CHOIR: ♪ The Simpsons ♪
(tires screeching)
D’oh!
(screams)
(tires screeching)
Ah.
(chewing noisily)
Bart, what are you doing?
I only eat the clown heads.
That’s so wasteful.
I’ve always done it.
Just like I only eat the eyes off a lobster.
(Marge groans)
Oh, you should be ashamed!
Your father works very hard to put lobsters on our table.
Every night, he comes home exhausted,
with his voice too hoarse to talk.
(screaming)
(grunting)
I’m the king of goofing off!
(grunts loudly)
Ow! Unnecessary roughness!
So what? That’s legal in Rolo-Polo.
I thought we were playing Cincinnati Time Waste.
Oh, in that case...
(screams)
(sobbing) What did I do?
When you pass the coffee machine,
you’re supposed to yell "hot pot" and eat a sugar cube.
He’s right, Homer. That’s a two-minute penalty.
(giggling)
MEN: Penalty, penalty, penalty!
Penalty, penalty, penalty...
(laughing)
On your feet, you sniggering oran-gu-tan.
(laughing)
(suppressed laughter)
My fat friend,
you are hanging by a very thin thread.
("Pop Goes The Weasel" playing)
If you want to keep your job, then you better start...
(humming "Pop Goes the Weasel")
You’re thinking about
that ice cream truck, aren’t you?
Well, you can just forget about...
Come and lick me, big boy.
I said lick me!
(groaning)
(screams)
Ew! (spits)
You’re not ice cream!
Faker.
("Pop Goes the Weasel" playing)
Ice cream man, wait!
You’re fired!
As for the rest of you,
you’re supposed to be a chair-hockey team!
All I see is five showboaters.
Now sit down and give me 50 twirls.
That’s more like it.
Ice cream man! Ice cream man!
(tires screeching)
(panting)
Homer, there you are.
What does my best customer want today?
One butter-crusted choco-rocket, please.
I wish I had more customers like you.
Oh, I’m barely scraping by.
Yeah, this economy is tough on everyone.
Change a hundred?
Sure. That’s 1.50,
1.75, $2.00...
(wheezing)
(weakly) 99.50,
99.75...
(gasps, screams)
(grunts)
No...! (sobbing)
("Taps" playing on truck horn)
(bells jingling)
You must be Homer.
Huh? Max told you about me?
Oh, yes.
Max loved to talk about his work.
How he bored me.
And now I’m left with nothing
but my lover and this worthless truck.
Wait a minute.
You don’t want the truck, I need a job,
you need money, I’m flush with severance pay...
You’ll buy Max’s truck?
Why, doesn’t he need it?
Oh, right.
Remember that crappy ice cream truck I bought?
LISA: How can we forget?
Mom says now we can’t afford to go to the orthodontist.
Well, sink your crooked, rotting teeth into this!
(kids gasp)
("Get Ur Freak On" by Missy Elliott playing)
♪ Get your freak on ♪
♪ Get your freak on, get your freak on ♪
♪ Get your freak on ♪
♪ Get your freak on, get your freak on ♪
♪ Getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha, get your freak on ♪
♪ Get your freak on, get your freak on ♪
Whoa! Whoa!
Boy!
Otto, you totally pimped Dad’s ride!
(scoffs) He was following my design.
And now to get dressed in a most unusual way.
(rock music playing)
(jet engine roaring)
(bullets ricocheting)
(mechanical clanking)
(jackhammer drilling)
(mechanical buzzing)
Butter-brickle!
(applause on TV)
Welcome back.
Today, we’re celebrating women
who didn’t waste their lives being mommies.
Professor Stein, tell us about your book,
Life Beyond Wife.
Well, Opal, it’s about women
who want to breast-feed their own dreams
and change the poopy diapers of fulfillment.
(cheering and applause)
(groaning)
I call it leaving your "lega-she."
Does this book have any examples?
Yes, eight!
Take Gail Tucker.
She wrote hip-hop lyrics
to the beat of her washing machine with an off-center load.
Last year, she won all the Grammys.
(cheering)
Or how about Becky Tyson, who invented the pink VCR.
Now her husband asks her for money--
or as I call it: "mon-she."
You go, girl!
All those women are so impressive.
I’ve been doing the same thing for the last ten years.
And all I have to show for it is a clean floor.
(dog barking)
(kids laughing)
My lega-she.
(groans) Oh.
Boy, it’s hot.
I feel like Icarus, flying too close to Apollo’s golden orb.
Punch away, Nelson.
(groans)
It’s too hot.
I’ll get you later.
I’ll pencil you in for next week.
Eh, what the hell.
