The Simpsons

The Simpsons 1916 : "Papa Don't Leech"

Dad, are you sure you're okay to drive at night?

It's night?!

All right, that's it. Pull over.

Now don't you worry.

Just sit back and relax to the smooth sounds of Tommy

Dorsey's All-White Orchestra.

Son, let this music take you

to a time when girls were girls and a Hershey bar was

as thick as a phone book.

- I'm sick of this song! - o/~ Catch a falling star and... o/~

I don't like this one either...

too optimistic!

Too slow!

Too fast!

No zazz!

Too much zazz!

More boogie!

Less woogie!

My back hurts! All my friends are dead!

Nice one.

Thanks.

Oh, no, we're gonna die.

Oh, no, we're gonna die.

Oh, no...

Son, call me an ambulance.

And while I'm in the hospital,

you'll have to visit me every day.

And then I'll have to come live with you while I recover.

Eventually I'll die in your home, which'll hurt the resale value,

but it'll all be...

Dad?

Dad? Wake up!

Who's... what, who?

Oh, I was having the most wonderful dream.

I always wake up

just before the good part.

You can just drop me off here.

I'll see you later, honey.

Er, uh, yes?

I'm delivering your Scout Gal Cookies, Mayor Quimby!

That'll be $30.

For three boxes?

The money helps us serve the community.

We plant trees, pick up litter, cut up milk bones

- for old dogs... - It was rhetorical question.

And I used rhetoric in my answer?

Let's just move on.

27 to the left and open.

Where's all the money?

Why, it's right...

We spent all our money on that new slogan for Springfield.

Um, what say you leave the cookies,

and I pay you double next year?

Sir, I didn't get this "skepticism" merit badge

falling for promises like that.

If you don't give me those cookies, I'll pass a law

forcing your organization to accept gay scout leaders.

I would strongly support that measure.

Just give me those cookies!

- You get it... - Let go.

This is a low point for my administration.

No. You give it.

People of Springfield, our city is broke.

Uh, when you say broke,

do you mean really broke, or uh, "O.J. Simpson broke"?

Really broke!

I've been reduced to using this cheap novelty gavel.

Order! Order!

Homer Simpson.

I know a lot of you from church and the market and such.

And I'm not much for talkin', but seems to me,

in hard times like these that we Americans come together.

So I say we roll up our sleeves, and fake a disaster

to trick the federal government out of relief money.

Rip off the federal government?

Mmm, I have reservations...

for dinner in five minutes.

So all in favor, say "aye"!

- Aye! - The "ayes" have it.

Now, when exactly

did the hurricane pass through your town?

Er, uh, five minutes ago.

You just missed it.

FEMA will help you rebuild this town.

Your $10 million will arrive as soon as you submit this form,

and the, uh, $2,500 processing fee.

And that's how a fake FEMA official scammed us

out of $2,500. We are now worse than broke.

Panic not, fellow Springfielders!

I've gone through the town's financial records, and it turns out

there are millions in uncollected city taxes.

We shall collect each and every back tax owed!

Everyone from...

Comic Book Guy to...

... Milhouse!

No one shall be spared!

Dozens of swindling deadbeats,

as well as this respected reporter

who made an honest mistake, have paid their back taxes,

leaving only one outstanding debtor:

country music star

Lurleen Lumpkin, seen here at the height of her fame.

o/~ Bunk with me

tonight, Kermit o/~

o/~ Bunk with me

tonight... o/~

Uh, really, Lurleen?

Hey, Dad,

that's the singer you used to manage!

Oh, right.

Dad was Colonel Homer and he wore that awesome suit

and Lurleen wanted to bunk his brains out!

But I forget how Mom felt about it.

Kids, marriage is like a car.

Along the way it has its bumps and dings,

and this country can't make one

that lasts more than five years.

With Lurleen I just

walked past the showroom and didn't even go inside.

Now let's return to watching the news.

Ms. Lumpkin owed $50,000 in back taxes.

With penalties, interest and the celebrity resentment tax,

that sum has grown to $12 million.

However, she's been missing for several years,

since her career went into a downward spiral.

I told her not to go into one of those.

The entire city is searching for her.

Not for any reward, but for the pleasure

of destroying someone they once admired.

Save some for me!

Got her!

Krusty?

I just want to win one thing in my life!

It's not real.

Don't you dare ruin the moment!

Look at those idiots.

I bet Lurleen's a million miles away right now.

Hey, Homer.

Shh! I'm more wanted than the last petal

- on a bloomin' onion. - Don't worry. You can stay with us.

I'm sure Marge will be cool.

I'm taking you to your home, before you wreck mine!

You live here?

Bye, Marge.

Well, at least she's got a friend.

It's your turn to clean the toilet.

Where is it?

You're holding it.

Get in!

Oh, come on.

Thanks, Marge.

Gee, after all that's passed between us, I mean...

Well, you're a bigger woman than I am.

Are you calling me fat?

No, no, no!

I'll just be quiet.

Lurleen, this barbecue is delicious!

Oh, it's a traditional Southern recipe:

ketchup, Coca-Cola, and fricasseed possum.

Just kiddin'. It's actually chicken.

Well, I think it's wonderful.

My diet starts tomorrow!

Listen, I'm sorry I called you all those mean things

like... oh, I don't even remember.

- Confederate degenerate? - Southern-fried succubus?

Hee-haw ho?

Oh, that's all right, Marge.

I'm just so grateful that y'all took me in

- and hid me from... - Freeze, Patsy Crime!

- Chief, you okay? - Yeah, yeah.

Why'd you jump off the roof?

I just wanted to be extraordinary.

Your Honor, I would love to pay the money I owe,

but country music changed, and I went out of style.

Objection! Speculating of trends in country music.

- of trends in country music. - I'm going to allow it.

Lurleen, the court orders you

to make payments of a hundred dollars a week

till such time as your music comes back in style

or becomes appreciated for its camp value.

All right, what's the next case?

Judge, next we have a man

who is suing his wife for not dressing sexy enough

in "The Case of the Horny Husband."

What the...?

Well, I thought if we acted like The People's Court,

some day we'd beThe People's Court.

And, uh, well, a bailiff can dream, can't he?

No, he can't.

I don't get it, Lurleen. How did you lose all your money?

Did it go up your nose? Between your toes?

Sadly, no.

Most of my money went to my ex-husbands.

Boy, you sure have married a lot of super-hunks.

Well, from now on,

the only thing I'm gonna be married to is my work.

I've already accepted "a high-octane job

in the nightlife industry."

All right, I need you to get the rats outta the jukebox,