Love Is a Many Strangled Thing

Okay, going down the checklist:  Feu allumé. Oui.

Ballon gonflé. Oui.

Now  enlevez le ballast!

(car alarms wailing)

Commencing aerial inspection of the plant.

Unflattering graffito...

(humming)

...neutralized.

(gasps) Gadzooks!

The one hazard this balloon cannot negotiate... a gentle breeze!

(popping)

Help! Curtail my ascent!

Curtail it, I say!

Hey, Mr. Burns needs our help!

Let's just shoot at him and see what happens.

Good thing I went hunting this morning.

Bagged me an elk.

Hey, where'd it go?

(elk bellowing)

Huh! I wonder if that's the same elk.

Oh, I can't do it.

A balloon saved one of my arteries.

It doesn't seem right to kill his cousin.

Looks like it's up to me.

Let's see, target at two o'clock.

Adjust for wind.

Just shoot already.

But I haven't finished my rituals yet.

Mwa!

Mmm.

(grunts)

Burns : Help! I'm wafting on a zephyr!

(geese honking)

(gunshot)

(geese squawking)

That's just sick.

(all laughing)

You stink!

Nice shooting, Annie Oakley!

If you were a biathlete, I'd say "stick to skiing."

Simpson, your sharpened-shooting has saved my life.

Name your reward.

Anything, just name it.

All your money and all your stuff.

Lower and likelier.

Uh, Super Bowl tickets?

Playoff tickets?

Regular season, bobblehead day?

Nothing-head day!

Wow! I know I lay down in front of bulldozers to stop this stadium from being built, but I have to admit, it's pretty sweet.

It's so fancy: sushi bars, a 60-screen movie theater, Museum of Tolerance.

Oh, man.

Oh, geez.

That made you think.

They, even have a day spa staffed by former All-Pro linemen.

You know, I wouldn't have to do this if I hadn't bought a Ferrari a day for 22 seasons.

Flip over.

I once hosted  Saturday Night Live.

Once again, ladies and gentlemen, Matchbox 20.

Who dat?

Ooh, they even have a zoo... featuring all the NFL mascots.

(animals roaring, screeching)

(dolphin chittering)

This place even has its own arts district with football-hating intellectuals!

We'll stay for one inning, then we can go.

Well, this has been great.

We should get home soon... the game's gonna be starting.

Homer, the game is right here.

(audience cheering)

(chuckles) Oh, that's right!

I hope you kids are enjoying yourself today because you and your children will be paying for this place long after the team moves to another city.

(audience cheering)

(cheering)

Ooh, the Fan Cam!

♪ Everybody dance now! ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ Give me the music ♪ ♪ Give me the music ♪ ♪ Everybody dance now! ♪ ♪ Do, do, everybody dance now ♪ ♪ Do, do-do-do ♪

Audience : Boo!

Come on, party pooper, bust a move.

Eh. This song's a little bossy for me.

Aw, come on, sourpuss.

Ticky, ticky, tickle-tickle!

(laughs) Stop it!

Tickle-tickle-too!

Cut it out!

Tickle-tickle- who-wants-a-pickle?!

What does that mean?!

Homie, maybe you should stop.

We've talked about the gray zone.

Marge, he's laughing.

That means he's happy.

Has the Joker taught you nothing?

(playful grunting)

(giggling) Quit it!

(laughter)

Knock it off!

Stop it!

Dad, this isn't funny!

The child has wetted his trousers!

(laughter)

Dad, how could you do that?

The whole audience saw me pee my pants!

Son, I'm really, really sorry.

Oh, I don't know if I can... whoo!... ever make it up to you.

I... whoo!... but I sincerely... whoo!

Homer! Just because everyone else is doing the wave doesn't mean you have to.

No one else is doing it.

I'm trying to start it.

Whoo!

Whoo!

Taking pity on the boy, the operators of Springfield Stadium opened the stadium's retractable roof in an attempt to dry his pants.

Unfortunately, the stain was picked up by Russian spy satellites, and President Dmitry Medvedev has taken the pants-wetting as a sign of American weakness.

A Russian flotilla has just entered New York harb...

Oh. Bart's never gonna forgive me for humiliating him.

And I wouldn't blame him.

You've destroyed our son's self-esteem.

Well, it was  your  idea to give him self-esteem in the first place.

Marge : I told you you should've stopped the tickling.

Homer : Now I have to work overtime What?! just to counteract the self-confidence...

Hey Bart, I hear the forecast is for showers... in your pants!

I'm on a European vacation, but "you're a-peein'" everywhere!

Oui, oui!

(grunting)

Oh. Why did I agree to moderate this teleconference?

You can't let this go without using it as a chance to improve your fathering.

Well, of course, I would  love  to be a more sensitive father.

You know that.

That's great!