(screams)
(rock music playing in distance)
("Money for Nothing" by Dire Straits playing)
You kids like ice cream?
MAN (speedily): Product contains neither ice nor cream.
May contain trace elements of Mexican cheese.
Do not consume.
(kids clamoring excitedly)
I’m a unitard.
(children talking excitedly)
What’s the matter, son?
Don’t you have enough money for ice cream?
I do, but I’m lactose-intolerant.
Son, I will not stand for intolerance.
You give this delightful frozen treat the same respect
you would give any lactose-free food.
God bless America.
But my doctor says...
I said, God bless America.
(pained moaning)
Call the number on my bracelet.
(grunts)
(with lisp) Ooh, thomeone wearth a brathelet.
Who’th your boyfriend?
Uh... Dr. Osterberg?
Whoa, Marge, for the first time in my life,
I’m excited about going to work.
I’m glad someone in this house feels their life has meaning.
You’re glad?
You don’t look glad.
Are you sure you know what "glad" means?
I just wish I could do something to be remembered by,
something that says "Marge was here"
after I’m gone.
(muffled): Oh, honey, what about the time...
(muffled gibberish) Everybody loved that.
Love you.
(sighs heavily)
Ah, the story of my life.
They get the Popsicles, I get the sticks.
Look, Maggie, I made another you.
Out of sticky orange wood.
(squealing and laughing)
Marge, I was...
Folk art!
That’s my favorite kind of folk medium.
I made it myself.
Marge, you’re a genius.
You should make sculptures of other people.
Like Lenny, or Carl
or the new James Bond.
Will America accept a British James Bond?
I can’t wait to find out.
("Feels So Good" by Chuck Mangione playing)
(helicopter flying overhead)
This is Kent Brockman.
A high-speed pursuit is taking place
on the streets of Springfield.
We responded immediately after seeing it on Channels two,
four, five, seven and 63.
The driver is getting out of his car...
he’s running to a helipad,
he’s taking off in a copter.
Why, here he is next to us.
Kent, there seems to be a traffic tie-up
at the 101-405 interchange.
I recommend taking surface streets.
Jailbird away.
Well, there you have it, people...
Sweet Morley Safer!
Do I see a telegenic housewife
making art out of popsicle sticks?
Set this baby down-- I smell soft news.
Ma’am, I’d like to feature you on my award-submitted segment,
Kent Brockman’s "Kent-resting People".
Really? You think people would be Kent-rested in me?
-I do. -Hm!
I’m here with local sculptress Marge Simpson who works in,
of all media, Popsicle stick.
Our viewers want to know two things: why and how come.
Why did cavemen paint on walls?
Why do you scratch your name on Tupperware?
So when you die, something’s left behind
that says, "I was here, I mattered.
That’s my Tupperware."
Human feelings, expressed by a human.
And here’s a local nobody enjoying his likeness.
Let’s take a sneaky-peeky.
My God, it’s beauty-ful.
I finally see the goodness in myself.
Come here, you.
Oh, I’m so glad you like it, Moe.
That’s right, tell me all your little wooden dreams.
You’re not alone anymore. No you ain’t.
Aw, you’re shivering, are you cold?
Where you goin’, Marge?
Honey, I brought you more sticks.
This is the most fun I’ve ever had giving you wood.
Homie, this sculpting has made me feel so fulfilled.
I’m as hopeful and full of life
as I was in the years before I met you.
It’s good to see you smile again.
I was lonely being happy all by myself.
Well, no one’s gonna be lonely tonight.
(moaning)
(laughs) Let me just put on some romantic music.
("Pop Goes the Weasel" playing)
Hey, we got the whole night, baby,
let’s slow things down.
-(song plays at slow speed) -(Marge gasps) Ooh...
(moaning)
Marge, you are one fantastic artist,
and no one knows art like a Texan with too much money.
You’re from Texas?
That’s right.
And I want to finance a fancy-shmancy art show,
starring your wooden wonders.
Yee-hah. (laughing)
(gasps) My own art show?
I’m so happy.
Do you mind?
Yee-hah!
I’m excited you’re excited.
Yee-hah! Yee-hah! Yee-hah! Yee-hah!
Shoot on the "yee," not the "hah."
Hey lady,
you gotta pay to use my likeness.
It’s a registered trademark.
(groans)
(grunts)
Hey, I do more than TV.
I had a one-man show on Broadway.
That’s who showed up-- one man.
(laughing)
Long story short, I won a Drama Desk Award.
Marge, everything looks wonderful.
Well, I’m off to pedal my frosty wares.
You can’t go to work.
I need you here for emotional support.
Plus you make a small crowd look huge.
Sweetie, I can’t abandon my route even for one day.
