♪ The Simpsons ♪
-(chalk screeches) -(bell rings)
(work whistle blows)
-(sucking) -(register beeping)
(jazzy solo)
(tires screech)
(tires screeching)
(horn honks)
(tires screech)
D'oh!
-Aah! -(tires screech)
Uh... Chief Wiggum, Archbishop McGee,
distinguished guests, I am pleased to dedicate
this emergency warning system.
In the off-chance of a nuclear disaster
this sign will tell you, the good citizens of Springfield
what to do.
HOMER: The joke's on them.
If the core explodes,
there won't be any power to light that sign.
And now, I would like to present the man who made this sign possible
by dropping the last of his obstructionist legal challenges,
Montgomery Burns.
Mr. Burns is never late.
Something must be terribly wrong.
There better be. Nobody leaves Diamond Joe Quimby holding the bag.
(gasping) Must turn over.
Got to greet dignitaries.
Oh, no! Mr. Burns! We've got to get a doctor.
Absolutely not. No quack Sawbone's is
going to apply his leeches to me.
As long as there's an ounce of strength
-left in me, I-- -(body thuds)
Mmm.
Mr. Burns is suffering
from what we medical men call hypohemia.
In laymen's terms, it's quite simply a lack of blood.
Damn it, doctor, I'm no idiot. I know what hypohemia is.
What I want to know is what can we do about it?
Well, at this point, our only hope is a transfusion.
How long does it take to sterilize a needle?
-A few seconds. -Oh, skip it!
Just leave me enough to get home.
(chuckling) I'm afraid it's not that simple.
His blood type is double-o-negative.
-It's quite rare. -But I'm b-positive.
Damn my common gutter-blood in my veins.
Smithers, don't feel so bad.
After all, the kidney you donated to me
really hit the spot.
SMITHERS: Attention all employees!
Our boss and inspiration, Mr. Burns,
is at death's... death's door.
-(scoffs) -If you have type double-o-negative blood
I implore you to report to the Bloodmobile outside.
That is all.
I'd give him my blood except for one thing.
-What's that? -I don't want to.
-(laughing) -I can't believe you guys.
There's a human being out there
with millions of dollars who needs our help,
and you don't want to cash in?
That's why you losers are stuck in this crummy dead-end job.
-You know, Homer, I am your supervisor. -Sorry, sir.
Maggie, look. What's that?
Lee-mur.
Lee-mur. Zebu.
-Zeee-booo. -What are you doing, honey?
I'm trying to teach Maggie that nature doesn't end with the barnyard.
I want her to have all the advantages that I didn't have.
Lisa, we did the best we could. What's a zebu?
It's like an ox, only it has a hump and a dewlap.
Hump and dewlap. Hump and dewlap.
-Marge! What's my blood type? -A-positive.
Aw, nuts! Extremely rare blood, and I don't have it.
You know his blood type? How romantic.
A mother knows everything about her family.
-Oh, yeah? What's my shoe size? -4-B.
-How many teeth do I have? -16 permanent, eight baby.
-Earmuffs? -XL.
-Ring? -I don't want you wearing rings.
It looks cheap. But three.
-Allergies? -Butterscotch
-and imitation butterscotch. -And?
-Glow-in-the-dark monster makeup. -Ooh, impressive.
How many hairs on my head? Without looking.
Oh, Homey, you have lots of hair.
Why did you want to know your blood type?
Old man Burns is gonna kick off if he doesn't get some
double-o-negative blood,
but nobody at the plant has it.
-Bart does. -Whoa! Yes! All right! Whoo!
Congratulations, boy!
You've got a date with a needle.
Hey, wait a minute. I don't have to give blood.
I have rights, you know.
Yeah, you have the right to remain silent.
Bart, you have to help someone in need.
-It's the only decent thing to do. -D'oh!
Bart, it's not like I'm asking you to give blood for free.
That would be crazy. You're a little young to understand this,
but when you save a rich man's life,
he showers you with riches!
Don't you know the story of Hercules and the lion?
-Is it a Bible story? -Yeah probably.
Anyway, once upon a time,
there was a big, mean lion who got a thorn in his paw,
and all the village people tried to pull it out,
but nobody was strong enough.
So, they got Hercules.
And Hercules used his mighty strength
and bingo!
Anyway, the moral is the lion was so happy
he gave Hercules this big thing of riches.
How did a lion get rich?
