Treehouse of Horror XXI

Why, you little...

(both groaning)

Beneath this smile, I'm in awful, awful pain!

(screaming)

Welcome, precious primetime viewers, valued lnternet downloaders, and scary digital pirates!

If you want to shield your little darlings from our stomach-churning holiday special, simply hit fast-forward on your DVR remote...

(distorted grunting)

I went too far!

Spoiled the whole show for everyone!

I don't deserve to wield the remote.

(shuddering): Oh, I'm getting old and gray...

I'm dead.

(spooky music plays)

Monster go watch  The Office.

Dunder-Mifflin just like monster's workplace.

♪ ♪

(grunting)

(laser rifle fire)

Milhouse, do we have enough points for a weapons upgrade?

Yeah! We really racked them up eating all those elf babies.

Ha-ha! Nothing beats a weapon made of weapons.

This is that video game Reverend Lovejoy said you shouldn't play.

Well,  he's  playing it right now.

Slay the wounded!

I still think it's too violent.

It's a game. We're not hurting anybody.

My non-lazy eye!

Ooh.

These classic board games are fun  and  safe.

(grunting)

My other eye!

(sighs)

So which of these "board lames" shall we play?

Taffy Land?

Drops and Risers?

Consternation?

Ravenous, Ravenous Rhinos?

Mouse Catch?

Battleboat?

Funopoly?

Crate of Apes?

Yahtzu?

Tiddlywonks?

Hey, I've never seen this one before.

Milhouse : Satan's Path?

Hey, it's got to be good if Satan put his name on it.

Huh?

Here. I'll be the demon, you be the thimble.

Oh, I'm always the thimble.

One...

(rumbling)

(gasps)

Two.

Both : Ooh!

(train whistle blows)

(shouting)

There was a bank error in my favor.

And I'm spending it all on Oriental Avenue prostitutes!

(gasps)

Milhouse : All the games came to life!

(chattering)

I don't like the looks of that knight, Chief.

Don't worry.

We're safe.

He's two steps away, and one to the right.

(groans)

For me, it's game, set... and match.

I think you mean "check, and mate."

Just got crushed by a giant horse, Lou.

You want to cut me a break?

(romantic music plays)

Time to meet my mystery dude.

(chuckling)

(sighs)

Ah.

(Homer grunting)

Oh, man, I'm never coming down!

Ah!

Whoo-hoo! Another ladder!

Riding high!

Sinking low!

Top of the heap!

Oh! Down I go!

On top for good!

Oh, cruel hubris!

How do we make this stop?

Well, my Latin's a little rusty, but I think to get everything back in its box, you have to finish the game.

And if we don't finish?

You're going to have to deal with more nonsense like that.

All : Yatszu.

Here we go, back in the cup.

At least the cup is lined with felt.

Hey, Mr. Positive, shut the hell up.

(roars)

(monkey chattering)

(buzzing)

(chattering)

(rumbling crash)

We'll be safe on this Battleboat.

Set a course for B-7.

(motor humming)

Powerful Voice : B-7.

Milhouse : They dunked our Battleboat!

I wish I could see my mom one last time, so I can say, "This is all your fault!"

Colonel Ketchup, I say it was you that killed him in the parlor, with the letter-opener!

He was going to leave me, and I'm too old to find anyone else.

(grumbles)

Come on, man, climb up!

No. I might sink the letter.

And "Q" is just too valuable.

That blank could be any letter we want.

Maybe I'm just tired of living.

(bubbles gurgling)

The final challenge: Mousecatch.

A game so lame, no one's ever finished it.

(wild cackling and roaring)

Crazy Eights!

Think, Bart. Think!

What was that lesson I learned from video games?

Oh, yeah! Kill, kill, kill!

(crying)

There comes a time to beat the crap out of childish things.

(wild raving)

(groaning)

(gasps)

Sure is a hard way to catch a mouse.

Oh, this stupid thing never works.

(grunts)

That's it. From now on, we'll just play Hangman.

