The Simpsons

-(sucking) -(register beeping)

D'oh!

-Aah! -(tires screech)

Well, children, it's the last day of school.

Yay!

Here are your grades.

Oh, no, Mrs. Krabappel,

if I don't get a "C" average,

my dad won't let me go to Kamp Krusty.

Well, it isn't fair to the other children,

but all right.

Much obliged, doll.

Oh, Bart Simpson, I'm gonna miss you.

Attention, everyone.

This is Principal Skinner.

I trust you all remembered to bring in

your implements of destruction?

Now let's trash this dump.

Somebody put a torch to these permanent records.

Quickly now.

Wake up, boy.

Oh... I dreamt it was the last day of school.

Well, it is.

Oh, how do I know

this isn't some beautiful dream, too?

Ow!

You know, a pinch is more traditional.

(grunting, slurping, and belching)

Homer, you do remember your promise to the children.

Sure do.

When you're 18, you're out the door.

No, Dad, you promised if Bart and I

got "C" averages,

we could go to Kamp Krusty.

And with no false modesty,

you're looking at one happy camper.

Heh, yeah, well...

just remember, when you see my report card

they got this whole new grading system this year.

It now goes, "D," "B," "A," "C."

Now, listen, boy, we have an understanding

and you better keep your end of it.

I don't think I'd be any kind of a father

if you got "D's," and I let you go to Kamp Krusty.

-But, Dad-- -Son,

if you really want something in this life,

you have to work for it. Now quiet--

They're about to announce the lottery numbers.

17...

D'oh!

-32... -D'oh!

-Five... -D'oh!

-Eight... -Woo-hoo!

-47... -D'oh!

Attention, students,

Please clear out your lockers

into the wastebaskets provided.

36-24-36.

(birds screeching and drums beating)

Now, let's see what we got here.

Ah, my gym shorts.

Here are your final report cards.

I have nothing left to say to any of you.

So if nobody minds,

let's just quietly run out the clock.

I've never gotten a "B" before.

How could this have happened?

I feel so dirty.

The dirt's not coming off.

Okay, calm down.

This must just be a little typo.

Oh, Miss Hoover.

There appears to be a mistake on my report card.

You gave me a B+ in conduct?

Now Lisa, everyone needs a blotch

on their permanent record.

Perhaps I'm not making myself clear.

I think you should reconsider.

Lisa... you're hurting me.

Mrs. Krabappel, in figuring out my final grades

I hope you'll note that all of my textbooks

are being returned in excellent condition--

In some cases, still in their original wrappings.

Duly noted.

I'd also like to add, as I gaze upon your beauty,

I've never seen an angel fly so low.

Forget it, short pants.

Mrs. Krabappel, If I don't get at least a "C" average

I can't go to Kamp Krusty.

Have a "D"-lightful summer.

Five...

Four...

Three...

-Two... -Don't open your mouth.

One.

Wait a minute.

You didn't learn how World War II ended.

-We won! -(cheering)

U.S.A.! U.S.A.!

U.S.A.! U.S.A.!

I haven't seen such unfettered hurly-burlies

since the fall of Saigon.

Well, William, another school year gone by.

And may I say, a job well done, sir.

Well, back to work then.

Make sure to give those toilets a good scrubbing.

We want the old girls sparkling when I get back.

Aye, sir.

Eh, you silk-wearing buttercup.

All right, three whole months of Spaghetti-O's

and daytime TV.

So, Bart, will you be joining me

in the bucolic splendor of Kamp Krusty?

You bet.

Check out this hand: All aces.

"A+"?

Oh, Bart, why didn't you at least forge plausible grades?

Hi, kids!

Only one week left to sign up for the bestest summer ever

at Kamp Krusty.

Whup!

Hey! Hah! Ho! Ho!

Hey! Ho! Ugh! Hey!

Kamp Krusty is built on an actual Indian burial ground.

We've got archery, wallet-making,

the whole megillah.

And for you fat kids,

my exclusive program of diet and ridicule

will really get results.

And the best part is, when you come to Kamp Krusty,

you'll spend the summer with me!

Honest injun.

Well... here goes nothing.

-(clanking) -D'oh!

Stupid roller skate.

Well, Dad, here's my report card.

I think you'll be pleasantly surprised.

"A+"? You don't think much of me, do you, boy?

-No, sir. -You know,

a "D" turns into a "B" so easily.

You just got greedy.

So I won't get to go to camp?

Now, Bart, we made this deal

because I thought it would help you get good grades,

and you didn't.

But why should you pay for my mistake?

You mean I can go?

Yeah, I didn't want you

hanging around all summer anyway.

Oh, Dad, you're the best father a boy could ever have.

Thanks, son.

Now you got little hands.

Can you reach under that mower and pull out that skate?

Pff. Never mind.

Bart, where's your bathing suit?

-I'm gonna swim naked. -You're what?

Ah, sure, there'll be a couple of uptight counselors

who won't dig the Bart philosophy,

but I feel the human body is a thing of beauty.

Marge, am I crazy or is my back getting hairier?

Before I go to camp, I'll need boosters

for malaria, German measles

encephalitis, Hansen's disease.

Oh, now, I'm afraid what we have here

is an advanced case of hypochondria.

There's only one known cure:

A wowipop.

Don't patronize me, doctor.

It's our last family dinner for six weeks,

but I promised myself I wouldn't cry.

Oh, I'm going to miss this.

Hey, hands off my pickle.

I don't see your name on it, boy.

No, but...

Oh, yeah?

Checkmate.

Always thinking two moves ahead.

We'll see you when you get back

from image enhancement camp.

Spare me your euphemisms.

It's fat camp for Daddy's chubby little secret.

You promised you wouldn't make a scene.

Good-bye, my special little guy.

Lisa, watch out for poison ivy.

Remember, leaves of three, let it be.