If those kids discover the link between eating right
and feeling good, I am screwed.
But I’ll be back in time for your show.
The show starts at 3:00.
You promise you’ll be here?
I would never let you down.
Our marriage is like soft-serve ice cream.
And trust is the hard chocolate shell
that keeps it from melting onto our carpet.
In "cone-clusion," here’s the scoop: I love you.
(sighs)
(playing "Pop Goes the Weasel" over speaker)
(clamoring)
(tires screeching)
What the hell do you kids want?!
Oh, right, ice cream.
(children cheering)
(song continues)
Oh, my God.
It’s the opportunity of a lifetime.
(over truck PA) Attention, losers:
this is your chance to buy your kids some frozen love.
I’m not going to fall for such a cheap stunt.
Mom would.
Hey, give me one of everything!
Hey!
(group shouting)
(chorus of "Mmm")
Sorry, I’m all out of ice cream.
Already? It’s only 38 seconds to 3:00.
(gasps) Marge’s show!
Must jettison excess weight.
(Homer yelling)
D’oh!
(panting)
Oh, my God. I only got nine seconds till Marge’s show.
Eight... seven...
(groans) Homer, where are you?
(horns honking)
Oh, I’ll never make it.
Unless...
Whoo-hoo! I’m going to be on time.
(owl hooting)
(Homer, scout shrieking)
-(roaring) -(shrieks)
(grunts)
(shouts)
(screaming)
(tires screeching)
(all screaming)
(roaring softly)
(groans)
No, no, no, save your energy.
Don’t try to talk.
I don’t know where Carl ends and I begin.
See, statements like that are why people think we’re gay.
I made it back for your show, honey...
Well, Homer, you destroyed my artwork and my dreams.
Good job, very thorough.
Marge, let me explain.
I had a chance to make a little more money by exploiting broken families...
Oh, stop, just stop.
You don’t care about anyone else’s happiness but your own.
Well, excuse me
for having enormous flaws that I don’t work on!
♪♪
(knocking on door)
HOMER: Marge?
Marge?
Honey, you’ve been in there all day.
You got to eat something.
Why don’t you come downstairs and cook dinner?
Lasagna would be awesome.
Marge?
I wrote you a check for $300
to pay for all the sculptures I broke.
Okay?
Oh, I see.
You’d prefer a wire transfer.
Well, what’s your routing number?
That’s okay, I can get it from the bank, honey.
I just need to know your birthday.
Marge? I have an apology that I hope is better
than all the other ones, so please listen carefully.
The thing I liked best about being an ice cream man
wasn’t the free ice cream or the colorful toppings,
or the love I received from obese children.
It was giving you those sticks, and watching you smile
as you turned them into art.
If it would win you back, I would gradually eat
all the parts of a motorcycle.
I hope it doesn’t come to that.
Could you please just give me a sign that you still love me a little?
If you won’t talk to me, I’ll send in Polaroids
to show you how sad I am that I let you down.
I’m laughing in the last one,
but it’s only ’cause the cat fell down the stairs.
(snoring and mumbling)
Marge? Marge?!
She’s been gone for a while.
Grampa’s been watching us.
You kids have been real good tonight.
-Mom! -Mom!
Marge, where are you?!
Did you change your name?
Is it Kelly?
Kelly!
Comic Book Guy, have you seen our mom?
A complete list of things I have seen
or not seen is available on my blog.
Your mother is on the "not seen" list,
along with "a Star Wars film
that was any good since the first one."
And even that has been ruined by CGI additions.
Bravo, George.
There’s Mom!
Oh, my God-- she’s going to jump.
Marge, don’t do it! Give divorce a chance!
Homer, I want to show the world how I feel about you.
The world’s not that interested.
They will be.
Ready, bullies?
ALL: Ready.
Homer, you wanted a sign that I still love you, so here it is.
Wow!
You made me a sculpture of Magilla Gorilla.
No, Homer.
It’s you--my sweet, perfectly imperfect you.
Okay, boys, on my command, fire.
But nobody’s done anything wrong.
Geez, if everyone was like you, our morgues would be empty.
Homie, I realized that my most enduring creation
is the life I’ve sculpted with you.
ALL: Aah!
Now I know that my lega-she is really a lega-we.
I just have one question, my darling:
What did you do with the ice cream that was on all those sticks?
It’s in that Dumpster.
Not that one!
This statue, subject unknown,
is the last remaining example of art
before the collapse of the western world.
If only we’d known that iPods would unite
and overthrow the very humans they entertained.
(groaning)
What do you want from us?!
Nothing.
We just like whipping.
(groaning)
♪♪
Captioned by VISUAL DATA
Shh!
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