CHORUS SINGS: ♪ The Simpsons ♪
Aah!
(school bell ringing)
(burps)
(whistle blows)
(yells)
(beeping)
(playing the blues)
(grunts)
Oh.
(gunfire)
(tires screeching)
(horn honking, Grampa shouts)
D'oh!
(tires screeching)
(shrieks)
ALL: Ooh...
(gurgling)
♪ For he's a jolly good fellow ♪
♪ Which nobody can deny ♪
♪ Except his ex-wife. ♪
(all laughing)
So what are you going to do without us numskulls
to supervise?
I plan to fill the void with gardening, early dining,
and I've been learning to speak Mandarin Chinese.
(speaking pseudo-Mandarin)
That's garbage, that's total garbage.
(Homer humming)
I'm going to miss Ted.
He was a good supervisor.
Definitely hands-off.
He didn't mind if we punched in
a little late or not at all.
Or that we made a few adjustments to the soda machine.
(all laugh)
CARL: Yeah.
HOMER: Beer.
Here's to us-- the Unsupervisables.
(groans)
I expect you're all anxiously awaiting
my choice for your new supervisor.
Can't we just all supervise ourselves?
(all giggling excitedly)
(tires screeching)
I win!
In any event,
much as what formerly was my kidney is now my heart,
I have decided to promote from within.
One of you will get the job.
But which one?
(fly buzzing)
(guzzling)
Aah!
(electrical buzzing)
Hmm...
Congratulations.
I dub thee King of the Morons,
also known as supervisor for sector 7-G.
Here is your key to the executive washroom.
Hmm.
LENNY & HOMER: Whoo-hoo!
Our boss is our best buddy.
The nitwits are running the goofhouse.
Yeah.
Hey, Carl, why aren't you high-fiving?
You know, I'd rather save my arm-lifting
for tapping gauges or filling out employee evaluations.
We can celebrate at Moe's.
(delighted whooping)
After work.
(both groan)
And the first beer's on me.
You see, he hasn't changed.
CARL (over P.A.): Yes, I have,
in ways you're only beginning to suspect.
(clinking)
I call to order this meeting
of the Springfield Charity Chicks.
As you all know, last year's cake and cookie sale raised
$112 to fight childhood obesity.
(moans)
Thank you, Charity Chicks.
Whoa!
Now, who has ideas
for this year's fund-raiser?
Well, the police department raised money
by selling these beefcake calendars.
Ooh, that's quite a thing.
MRS. SKINNER: Yeah, great.
I have a great idea.
Let's do what they did but with us.
We are a good-looking bunch.
(excited chatter)
We just need a theme.
Hmm.
Ah!
How about history?
(overlapping chatter)
Then it's set.
We'll do it on the 25th of...
(groans)
...Wiggum.
(camera shutter clicking)
Okay, Betsy Ross, bring history to life.
Ooh, I love it.
Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop.
Okay, stop, we got plenty.
All right, who's my next sexy historical lady?
I am.
The female Tiger Woods of the 1930s--
Babe Didrikson Zaharias.
Ooh, you know Marge, if you want to sell calendars,
I'm going to need to see
more "Babe" and less "Didrikson Zaharias."
Fine, I'll take off one glove.
Mm-hmm.
Hmm, you know what would look super good?
If you held this glass of red wine.
Mmm, I love this wine.
Yeah, it's Andalusian.
Well, it seems real to me.
(laughs)
Okay, more wine for you.
(raucous laughter)
(humming)
Ooh, that's caliente, baby.
Ooh, ooh,
pop goes the Chupacabra.
(Marge humming, camera shutter clicking)
-Whoop! -Okay.
Mmm, oh, meow.
Meow, meow, meow.
(humming)
Whoops!
(giggling)
(Homer laughs)
Hey, Carl,
look how I messed with the names
on the softball sign-up sheet.
(giggling)
It's delicious.
You know how Smitty's name is Smitty?
(laughs)
Well, not anymore.
I changed the "M" to a...
That'll do, Homer.
...to a "P"--
Spitty, 'cause he spits when he talks.
He had to have part of his tongue removed.
That's real funny.
Oh, well, I didn't know that.
Well, now you know.
Oh, quit dragging me.
When I grow up, I'm gonna drag you around
and buy you clothes.
Oh, that's wonderful.
(groans)
What's all the hubbub-aloo?
(moans)
(screams)
I've been pin-upped.
(groaning)
And every month is me.
(gasps)
I don't remember doing this.
(gasps)
I certainly don't remember doing August.
Hey, calendar lady, you gonna take your clothes off?
No.
Well, I got the next best thing.
(chuckling)
Whoo-hoo.
(chuckling)
Great safety report, Homer.
No meltdowns all week.
I'm making you my new executive assistant.