Then you won't mind me enrolling you in a fathering class.

I'd like to see you thumb through an extension school catalog and find one.

(shrieks) Here's one right here.

Please, Marge,  no.

The other negligent dads will make fun of me.

They're so cliquey.

You'll be fine.

You always are.

Oh, I miss my friends from drunk driving school.

(sobbing) They were so cool.

(continues sobbing)

(phone line ringing)

Homer, welcome to Fresh Start, a fathering enrichment class.

My name is Dr. Zander.

Last week we assigned everyone to keep a fathering journal.

Gerald, would you like to share your entries?

Absolutely, Dr. Zander.

"Monday: left work early to see Derek's baseball game.

"When Derek saw me in the stands, "his smile was worth a million dollars.

"Tuesday: Lost a million-dollar account because I left work early Monday."

That's great journaling.

Comments?

Uh, Homer, it says here you've been a father for ten years.

What has that taught you?

Well, for one thing, you're never really ready to be a father.

But... oh, you know, the other day, Bart, the little dickens, said I had an elephant butt.

So anyway, I'm strangling him, and I said to Bart...

Wait. H-Hold on a moment.

You were strangling your son?

Yeah, strangling.

I mean, it's not the  only  tool in my parenting toolbox, but... (chuckles) it's the sharpest.

(chuckling)

Right?

Anyway, I said "Bart..."

You're actually serious?

You physically lay your hands on your boy's neck?

Well, yeah, I... I guess it's just how  I  was raised.

Look at these grades!

They're a disgrace!

No TV for a week!

Why, you little...

(gagging, grunting)

So, are those butter cookies for everyone, or.?

Um... why don't we stop there for today, and I'll see you next week.

(whispering loudly): Who do you have next period?

(humming)

