The Simpsons

Wuhu!

Fellow heartbroken environmentalists,

we've tried to find a place in Springfield where something, anything, will grow.

And this could be the spot.

Why am I optimistic about this oil-stained Fury Road?

Because look, something finally grew!

Oh, no, you don't.

I own this land, and I decide what grows here. Nothing.

It was just a daisy.

Now disperse, you tree-smooching trespassers,

unless you're staying for tonight's hobo philharmonic.

Spoon section, on the downbeat, am I hearing a fork?

Why even try to plant flowers?

In this hideous town, there's no point to anything.

Poor Lisa.

There's nothing harder than when your kid's so depressed,

it slightly bums you out.

Excuse me, I couldn't help but overhear.

I'm a child therapist who specializes in ecological melancholy.

Ooh, fun job.

Look, Doc, I'll tell you how to cure my depression.

Fix this horrible world!

Oh! You can't? Join the club. No one can make a difference.

Don't give up hope, honey.

There's gotta be some new high-tech therapy thing now

that you haven't tried.

AI is destroying everyone else's career, can't it hollow out yours?

Oh, no. Not until far, far

into next month.

I've had great results lately with these EMDR stimulators.

You hold each of these tappers in your hands and they pulse gently,

helping the brain process negative thoughts.

Sometimes they even send people into a hypnogogic state.

I'm sorry,

but my mind's gonna need something a little more sophisticated

than a couple of table buzzers from TGI… …Friday.

Whoa.

Where am I? This is some good hypnagogia.

Our sax player is out.

Somehow he mixed up his sugar and his opium.

Worst sugar allergy I've ever seen.

How… How are we gonna get a new sax player at the last minute?

Edith, you play, right?

Edith? You mean me?

Wow. This dream is primo. Louis primo.

Might as well go with it.

Ladies and gentlemen, you love him.

He's the bee's knees who sings to please. Monty B!

What?

Are you Mr. Burns?

Mr. Burns?

That's my watch-winding, ledger-loving papa.

I'm Monty B. Now let's get this joint jumpin'.

Wow. My subconscious is working overtime.

Why is this place called the Little Moose Club?

That's on account of all them pint-sized moose running around town. Look.

- Oh, my God. They're so cute. -

They look sweet, but dang, we all hate 'em.

Their fur makes everyone sneeze.

They're the perfect height to trip over. And they bellow off key.

They're terrible pests that get into everything.

Look. The town has just declared open season on killing 'em.

- -

Edith, if we were jamming any harder in there, we would have made marmalade.

Ha. Wow. You just said something nice. I like this young dream version of you.

Well, you sound a little off your onions, but I like you too.

Now let's mark our meeting by ruining this Irish fellow's cement work.

Irish Stu gets no respect from you.

Hmm?

I don't normally support vandalism, but since this isn't real, I'll cut loose.

Uh-huh. Uh-huh.

Aw.

- -

The sneeze woke me up.

Whoa. I had the wildest dream.

Lisa, I want you to take these tappers home.

Write down what happens in your dreams, so we can analyze them.

It seemed like I'd gone back in time.

But obviously that's crazy.

Don't say that, sweetie. "Crazy" is not a word we use in our family.

Twelve dollars for parking? What kind of crazy office is this?

Lady, you're crazier than Lisa and she's crazy!

To summarize, can I borrow $12?

And if you think I'm gonna pay you back, you're crazy.

Like Lisa.

I just can't get that dream out of my mind.

I wonder what Old Springfield really looked like?

Gazebo, pergola, pavilion.

Wait. The Little Moose Club actually existed?

Mmm. Mmm?

It's me, or Edith. Or both!

You're not gonna believe it.

In that dream I had, I went to a Jazz Age club.

And look! I was this woman.

Oh.

I think that was your great-grandmother Edith.

She was a flapper.

But how could I have known to dream I was her?

You must have seen her picture in an old photo album

and it stayed in your head.

Yep. That's one of the dream laws enforced by the dream police.

That's just a record by Cheap Trick.

Cheap Trick is your answer to everything.

It all just felt so real.

But, yeah… I mean, a young, cool, jazz-singing Mr. Burns?

I just gotta surrender to my overactive imagination.

Hey. I used to be the plow king, that's right.

- Mr. Gumble, are you okay? -

Oh, my God.

The picture I drew a hundred years ago is actually there.

It wasn't a dream. I traveled through time.

Me too. I passed out on Tuesday and now it's Wednesday.

It's Friday.

Friday? All right, I can sleep in tomorrow.

These tappers sent my consciousness back in time

into the body of my ancestor,

in a Jazz Age nightclub that used to be where Moe's is.

And then there were these tiny moose and Mr. Burns was cool.

Even Lisa's way of going nuts is nerdy.

When I go crazy, it will be on the news.

Oh, boy. I don't know.

We've got to find a way to get her mind out

of this silly world of magic and make-believe.

Dear God, invisible creator of all things,

please use your superpowers to help my daughter.

And a pizza oven.

After a decade of work, I've finally succeeded.

- The perfect Arnold Palmer. -

Excuse me, Professor?

You're the only person I can talk to about this.

Oh, well, please have a seat.

Uh, if you can wait six hours, I can make you an Arnold Palmer.

Professor, I think I traveled back through time into the body of my ancestor.

Lisa, I'm a man of science,

so I have to dismiss that kind of tomfoolery.

But, I am also a man of science fiction. So make like a Petri and dish.

Your experience most resembles a quantum leap,

minus the Scott Bakula-tions.

But why is this happening?

Well, it's quite obvious.

The universe must want you to accomplish something in the past.

Oh. Accomplish something in the past?

I can't even get a flower to grow in the present.

Mmm…

In Old Springfield, did you notice anything different or unusual?

I did. There were these mini moose everywhere.

Mini moose? Well, to the Internet-mobile.

Uh, clickety, clickety, and clack.

The Springfield mini moose went extinct in 1925.

That's right after the time I traveled to.

These vulnerable little creatures were likely the region's keystone species.

Once they were removed, Springfield's ecosystem collapsed.

That's why our town turned into a concrete hellscape.

If I save the moose, I'll save Springfield.

That must be my mission. I have to try to go back.

Ugh.

It's a little sweet.

Oh, wonderful. Well, fail, fail, fail.

Gotta save the mini moose.

- -

Oh. Gotta save the remaining mini moose.

Um, excuse me, Monty.

Edith, come in.

I was just babysitting the kids.

Orchids, that is.

You know, gardening is a lot like jazz.

Oh! That's it. Well, the flowers are so beautiful.

Thanks. Whenever I feel a rage coming on, I visit my greenhouse and it calms me.

It's my gladsome place.

Nice. Mine is a stool behind the water heater in our basement.

I read by the pilot light.

These are so unusual-looking.

Spilotantha Daphne. Named after my dear mother,

Spilotantha.

She bred them.

As she was dying, she begged me to take care of them.

They're all I have left of her.

Wow. It certainly nails the prominent schnoz.

Yes, she was quite ugly.

My family insists that I become a ruthless tycoon,

but I just want to sing and grow orchids like Mother.

Monty, everyone in this town wants to kill all the mini moose.

But if they die, it'll ruin the town.

Will you help me save them?

Should I come to the aid of these miniature morons?

We have a new song about the endangered mascots of Springfield:

"The Mini Moose."

But what about the hit song "Mini Moose Mamma, Let's Kill You Tonight"?

Okay. Wow. But this one is even better.