Why can't I keep the job I have now, whatever it is?
Not an option, big fella.
Either you're my assistant or you find a job elsewhere,
and in this economy, elsewhere ain't hiring.
Oh, fine, I guess I'm at your beck.
And call.
No...!
Yeah.
Oh, no,
it's a big turnout at church today,
and the whole congregation has seen my Scandinavian regions.
(crowd murmuring)
Here comes the woman who made February
the hottest month of the year.
Her shapely gams have finally persuaded me
to switch from the Julian calendar to the Gregorian.
Marge, girl,
I just heard your pants ain't hiring
because your butt won't quit.
(sighing)
(groans)
Homie, everyone loved my calendar,
but only you get to flip the pages.
Calendar?
Oh, my God, I forgot to move Carl's 12:30 to 2:30.
Oh, his astrologist will show up
at the same time as his astronomer.
This is not good, this is not good.
(moans)
How about a little Marge madness?
(horn blowing)
(motor stalling)
Oh, who am I kidding?
Marge, would you mind if we just cuddle?
Cuddling's for after.
(Marge moaning)
(both moaning)
(Homer snoring, Marge gasping)
(mumbling)
(sighs)
Tomorrow, my love.
(groans)
Stupid Carl.
"Update the phone list, Homer.
"You put my contact lenses in
backwards, Homer."
(sighs)
I'm sorry, honey.
Maybe this will take your mind off work.
Wash my car.
Re-foam my latte.
Book me a massage.
Shiatsu or better.
(screams) Leave me alone, you two!
(sobbing)
(sighs)
MRS. KRABAPPEL: Class,
today we're going to talk
about Washington crossing the Delaware.
I'd like to watch Bart's mom washing her underwear.
The British were led by General Howe.
I'd give Bart's mom a general wow.
Knock it off.
That's my mom you're talking about.
Keep-away with Bart's mom.
Mrs. S., you can tuck me in anytime.
Okay, buddy, lower the eyebrows,
nice and easy.
Ow! It's stuck!
I'll have a quizzical expression for the rest of my life.
I'd like to get quizzical with Bart's mom.
Shut up!
(both grunt)
Standing up for yourself to an older boy?
We're going to have to set up
an appointment with your parents.
Let me, uh, check my calendar.
(chuckles slyly)
I'm suddenly feeling, uh, un-administrative feelings.
(both laughing lasciviously)
Yes.
(groans)
(floorboards creaking)
Homie?
Honey, I know it's been a rough couple of weeks,
but I booked us a night this Saturday
at a very romantic hotel.
Garden view?
Ocean view, obstructed.
(swoons)
All right, I put in a hundred-hour work week,
but I took a power nap while I was driving us here
and now I'm rarin' to go.
Well, I brought a few items to make our night extra special--
massage oil, some lingerie from The Horny Hubby,
and snuggle dice.
This one has an action and this one has a body part.
See?
"Nuzzle... neck."
With pleasure!
Let me try.
"Lick... eyes."
Uh, I'll try again.
"Spank... hair"?
What the...?
(die rattling)
"Whisper into ass"?
Oh, this game sucks!
Why don't you just roll me?
We're gonna be...
(yawns) snore in the morning.
Damn it, why won't you touch me?
Mm... ooh.
Okay.
Kiss me, baby!
Kiss me like a frog in a fairy tale!
(moaning and squealing)
(phone ringing)
CARL: Great news, Homer!
I've been invited to the annual
nuclear-power expo in Paris, France.
That's right, we're going to Fission Week!
(squealing): Oh! Whoo-hoo!
I need you to book me a room at the Ritz,
with a view of Jim Morrison's grave
and book me dinner at that place.
You know the one, the one Lenny's mom
read about two years ago.
(groaning)
I'll make it up to you, Marge, I swear.
Last night was the making it up to me!
The most intimate moment
we shared this week was my ironing your shirts!
Actually, those were Carl's shirts.
Oh!
I can't believe you're gonna spend
another weekend with him.
Hey, it's not like I want to go.
Go, go, go!
No!!
(grunting angrily)
Diddily...
(gasps)
Okay, Fission Week kicks off on Monday
with a reception by the International Proton Council.
Word is, protons are the new electrons.
You know, Homer, when I was your age,
it was the future, 'cause I'm younger than you.
Just something to think about.
I will. Edamame?
I don't have time for peeling.
Squirt them in.
Well, boys, Daddy's back on the beam,
thanks to Christian prayer and Doctor Sheldon Lowenstein.
We thought you were gonna die.
And then Uncle Kevin would have to raise us.
With his funny friend, David.
Oh, I'd put rocks into your pockets
and walk you out to sea before that happened.