Hey, Doc. (mouth full): Where is everyone? I told them not to come. Why didn't you tell me not to come? Homer, to emphasize the seriousness of this situation, I'm going to turn my chair around backwards. (screams) I feel... in this situation, the only option is a risky and radical treatment. Homer, meet Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Dr. Zander and I play pick-up basketball on the weekend. And when he told me what you did to your son, I was so disturbed I only scored 172 points. I had 86 assists. But today he's here to assist me with you. Hey, what... wh-what are you doing? Homer, it's time you understood what it feels like to be young, small and terrified. No, Doc, please. I'm just a little boy. Why, you little... (Homer grunting, choking) I don't want to hurt him, Doc. You have a good heart, Kareem. Which is why you're the only Laker I could trust with this task. (grunting, choking) Uh, not a good time to water the plants? No, it's fine. (grunting, choking) Hey, Kareem, what do you think about today's selfish players? (gagging) Ball-hogging, tattooed... ♪ No more Mr. Nice Guy ♪ ♪ No more Mr. Cle-e-e-ean ♪ ♪ No more Mr. Nice Guy ♪ ♪ They say, he sick, he's obsce-e-e-ene. ♪ ♪ ♪ (gagging) Dr. Zander, you made me see my life through Bart's neck, and I swear, I will never, ever strangle my boy again. I believe we've made excellent progress here today, and after another few years of twice-weekly sessions, we can really... Um, I, uh, lied about having health insurance. And you're cured. Hello, boy. Homer. I want you to know I'm cured. Good for you. No more drinking? (chuckling): Oh, son. I can't quit drinking any more than I could quit being a man. Oh. Now it feels like morning. What I am cured of is the blind rage that has soured our otherwise storybook relationship. Go ahead, just try to provoke me. (sighs) I just got up, man. Oh, come on. Bust your daddy's chops. (sighs) Fine. (angry grunts) Why, you little...! I'll teach you to... I'm in your head, man. (screams) Why, you... (grunts) I'm gonna... (grunts) Maybe this time... (grunts, groans) (pained grunts) Aw. My son's first stroke. Say... (slurring): "Cheese." Can't hurt the boy. Can't hurt the boy. (yells) What the ...?! Boy, get down from there. Okay. First, I'll send down my shoes. All right. (screams) Why, you little...! Oh, come on. Now you're a tree? (gagging) (sobbing) (laughing mischievously) (whistling) (panicked shouts) Bart Simpson. What would your father say if he knew what you were doing? He'd say, "I'm a grown man who's scared of my own son." I find that hard to believe. Oh, yeah? Look. How many more, sir? Fill the board, then wash my car. These are my keys. What was that? I-I said, "My keister is ready for a whooping, sir." (sighs) (Willie grunts) (Chief Wiggum groans) No. No. I'm just a kid. Leave me alone. Bart: It's "A-B-C, one, two, three!" It's the easiest song in the world! (Homer sobbing) You think you're better than the Great Simpsini? (grunting) Well, you're not. What are you gonna do, write a book about me? (grunts) You couldn't get in the door of Random House if your name was Bennett Cerf III. (grunts) One, two, three, cry. (grunts) One, two, three, cry. (grunts) How is that water? Wet like your tears? (grunting) Precious, is that you? Yes, Mama. You think you're so pretty. Where's my lotto ticket? I forgot, Mama. (screams) And don't you come back without it! You hear me?! Hurry up! (whimpers, panting) (Homer cries out) I don't see many more movie roles for a girl like you. Not unless George Lucas needs another Death Star. No! Stop! No Star Wars parodies! Homer! Homer! Oh! What?! (panting) The school called and said Bart is out of control. I think we may need some therapy for him. Oh, that's ridiculous. How could two people from the same family need therapy? Hmm. (wind whistling) Dr. Zander? Kareem Abdul-Jabbar? Anyone? Hmm. Hmm. Hmm. Dr. Zander, what happened? Oh, it's the damn economy. When it went south, the first thing people stopped spending money on was expensive therapists. So, we all live here now, along with the other unemployed luxury professionals: wedding planners, personal shoppers, aromatherapists, high-end caterers. Mushroom cap? Those are pieces of broken glass. Well, I'll pass that on to the chef. I'll also pass on pieces of your face to my monkeys. Look, now my son needs your help. How much you got on you? Uh... $23. And there's a can of beans in my car. Ugh! After a PhD, lectures on cruises, monthly column in Springfield Magazine... Are there franks in the beans? (grunting) So whatever you did to my husband, it was too effective. Mm, mm, yes. One of the most common complaints about therapy. And now my son is a bully. Can you fix him? Probably, but we should discuss it in your car. The sommeliers are coming. Buttery finish. Great year for Zin. This is what I drink at home. (Marge yelps) Homer, Bart, this weekend in the wilderness should repair the shattered bond between the two of you. I find that in a natural setting... (rattling) (laughs) (whimpering) Very funny, Bart. That's not the snake, is it? Sorry, little friend. Slither back to your natural element. (whimpering) Now, Bart, I want you to guide your father safely through these cacti. Then what do we win? A better relationship. (groans) Oh! Okay, go straight. (yells) Three steps right. (whimpering) Two to the left. (shrieks) Now Bart, you do understand you're supposed to avoid the cacti. Sure do. I'm just bad at counting. Two to the right. (shrieks) Backwards one. Oh! (gasping) Diagonal two. (yells) Now do-se-do. (Homer screams rhythmically) While your father and brother are doing some manly bonding in the woods, I thought we could do a little bonding of our own. We'll do each other's nails, make some brownie sundaes and watch the four saddest horse movies I could find. Broken-Leg Beauty, Sorry, Silver, No More Mint Juleps. And the fourth one has a title so sad I can't even say it. Really? Can I see it? (sobbing) Girl (on TV): Oh, Beauty, I don't need money or parents or eyesight when I've got you. (whinnying) (music swells) (gasps) Oh, I always forget about this part. (sniffles, cries) Oh. I don't know. There's something about this noose I just don't like. Homer, desperate times call for desperate measures. If you hop down from that limb, I assure you, Bart will cut you down. I don't know. Keep your neck inside the rope at all times! (sighs) (choking) Well? Anything?! Can't look. Texting. (cell phone chiming) Ooh, a text. Let's see. Text message for I.M.A. Wiener. As you all can see, I.M.A. Wiener. (laughter) I see it, Moe. Why you! When I... When...I... get ahold... of you, I... Oh, damn it, I typed an "F" and not a "D." Uh... Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete. Oh, crap, I just donated $20 to Haiti! (laughing) Bart, I'm trying to get you to feel something for your father! I feel something for him. Here it comes. (burps) Why you little...?! (grunting) (choking) Oh, this is a tough neck! Oh, it's so strong! Like an oak. You see? You see how that boy pushes your buttons? We'll talk when he's dead! (grunting) (choking) Just break already! (choking) (sighs) Thanks, Dad. Son, you and I are gonna be closer than ever as we spend the rest of our lives suing that therapist. Sue me for what? My home in a hollowed-out tree? (contented sigh) Pretty sweet, eh, boy? You know, I was skeptical, but I guess therapy works. ♪ He said, no more Mr. Nice Guy ♪ ♪ No more Mr. Cle-e-e-ean ♪ ♪ No more Mr. Nice Guy ♪ ♪ He said, you're sick, you're obsce-e-e-ene ♪ ♪ No more Mr. Nice Guy ♪ ♪ No more Mr. Cle-e-e-ean ♪ ♪ No more Mr. Nice Guys ♪ ♪ He said, you're sick ♪ ♪ You're obsce-e-e-ene ♪ ♪ E-e-e-ene, E-e-e-ene ♪ ♪ Whoo! ♪