Wait, wait.

We still got one more letter.

Is it... 3?

(buzzer sounds)

That's not a letter.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

(ominous music plays)

(gasps)

(screams)

Man, it's been a crazy morning.

Champagne?

Oh, Homie, what a great idea-- to take a cruise in uncharted waters.

Yeah, charts are for squares, baby.

(grunting)

Whew. Sure is hot out here.

Mmm.

Mmm.

(slide whistle tone)

Oh, that's my cell phone.

What is it?

Lenny, I'm on a second honeymoon!

You'll have to pick your own Lotto numbers.

Now, where were we?

(both giggling)

Oh, baby, let's give those seagulls something to squawk about.

(giggles)

Huh?

Oh yeah, baby, I like it when you're distracted.

Huh?

(oars splashing)

Homie, help him up.

(sighs) Fine. I'll get the hook.

Homer : Don't fight it.

(man mumbling)

Don't... That's it.

A little more.

How's that?

(panting)

You're safe now, my friend.

This poor man must have been out there for days.

He's nothing but hard, bronze muscle.

Bless you.

Okay, this guy's taken care of.

So... uh, you know...

I'm not really in the mood anymore.

Fine. I'm going for a walk.

(grumbles)

(grumbles)

(huffs)

My name's Roger.

I was the chef on the  Albatross,  working for a businessman taking his partners to Tahiti.

One night, he asked for pie for dessert...

As the pie cooled innocently on a porthole sill, my employer attempted to inject it with poison.

He sent me napward with a bottle of low-sodium soy sauce.

Poor man. You've been through so much.

Hey. I've had a hard trip, too.

One of the lenses fell out of my sunglasses!

Ah... oh, yeah...

Oh, Roger, you really know what you're doing.

(gasps)

(radio static)

No luck.

Anyway, when I came to, everyone on board was dead.

I fled the horrific scene. (squawks)  And after days at sea, I found my savior. You, Marge.

And, in a very insignificant way, you, Homer.

God, it was horrible.

Marge? Can I have a word with you in private?

