[heavy metal singing]
D'oh!
(children cheering)
Thanks to Lisa Simpson's tireless
and tiresome advocacy,
Springfield will now be providing
free LED light bulbs to every household.
I can use the money I saved
to pay for these louder bullets.
I applause Springfield
for finally embracing a progressive idea.
Whoa, nelly! It's a progressive idea?
Well, now I hate it.
You can have my incandescents
when you unscrew them from my cold, dead lamps.
But this is for a good cause.
The planet or film preservation or whatnot.
[indistinct chatter]
People, don't let our divisiveness
turn this into another Big Gulp riot.
-[indistinct arguing] -[glass shatters]
There's so much anger and hostility around us.
Where does all this negativity come from?
More importantly, where does all the rage go?
And in the culture wars,
a new battle is being fought
in the town of Springfield,
where they're coming after your light bulbs.
What's next-- your truck's testicles?
Mrs. Butterworth's ample bosom?
-Yeah! -Yeah! -Aw, come on.
You know what I think?
I think the far-light crazies
need to check their watt privilege.
-Well, that's correct. -Okay? -Yeah, very much so.
[roars]
[cheering]
[cheering, whooping]
Go, monster! Crush that sculpture garden.
Wait, Bart, you're a right-winger?
Nah, I'm mostly just anti-you.
And anti-saxophone garbage.
And pro wrecking stuff that helps people.
So that's a yes.
People, don't you see?
This monster is a physical manifestation
of your fear and hate.
Look what your red rage has created.
[roars]
Darn it.
-[cheering] -Go, monster.
The destruction's one thing,
but do these coastal elite monsters
have to be so smug?
He's gonna destroy that factory and end gun violence.
[phones ringing, beeping]
"Friend, Blue Monster here.
"Are you as concerned as I am
"about the Senate race in Nevada?
"Donate to Act Blue Monster."
Ugh.
[steel worker] Oh, be nice.
Um, ladies and gentlemen,
I have had a brilliant idea.
Well, that's just not the same, now, is it?
Now, I have invented a humungous robot
that will combat these political monstrosities,
but which can only be powered
by togetherness.
Specifically, by the love of two siblings
working in perfect harmony.
I'm a mechanical engineer and my brother is a Navy SEAL.
We'd be honored to--
Oy, oy. Well, I guess those two little twerps over there
will have to do.
[Bart] For the record, I still think
everything you stand for is lame.
But... robots!
You suck at this.
[Lisa] No, you suck at this.
Great, you just smushed Otto.
[Lisa] Ew, gross.
If we can't get along,
then what chance does society have?
Divisiveness has made the world go mad.
I'm surprised there are only two monsters.
[screeches]
Look, it's Dad.
[whimpers]
Aah!
Oh, giant donut,
I'm sorry I ate all your babies!
Come on, Lis,
if we can both laugh at a fat guy stuck in a donut,
we can work together and kick some ass.
It's time to go take these cable news fear monsters down,
playground-style.
[roaring]
Noogie power!
What do you get when you mix red and blue nurples?
Purple.
[cheering]
Ding-dongs of Springfield,
we've stopped these monsters for now,
but if we allow them to keep feeding on our fear and rage,
they'll come back even stronger.
The only way to beat them
is to remember what we all have in common
and reject the echo chambers
of cable news and social media.
[indistinct chatter]
[creature roaring]
[Lisa] Well, I guess civilization had a good run.
Did it?
Concert halls were nice.
Trampoline gyms.
[Lisa] Internet was a mistake, though.
[Bart] Mm, probably.
♪ ♪
[caws]
Work in Mr. Burns' corn syrup plant is done for the day.
-[cheering] -Woo-hoo! Yay!
Work building Mr. Burns' mansion begins for the night.
[all] Aw.
Is this house ever gonna be finished?
My father and grandfather died working on this place.
[Carl] That's a lot to read.
Come on, guys, it's not so bad.
After all, tonight is the company Thanksgiving dinner.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.
Welcome to my elaborate
and needlessly whimsical mansion-ola.
Dinner is served.
[Lenny] Odds and Bodkins!
I've never seen such a sumptuous repast.