-It was the olden days. -Oh.
Hey! Let's go!
Emergency! Life or death here!
-Just a sec, man. -Whoa, Otto, man.
-You work here? -Oh, yeah.
During the day, all my friends are in school,
so I got a job as a certified bloodletting tech dude.
Now, let's get this show on the road.
Okay. Let me wash up.
(humming "Iron Man" by Black Sabbath)
Homer, brave young Bart...
I don't know which one to hug first.
Uh, the boy.
-Eww. -(tires screeching)
(humming tune)
-Oop! -(bell dings)
We're ready with the transfusion.
Smithers, I'm not going to make it.
I want to dictate my epitaph.
-Go ahead. -Charles Montgomery Burns...
-Mm-hmm. -American...
-Mm-hmm. -And a patriot American...
Patriot...
Master of the atom...
Scourge of the despot.
Oh, tyrant, hear his mighty name and quake!
Smithers! I'm back!
BURNS: Top of the morning to you.
Why, look who's here.
It's... good old... you.
Hi, Mr. Burns.
Oh! Hey, there, Mister...
Brownshoes.
How about that local sports team?
Mr. Burns-- he's okay.
-Jackpot! -(glass breaking)
Ay caramba!
(laughing) Well, that's game.
Hasta mañana, Oswaldo.
Smithers, I'm back in the pink--
full of pith and vinegar.
Just remarkable, sir.
You know, it's funny, Smithers.
I tried every tincture and poultice and tonic
and patent medicine there is,
and all I really needed was the blood of a young boy.
-By the way, what was the lad's name? -Bart Simpson, sir.
-Who? -He's the son of Homer Simpson,
one of your stiffs in sector 7-G.
Well, the Simpsons will be getting
a very nice surprise in the mail.
Very nice, indeed. (fiendish laugh)
Bill, bill...
summons, bill...
(gasps)
Wait a minute.
From C.M. Burns. This is it.
Yes, this is it!
Woo-hoo! Whoo!
Bart, Lisa, Maggie!
Let's do this out in the yard where the neighbors can see.
Lisa, dim the lights.
No! turn on more lights. Do something.
Yes, Dad.
It's a little thin, but that's okay.
It could be a check.
Alright, there's no check.
Just a card, but don't panic.
I'm sure it tells us what we're getting
and where we can pick it up.
"Dear Bart, Thank you kindly for the blood.
Yours truly, Montgomery Burns."
D'oh! It's just a card!
Is that some way to show your gratitude?
No gold, no diamonds, no jewelry...
not even a lousy card.
Wait a minute. There was a card.
That's what got me so mad in the first place!
You don't do things like that to be rewarded.
You do them because a fellow human being needs a helping hand.
Marge, you're my wife and I love you very much,
but you're living in a world of make-believe
with flowers and bells and leprechauns
and magic frogs with funny little hats.
-Yeah, Mom, we got hosed. -Bart!
We got exactly what we wanted out of this!
We gave an old man a second chance.
I promised my boy one simple thing:
lots of riches
and that man broke my promise.
Well I've had it!
Bart, take a letter!
Dear Mr. Burns
I'm so glad you enjoyed my son's blood
and your card was just great.
In case you can't tell, I'm being sarcastic.
You stink!
Could you read that last part back to me?
-"You stink!" -(chuckles) Good.
You are a senile, buck-toothed old mummy
with bony girl arms, and you smell like...
An elephant's butt?
(laughs) An elephant's butt.
But he's your boss. Do you have to mail it right this minute?
Yup.
You're still angry, Homer. Why don't you sleep on it?
-Forget it, Marge. -Please, Homey?
For me?
Oh, all right.
You always do that hand thing,
and it usually works.
Cheap son of a...
(snoring)
Ooh, pancakes.
Ooh.
Homer, breakfast is ready.
Hmm? (gags)
Marge, you saved me
from making a big mistake.
You know, I finally understand the meaning of...
-(unintelligible) -Meaning of what?
Better half, Marge. Better half.
-Oh, thank you. -Where's the letter?
(whistling)
-Where is it? -(cans clattering)
Oh...
Homer, I don't think it's in the cornstarch canister.
Well, it's somewhere.
It didn't just get up and walk away.
-(whistling) -Bart, have you seen the letter?
-Yep. -All right, think very carefully.
Where did you see it last?
-The last place I saw it-- -Uh-huh?
-...was in my hand. -Yeah?