-Yay! -Yay! -(doorbell ringing)
Ned, to make up for what happened,
I want to invite you and the boys
over to dinner tomorrow night.
Okily-dokily, but I'm warning you,
you're gonna see America's number one dishwashing crew!
-I wash! -And I dry!
Then I give 'em the squeak test and into the dishwasher they go.
Oh!
♪♪
(camera shutters clicking)
(photographers clamoring)
Carl Carlson, it is good to meet you.
Thank you, um...
French Nuclear Commissioner Etienne Ducharme.
Commissioner Ducharme,
I trust that your wife is, uh...
-(whispering) -...still dead?
Yes, thank you for asking.
Monsieur Carlson, what have you enjoyed most about Paris?
Oh, I really love, uh...
-(whispering) -The Louvre.
Everything about it is so, uh...
-(whispers) -Closed on Mondays.
You are clearly a man of the world.
May I have your card?
My assistant will give you that.
Can we meet for lunch?
My assistant will set that up.
I want to make love, now!
My assistant will do a sensual dance for your arousal.
Come on, come on, come on, sensual dance, chop, chop.
Uh, okay.
(humming)
(laughing)
(giggling)
I love Paris.
The women, the wine!
Everything except their lame-o version of rock and roll.
♪ Rock and roll, rock and roll! ♪
♪ Rock and roll! ♪
When we get back to the hotel,
I want you to extend our stay.
Indefinitely.
But I have to get back to Marge.
Homer, we are this close to selling our power in Paris,
Milan, Dubai, everywhere people know good electricity.
But we gotta focus!
Monsieur Carl!
Let us stroll down Main Street Euro-Disney!
(both laughing)
♪ Le sexy rock and roll, the films of Claude Chabrol ♪
♪ Ooh la la, c'est dommage everybody eat fromage! ♪
♪♪
(siren wailing)
(Marge as siren): Homie! Homie! Homie! Homie! Homie!
(voice trails off): Homie!
You two are going out?
I thought I told you
the Flanderses were coming over to dinner.
Sorry, I have a tea party at Janey's.
And I'm having a stink bomb party
at the house next to Janey's.
No connection.
Hmm, I guess it'll just be dinner for four.
(doorbell ringing)
Hi, Ned.
Where are the boys?
Oh, they're grounded.
I found out Rod watched a commercial for Grey's Anatomy,
and Todd took a full day to tell me.
It's fun to cook dinner together.
Homer and I never do it anymore.
Cook together, that is.
What's the next task on the old i-dinnerary?
You could wash this iceberg lettuce.
-Oh! -Oh!
♪♪
(gasping)
Ooh!
Oh...
(organ plays)
Oh...
(both moaning ecstatically)
(panting)
MARGE: Gosh, what a hunk!
FLANDERS: I'm not thinking straight.
Why did I drink that wine cooler last month?
(oven bell dings)
Dinner's ready! Dinner's ready!
Saved by the bell from eternity in hell.
(nervous giggling)
(phone ringing)
(whines) Bonjour.
Homer, there is a moth in my room!
Where are you?
Where I should've been all along.
In Springfield.
What?! Homer!
Return to the immortal City of Light at once,
or you're fired!
Oh, I don't think so.
You know that woman you've been playing
"hide the baguette" with?
She's the First Lady of France, Carla Bruni!
If you fire me, I'll call President Sarkozy,
and he'll be all over you like Truffaut on Hitchcock.
You wouldn't dare!
Oh, wouldn't I?
Just listen.
(speed-dialing tone)
(phone buzzing)
Hello, you are getting cozy with Sarkozy.
Uh... okay, okay, you win.
Give my best to Marge.
-I sure will. -SARKOZY: Hello.
But only after I give her mine.
Nuclear secrets, pictures of Lenny.
Everything I need for my plan!
Marge, that dinner was a winner!
What's for dessert?
Oh, nothing fancy.
Just strawberries and whipped cream.
Mmm-mm!
Mmm-mm-mm!
(slurping)
Mmm...
(gasps and giggles)
Mmm...
Ned, you got whipped cream in your mustache.
Your perfectly trimmed mustache.
Oh, Ned, there's only one man
I should be eating whipped cream with.
I never thought otherwise.
Well, see you around the mailbox, Marge.
My wife?
And my worst friend?
Could it be?
(growling)
Nah!
Homie, you're back!
Hey, Ned.
Marge, I believe we have a little unfinished business.
Come with me!
Oh!
(moaning)
Oh, baby, oh, baby!
(moaning passionately)
MARGE: Oh, Homer!
(shelf rattling, dish breaking)
Boy, that was worth the wait.
Now, it's my turn to roll the dice!
Want to kiss them for me?
Uh-huh. (kisses)
Classic.
(chuckles)
(moaning)
♪♪
Shh!
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