Ah, bup, bup, bup, bup, bup, bup.
Before we dine, a little Thanksgiving tradition.
A wishbone pull.
If you win, this feast is yours.
If I win, no weekends or holidays off
ever again, starting today.
[all] Deal!
Send out your best pull-man.
Leave it to me, lads.
You're looking at the four-time
Aberdeen Bone-Yanking Champion.
[grunting]
You've prepared the wishing furcula so I can't lose?
Scored and ready, sir.
On the count of three.
One, two, three.
[crackles]
[cheering]
You want your feast, have at it.
My peas!
[grunting]
[groans] That was worth it.
Dinner's over. Get back to work.
[Agnes] You old fool.
A promise made upon a Thanksgiving wishbone
must never be broken.
Ah. That's just an old wives' tale.
This has nothing to do with our divorce.
Now you are cursed
to be tormented by the souls of all you have wronged
till the end of your days.
Now I remember why I married you.
[chuckles]
[both moaning]
Still cursed.
[moaning]
Hungry.
Corn syrup.
[grunting]
[exclaims]
Ow!
Mmm.
Aah!
[screaming]
Ah, all alone on the holidays.
Perhaps a sip of bi-hydrogenated oxygen before bed.
[glass shatters]
Who's there? Show yourself.
[glass shatters]
Must have been the wind.
Yes, an indoor wind.
Completely natural.
Supernatural, even.
A pair of normal occurrences.
[scratching]
What is that eerie scratching?
[scratching continuing]
[exclaims]
-[exclaims] -[gargling moan]
Hungry.
Aah!
Pull yourself together, man.
-Jump scare! -Aah!
Jump scare!
[panting]
Moe scare!
Where's my peas?
Aah!
Ex-wife!
[exclaiming]
[grunts, panting]
[gargling moan]
Hungry. Aah!
-Aah! -Aah!
You guys really scared me.
All right, don't worry, okay?
That's all over now.
[exhales]
-Jump scare! -Aah!
[gasps]
[ghosts] Hungry.
So hungry.
Of course. I can end this curse
by simply giving these fellows dinner.
-[ghosts moaning] -[exclaims]
Here, my peckish vapors.
Sate thy satanic hunger
and slake thy unholy thirst.
[Burns] Ech!
Hungry! Hungry!
The only dish that will fill our bellies
is your soul.
[panting]
You starved your workers and made millions,
selling the corn syrup that will embiggen
an unsuspecting nation for generations to come.
[Burns gasps]
[moaning]
You can't eat my soul if it's already been set ablaze
in corn oil.
Farewell, you hectoring specters.
You can't torment me if I'm dead.
Oh, I forgot about Hell.
Aah!
Cash bar at my funeral.
Good Lord, Wayland, look at this.
What could have driven such a great man to burn himself
and the house he loved?
And on the day after Thanksgiving, too.
Truly, it will henceforth be known as
Black Friday.
A day that will serve as a warning
to never mistreat workers again,
no matter how good the deal is.
[bone snaps]
♪ ♪
Mm. Mm.
I don't know, Barney.
I've never really been a jeans guy.
Come on, Homer. A swinging bachelor like you
needs flashy pants.
Don't you want to have a shot with that cute waitress?
Who am I kidding?
There's not a pair of pants in the universe
that'll make her give a loser like me the time of day.
Oh, they don't make blubber-positive jeans
for guys with my curves.
Oh, wait.
How'd I miss those?
Amazing.
You can see where my butt ends
and my legs begin,
instead of being one big blah.
Time to take this sexy ass for a spin.
I don't know what to say to her.
[deep voice] Why don't you tell her how attractive
you find her vulnerable, uncovered legs?
[gasps] Who said that?
[deep voice] I did.
[gasps] My jeans?
I'll take all the cash in the register.
And is that a chocolate chip scone?
-Raisin. -[groans]
No, just the cash.
Oh, I should do something heroic.
But my raging cowardice makes that difficult.
Wait, what's happening?
[whimpering]
Passing out.
Denim... softer than it looks.
[groans]
You saved me.
I did? I did.
I guess heroism
-is in my genes. -[sirens wailing]
[deep voice] The fuzz! We got to leg it.
