. Burns has been shot.
Just a minute.
This isn't Mr. Burns at all.
It's a mask.
Wait. It is Burns.
His wrinkly skin looks like a mask.
I don't think we'll ever know who did this.
Everyone in town's a suspect.
Well, I couldn't possibly solve this mystery.
Can you?
Yeah, I'll give it a shot.
I mean, you know, it's my job, right?
♪♪
Shh!
(gunshot)
CAPTIONS ENHANCED BY ROUNDABOUT ENTERTAINMENT INC.