As I was shoving it
into the mailbox.
HOMER: D'oh!
Why did you do that?
Dad, there were things in the letter that had to be said.
And I know you. You're an emotional guy.
Just because you were mad last night
is no guarantee you'd be mad in the morning.
I'll show you mad in the morning!
Homer, you encouraged him.
You should be strangling yourself.
She's right.
Okay, think, Homer. Don't panic.
They don't pick up the mail till noon.
-There's still time! -(gasps)
Ow, ow.
Give it up, Homer. It's locked up tight.
Locked, eh?
Well, I just might have a little surprise
up my sleeve for old Mr. Lock.
Step aside, boy.
Hey!
I'm with you, Homer.
Fight the power!
-Why the hose, Homer? -What does it look like?
I'll get our letter so wet,
the ink will run, and no one will be able to read it.
Yeah, but don't other people have mail in there?
So a few people won't get a few letters. Boo-hoo.
You know the kind of letters people write:
"Dear somebody you never heard of--
"How is so and so?
"Blah, blah, blah.
Yours truly, some bozo." Big loss.
Now, Bart, you keep an eye out for the mailman.
Just give me some kinda signal.
-Dad, the mailman's here. -That's a good one. We'll use that.
-No, I mean the mailman's here! -(screams)
Dear God! Are you planning to water the mail?
I guess it wouldn't do any good to run,
'cause you're a mail lady and you know my name and address and everything, huh?
-That's right. -Well, I'm still going to run!
I want the whole world to hear the story
of my harrowing struggle with hypohemia.
Sir, Mr. Roman is one of the finest ghostwriters in the business.
He's written Like Hell I Can't,
Up From the Muck,
The Unsinkable Sadruodin Mahbaradad.
-Excellent. -All right, first question.
Have you slept with anyone famous?
Well, Countess Von Zeppelin and I...
What in blaze!
Now you listen to me, you bargain-basement Baudelaire.
I'm not some dizzy starlet
who can't string two words together.
I can write this thing myself!
You're fired!
(imitating Mr. Burns) Hello. My name is Mr. Burns.
I believe you have a letter for me.
Okay, Mr. Burns, what's your first name?
I don't know.
Great plan, Bart.
Ooh, look, Maggie.
What is that?
Dodecahedron. Dodecahedron.
Lisa, I don't know what you're doing
but it's very strange, and your father's trying to worry.
BURNS: Chapter the fifth--
the trip to the infirmary with most unexpected results.
HOMER: Oops. 28 minutes till Burns comes in.
Time for operation "Mail Take."
-Can I help you? -(shrieks)
Oh, don't be frightened of this.
It's nothing but a letter opener. Who are you?
Don't tell him. Give him a fake name.
-Homer Simpson. -D'oh!
Simpson, huh?
Simpson, why there's a letter here from you.
I'll just read it right now.
"Dear Mr. Burns, I'm so glad you enjoyed my son's blood,
and your card was just great."
Why, Simpson, you've made my day.
You're a true gentleman.
-Well, I'll be on my-- -Hello, there's more.
"In case you can't tell, I'm being sarcastic.
"You stink.
"You are a senile
"buck-toothed old mummy with bony girl arms,
-and you smell like an elephant's butt." -(nervous chuckle)
Hey! Come on, Joey, you have to twist my arm?
Homer, I don't tell you how to do your job, okay?
I could crush him like an ant, but it would be too easy.
No, revenge is a dish best served cold.
I'll bide my time until...
Oh, what the hell.
I'll just crush him like an ant.
Senile, eh? Buck-toothed, am I?
Bony arms, are they? Liver spots, did I?
-Shameless, will you? -His pink slip awaits your signature, sir.
Hmm-hmm-hmm.
Now that's odd.
I've just robbed a man of his livelihood,
and yet I feel strangely empty.
Tell you what, Smithers, have him beaten to a pulp.
-But, sir-- -But what?
Nothing, sir.
I've never seen Mr. Burns this mad,
and he's always kind of mad.
-(groans) -Me and my big letter-writing pen.
Honey, what's done is done.
No matter what happens, we'll pull through.
-We always do. -Okay, here's the plan.
You can move in with your sisters and raise the kids,
and I'll die in a gutter.
It's practical and within our means.
(sobs)
They always told me I was going to destroy the family,
but I never believed it.
That's okay, Bart.
Nobody really believed it.