Whoa! [grunts]
[exclaiming]
Hey, nice jeans.
Thanks! They're new!
What the hell is going on?
[deep voice] Calm down, Homer.
I am Denim.
A bio-adaptive symbiote.
-A symbi-what? -I'm magical pants, okay?
I've traveled from my home planet--
Wrang-lor, in the 501 Galaxy--
because it is in the throes of a climate catastrophe.
Toxins have leached into our precipitation,
turning my kind into acid-washed jeans.
But isn't that cool?
It's never been cool.
It's made us weak, unsightly,
and worst of all: dated.
To survive on your planet,
our species requires a human host.
And my host is you.
Your undercarriage is so wide
and your methane exhausts so nourishing.
[exclaims]
One chili dog, extra beans.
Yeah, you got it, talking crotch.
But what if I don't want to be your host?
What's in it for my butt?
I can give you the thing
you want most in the world.
♪ ♪
Let your jeans do the talking.
[grunting]
Uh, would you like to dance?
Well, you did save my life,
but no thank you.
Oh, my God.
I'm doing it. I can dance!
Don't do that. Never do that.
Right, sorry.
♪ ♪
I've never seen such amazing leg dancing before.
I didn't even bother to look at your top half,
but I'm sure it was just as good.
Seal the deal. Dip her.
[whispers] I only know how to dip chips.
Whoa!
[both moaning]
[Marge grunting]
Uh, will you excuse me for a second?
You got me this far.
Why don't you let her get to the good stuff?
I cannot be disengaged from my host for long
or I'll perish, but don't worry,
I will help you complete your mating ritual.
[exhales]
That was the most amazing
outercourse of my life.
Well, I like to think I'm something of an expert
at friction-based rub-a-dub.
Oh, you are.
Homer is so sweet.
But he won't take his pants off.
It's been two months.
Tell him to drop jeans and fulfill your dreams.
I'm so happy I moved in.
But it does kind of bother me that you and I
have been stuck between second and third base.
Sexually.
Honey, let's sit and talk.
You deserve to know the truth about
what's really been going on.
You see...
Oh...
Do you not see what Marge is doing?
She's trying to break up a great team.
Look, Denim, we've had some laughs, danced,
leg-strangled a guy,
and I could have never gotten Marge without you.
There's no easy way to say this, but maybe it's time
for me to fart in other pants.
No, no, no. Homer, don't break up with me.
No one will ever flatter your ass like I do.
I'm gonna shut up this voice in my head and in my pants
the only way I know how.
[snoring]
He's passed out.
This might be my only chance.
I got you a little surprise.
Aah! Khakis?
Where are my jeans?
Where they belong: in the washing machine.
And I really love how you look
in these sexy, beige, dad pants.
You don't know what you've done!
[Denim shouting]
Never wash
quality Denim!
[gasps]
Aah! These Dockers meant nothing.
They came on to me.
What the hell's happening?
Homer is my host, not yours.
And you're about to die!
[both gasp]
-[whimpers] -[exclaiming]
-[grunting] -Ow! Ow! Ow!
Stop that!
Aah! Acid.
So painfully '80s.
Run, Marge, run!
Run from my pants!
-Aah! -Aah!
[Denim] Stitching stretched.
Rivets popping.
Ech! So hairy.
Like being on a sweaty cactus.
-Aah! -These aren't my moves, man.
Not my moves.
[exclaiming]
[grunting]
No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no!
[whimpers]
-Aah! [grunting] -[growling]
Stop! I'm never gonna
let anything come between us again.
These past weeks have been the best of my life.
I can't live without you.
Oh, Homie.
I love you, too.
Uh, yeah.
I wasn't talking to you.
Yes!
Thank you, Jeansus.
Deep down,
I knew it all along. [sniffles]
Really?
Have you stopped following her on Facebook?
Yes.
-No. -Thank you for being honest.
It was nice of you to let her live.
Well, my species will need as many hosts as possible.
Wait, what?
Captioning sponsored by 20th CENTURY FOX TELEVISION
and FOX BROADCASTING COMPANY
and TOYOTA.
Captioned by Media Access Group at WGBH access.wgbh.org
(crowd screaming)