The Simpsons

The bidding stands at $8 million.

Nine million.

Ten million.

11 million!

$15 million.

Joan Miró's The Poetess, going once, going twice, sold.

To billionaire tech mogul Megan Matheson.

Hmph.

Don't take that painting, I love it!

I won't let you take it!

There you have it, Ms. Matheson,

Joan Miró's The Poetess.

My painting's been stolen.

That's impossible.

It's a mystery so baffling, only one man can solve it.

Get me Manacek.

Thank goodness you're here, Mr. Manacek.

You're the best freelance insurance investigator

in the business.

Oh, well, isn't that just what we need?

Some smug pretty boy out to make us cops look stupid.

Ah, Clancy, you're looking well...

- fed. - Uh... see?

He put that pause between those two words deliberately.

Maybe I did, maybe I... didn't.

Well, two can play at that...

pause.

Three people bid on the stolen painting:

Nuclear magnate Mr. Burns,

venture capitalist Megan Matheson

and mini golf cheat Homer Simpson.

They're all suspects.

I don't mind telling you, Manacek:

I hope you fall flat on your face.

Oh.

I hope not.

My mother's rather fond of it.

Damn your wit.

Look, Manacek, I don't know why you're talking to me.

It's my painting that was stolen.

Yes, but you insured a $15 million painting

for $30 million.

For a woman with a head for numbers, it doesn't add up.

You smug son of a bitch.

I like you, Manacek.

But you should be talking to the real painting thief:

The man I outbid, Montgomery Burns.

That's quite a workout you're getting.

Although, I can think of a better one.

Sorry, but I'm in a committed relationship

with the former Miss Denmark.

She's created a breed of mosquito that cures malaria.

Well, if she invents a cure for commitment, let me know.

Pull.

Shoot.

Nice shot, Mr. Burns.

You're a natural in the ancient art of skeet.

Oh, spare me your flattery, Manacek.

I know why you're here.

You think I stole that ridiculous painting.

Absurd.

A little clay pigeon told me

that you couldn't stand being outbid by... a woman.

Pull, pull, pull!

Looks like the only thing being hit around here...

is a nerve.

I'll blast that smile right off your smug face.

I like you, Manacek.

But it's obvious who took the painting.

That lunatic who said he'd do anything to have it:

Homer Simpson.

I... Did you bring that with you?

It's inflatable.

I got it at Brookstone.

I don't know what help I can be with your case, Mr. Manacek.

As you can see, I'm a very busy man.

According to my sources... Lenny...

you were obsessed with that painting.

I myself was once obsessed

with a suede sports jacket with leather pockets.

I would have done anything to get it.

Even steal a painting.

Me? Obsessed with some stupid painting?

That's absurd.

- Is it? - You're right.

I'd do anything to have that painting.

Lie, kill, steal. Well, not kill.

But I would steal it, and then lie about it.

But I didn't steal it.

And I'm not lying.

Believe me, or I'll kill you.

I like you, Manacek.

I'll kill you!

I like you.

Mr. Simpson, there's more to your story

than you're letting on.

And I'm gonna find out what.

Please don't.

Wow.

The pizza delivery boys get better looking all the time.

I'm Homer Simpson's wife.

I love wives. They never pester you to marry them.

Geez, you've got a lot of lines.

You will too, after I show you my corduroy sheets.

Mr. Manacek, my husband is a wreck.

Please, just give me a chance to convince you he's innocent.

Only if it's over dinner.

Uh, okay.

More Frito pie, Mr. Manacek?

Sure, why not?

If he's not guilty of stealing that painting,

why is Homer cowering on the stairs,

eating cereal straight from the box?

Well, Homer's so quick to panic.

It's his only flaw.

Marge, I need you to be straight with me.

Okay, I admit it, he has many flaws.

Thousands. Flaws.

Everywhere, flaws.

Your husband doesn't really seem like a typical art lover,

but he shows exquisite taste in the female form.

Hey, Front Pockets, quit hitting on my mom.

She only loves one stocky man in tight pants: Our dad.

Sorry, I can only solve impossible crimes

if I'm seducing an amazing woman.

It's my process.

I'll tell you everything I know about Homer

for one of those Tiparillos.

No Tiparillos.

Women.

I like you, Manacek.

So let me clue you in on the real story

about my dad and that painting.

Homer was chaperoning my class field trip to the art museum,

and he was not happy about it.

Come on, come on. Hurry up in there.

Three to a urinal.

No hand washing, or we'll be late for lunch.

Hmm?

Sheesh, look at that stupid painting.

What is it even supposed to be?

Art should be of pretty ladies,

hunting dogs with dead rabbits, Bible crap

and 3-D sidewalk drawings

where it looks like you could fall in.

I get it.

I... get... it.

Mr. Simpson, some of the kids went to the gift shop.

We were only supposed to bring five dollars,

but some brought more.

Wha-Wha... What?

Oh, right. Chaperone.

Hmm... mmm?

This is warm beer.

That's an '07 Michelob.

Homer was saving it for a special occasion.

Mmm. Yes.

My husband just couldn't stop thinking about that painting.

Wha...? Honey,

I love a painting.

Oh, what is it of? Grapes?

- No. - Flowers?

- No. - Peaches?

No.

You sure it's a painting?

I'm positive. I touched it when no one was looking.

Well, there's nothing wrong with being an art lover

as long as it's representational.

Mmm...

It is representational, isn't it?

Tell me it's representational.

What else about our marriage is a lie?

Are you really a licensed DJ?

I took the courses, but I failed the test!

A blue-collar Joe suddenly likes modern art?

That story and two bits will get you a cup of coffee.

What year do you think it is?

Hey, who's the shamus here?

I'm telling you, deep down,

my dad is really sensitive.

Oh, good, you're awake.

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

I know that painting.

It's called The Poetess by Joan Miró.

Why does it bring me such peace?

Why?!

See? Even though the painting is abstract,

that yellow circle can represent the sun.

Or Pac-Man at rest.

Dad, you think art sucks. Snap out of it.

Wow. I mean, wow.

Every time I look at it from a different angle,

I see something new.

I just want to take a moment

to acknowledge that for the first time,

you're dragging me into the museum.

Yeah, it's a Topsy-turvy world.

Beach volleyball's bigger than regular volleyball.

Sorry, pally. Sorry, gally.

But the museum's closed down for good.