I don't trust that guy. I bet he killed everyone on that boat himself. That's crazy talk. Roger: Excuse me. You've both been so kind to me, I baked you this pie. That is so sweet. Why do piemakers get all the girls? Why did you do that? It was poisoned! No it wasn't! Well, it was rhubarb. No, it was berry-peach. Homer: Berry-peach? That's my favorite! Please, Homer. I am so sick of this unmotivated jealous-- (screams) The pie was poisoned. You were right. I guess we've got to kill him before he kills us. Well, we'd better do it quick, because he's making scones! They should call this one "Recipe For Murder." What do you mean, "this one"? Never mind. Oh, Roger, would you hand me the suntan oil? (grunting suggestively) (spring popping zanily) Ooh, got a text. Now! (grunts) Dear God. We just killed a man. Yeah, the decent thing to do is bury him at sea. Come and get it, barnacles. Huh? (gasps) (both gasp) Roger was telling the truth. This proves nothing. Roger could've been the one that killed them. Soy sauce. Low sodium. (gasps) Then his story was true. We killed an innocent man. We're murderers. Murderers! (sobbing) Roger: Well, if it isn't my saviors. (chuckles) Hey, pal, how you been? Don't you "pal" me. Why did you try to kill me?! The pie you baked us killed that shark! The pie was clean. The shark died from the fuel leaking out of your boat. It... Oh, yeah. Oops. Oh, goody. The monkey got ahold of a spear gun. (grunting) Why did you do that?! We had to kill him or he'd tell people we tried to kill him. What the devil's going on here? You're alive? Yes. I suspected our host would poison us, so I gave everyone an antidote before dinner. Looks like you've got a flair for avoiding death. (gun clicks empty) Oh, come on. Just a second. (grunting) (groans) Bankers away! (panting angrily) (pelican squawks) (shrieks, splashes) I repeat: no one will ever know. We'll know. Marge, what are you doing?! That pie is poisoned! (groans) I can't live with the guilt. (sighs) (sobbing) She just wanted to ride bikes through New England. But those seats hurt my ass. (sobbing) Ever wonder what she thinks about? Just sugarplums and buttercups. (suspenseful music plays) (thunder rumbles) ♪ ♪ Hey, what's that weird look on all those girls' faces? It's something you've never seen: they're smitten. Oh, I've seen it. Especially when I do this. (groans) Well, he is cute. But I'm sure a boy like him would never say hello to me. Hello. (giggles) I love your pallor. (tires screeching) Why is there a steering wheel in my bedroom? (screams) (gasps) How'd you do that? Oh, it's these cheap school buses, with their squishy metal. On another subject, you have beautiful eyes. (chuckles) They're just dots in circles. (bicycle bell rings) (gasping) (screaming) (screaming) (clown horns honking) What? Me again? (grunts) Come with me. ♪ ♪ (gasps) You're a vampire. I should be scared, but I'm not. Let us move between the trees the way a bat does: by jumping. (giggles) Lisa's fallen for a vampire? That makes me so angry! (straining): I feel the change coming! (howls weakly) Edmund's almost here, so, please, nobody be themselves. I know, I know. Don't serve garlic, don't stab your guest in the heart with a wooden stake, don't ask him if he knows Frankenstein. It's racist somehow. (doorbell rings) Sorry, my Dad insisted on coming. Dad, I don't need a chaperone. I'm 400 years old. You live in my crypt, you play by my rules. You're tearing me apart! Dinner is served. I tried to make what Homer said you liked. I get the drumstick! (grunting) Okay, okay. If a mosquito bites you, does it become a vampire, too? Yes. Okay, okay. If you bite your tongue, does it become a vampire? Look, I'm more than just a vampire. I'm a nut for Dixieland jazz. (playing New Orleans jazz) (sighs) You said you weren't going to bring that. I said I might not. (continues playing) They say vampires live forever, but I die of embarrassment every day. I know just how you feel. Let's fly, Lisa. Keep your mouth closed, or you'll swallow a lot of bugs. (gasps) Get them back! She can't get neck holes. It's picture day tomorrow! Man, you vamps got it made. You sleep all day... And, because we only drive at night, we can really time the traffic lights. Watch. Green. Green. Green. Boom. Green. Yes. Boom. Green. Good. Boom. Boy, this place has every kind of vampire there is. Excuse me. Have you seen these kids? I did. And they were sneaking kisses. One kiss! Ha, ha, ha. Two kisses! Ha, ha, ha. Three kisses! There they are. Super-Team, fly! (grunting) I'm Dracula, not The Hulk. Hyah! Hyah! (groaning) Bite me now, Edmund, and we'll both be vampires. Get your neck away from my son's teeth, you evil temptress. Sir, I'm not trying to take your son away from you. I plan to be a part of your rich culture, and organize media-friendly events to help combat all the unfair vampire stereotypes. Wow. Wow! Now I know what you see in this girl. Bite her, my son, and you both will be eight forever. Eight forever? Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. I can't spend eternity using kid scissors. They barely cut anything. (snarls) Too late! The bloodlust is upon me. (gasps) Back off, you unholy dreamboat! (yells) Pretty ironic-- a cross being used to kill someone. (sizzling) (screaming) Father, you're hurt. Yes, but at least you are safe, my son. Whoa, you blood-sucking freaks love your kids, too? I remember when he was a baby, I'd sneak up to his crib in the middle of the day to make sure he was still not breathing. (sobs softly) No...! Well, nobody loves his kids more than me! (grunts) Come and get it! (vampires grunting) Die, fatso! Uh-oh. His blood-- it's full of cholesterol. And not the good kind. (laughing) (groaning) Woo-hoo! Lisa: Uh, Dad? They turned you into a vampire. Yes! I can fly! See you back at the house. (laughing) (gasping) Uh-oh. No...! (thud)