We were just trying to scare you.
-You know Homer Simpson? -Yeah, nice guy.
Play poker with him once in awhile.
Mm-hmm. We, um, need him beaten up.
-You got it. -Wait.
- What is it? - Uh... nothing.
-Wait. -What?
Beat, but don't kick.
-Hold the kicks. Got it. -Wait.
-What? -Um...
What did Homey do, anyway?
(sobbing) He saved Mr. Burns's life.
(thunder rumbling)
In closing, gentle reader, I'd like to thank you.
What's that you say?
Me thanking you?
No, it's not a misprint.
For you see, I enjoyed writing this book
as much as you enjoyed reading it.
The End.
Ah, Smithers, how did the beating go?
Sir, there was no beating.
What? Well that's a hell of a thing. Why?
-Because I-- I called it off. -Judas!
I'm sorry, sir, but I just couldn't hurt Homer Simpson.
-He saved your life. -I see.
I know you're mad at me,
but I think it's only fair to warn you,
I'm going to stand outside the gate until you forgive me.
No need, Smithers.
As usual, you've been the sober ying
to my raging yang.
-Put her there, old pal. -(sniffles)
(sniffling) Sir, while I wish this handshake would never end,
I'm afraid we still have the Simpson matter to attend to.
We do indeed, old friend.
We do, indeed.
MOE: Moe's Tavern, where the elite meet to drink.
BART: Uh, yeah. Hello, is Mike there?
Last name Rotch.
Hold on, I'll check.
Mike Rotch! Mike Rotch?
Hey, has anybody seen Mike Rotch lately?
(laughing)
Listen to me, you little puke.
One of these days I'm going to catch you,
and I'm gonna carve my name on your back with an ice pick!
(laughing)
What's the matter, Homer?
You're not your normal effervescent self.
I've got my problems, Moe. Give me another one.
Homer, hey, you should not drink to forget your problems.
Yeah, you should always drink to enhance your social skills. (burping)
BURNS: We'll get the Simpsons a present--
an extravagant present.
A mad, unthinkable, utterly impossible present.
A frabulous, grabulous, zip-zoop zabulous present.
Too practical.
Too cutesie-poo.
-♪♪ -Too cornball.
A pool table? Are you mad?
I'm not going to turn his home into a saloon.
Eureka! We've found it.
But, sir, it's $32,000.
Don't you dare sully this moment with your price taggery.
It's perfect.
Oh, woe is me.
Oh, my, it's Mr. Burns.
(yelps)
Heave-ho, heave-ho.
-Heave-ho. -Wait, Dad, he's smiling.
Mr. Burns, you brought us a present.
What did you think I was going to do,
-have you beaten to a bloody pulp? -(chuckles)
To show there's no hard feelings,
please take an advance copy of my book.
And now young fellow, I haven't forgotten you.
-Here. -Wow! A crowbar.
It's to open the crate, stupid.
What did I tell you?
I'll bet it's filled with diamonds, rubies, sapphires, pearls.
BART: Wow!
-A big, ugly head. -D'oh!
Actually, son, it's a big, ugly, Olmec Indian head.
It was carved by Mesoamerican Indians over 3,000 years ago.
This gruesome customer
is Ixtapolapoquetl-- the god of war.
Awesome!
No, Maggie, not Aztec.
Olmec. Olmec.
Marge, what does it do?
It doesn't do anything.
Marge, really, what does it do?
Whatever it does, it's doing it now.
Well, I'll let you get acquainted
with Señor Ixtapolapoquetl.
Ta!
Did you see their faces, Smithers?
Sir, you're my god of generosity.
HOMER: Save a guy's life and what do you get?
Nothing. Worse than nothing--
Just a big, scary rock.
Hey, man, don't badmouth the head.
Homer, it's the thought that counts.
The moral of this story is,
a good deed is its own reward.
Hey, we got a reward. The head is cool.
Well, then I guess the moral is: no good deed goes unrewarded.
Wait a minute! If I hadn't written that nasty letter
we wouldn't have gotten anything.
Well, then I guess the moral is:
the squeaky wheel gets the grease.
Perhaps there is no moral to this story.
Exactly.
It's just a bunch of stuff that happened.
But it certainly was a memorable few days.
HOMER: Amen to that.
(all laughing)
♪♪
Shh!
CAPTIONS ENHANCED BY ROUNDABOUT ENTERTAINMENT INC.