The Simpsons (1989–…): Season 1, Episode 10 - Homer's Night Out - full transcript
Bart uses his new miniature "spy" camera to take candid pictures around the household; meanwhile, Homer is preparing to go to a bachelor party for his co-worker at the Springfield Nuclear Power Plant. While at the party, Homer is invited to dance on stage with a stripper. Bart (who is dining with the rest of the family in the next-door restaurant) uses his camera to snap a photo of Homer and the dancer having a great time. At school, Martin develops the picture, which - after he compliments Bart's work - gets distributed around school, and eventually around town. Marge sees the photo and is outraged. Homer arrives home, where Marge immediately confronts her husband and kicks him out of the house. Eventually, Marge agrees to let him back in on the condition he take Bart around to meet the stripper and show that she is not a sex object. After almost winding up on stage at another of the dancer's performances, Homer does as he is asked and all is forgiven.
So, how was the office
birthday party?
Oh, it was delightful.
The frosting on the cake
was this thick.
And Eugene Fisk--
my poor sucker of an assistant--
didn't know the fruit punch
was spiked...
and he really made
an ass of himself...
putting the moves on the new girl
in Valve Maintenance.
Does this girl like him?
I have to warn you, Marge,
I think the poor young thing
has the hots for yours truly.
Homer.
Just keeping you
on your toes, babe.
Two hundred and thirty nine pounds!
Oh, I'm a blimp.
Why are all the good things
so tasty?
From now on,
exercise every morning.
You're not a blimp,
Homer.
You're my big
cuddly teddy bear.
Aw, baloney. Yeah, right.
Aw, baloney. Yeah, right.
Oh, give me a break.
Wow, cool, man!
Oh, no!
Two hundred
and thirty nine pounds?
I'm a whale.
Why was I cursed with this weakness
for snack treats?
Well, from now on,
exercise every morning, Homer.
Oh. Don't strain
yourself, dear.
Good idea, Marge.
By the way,
this Friday night...
I'm gonna be attending a little
get together with the boys at work.
Eugene Fisk is marrying
some girl in Valve Maintenance.
Homer, is this
some kind of stag party?
No, no, Marge.
It's gonna be very classy.
A tea-and-crumpets
kind of thing.
Eugene Fisk.
Isn't he your assistant?
- No! My supervisor.
- Didn't he used to be your assistant?
- What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?
- Sorry, Homer.
- Uh-oh, it's the "fe-mailman."
Female carrier, Bart.
Lady, where's my spy camera?
- "Where's my spy camera?"
- Where's my spy camera?
Where's my spy camera, lady?
- Every day for the last six months--
- Where's my spy camera?
Where's my spy camera?
Where's my spy camera?
Here's your
stupid spy camera!
Oh.
Thanks, ma'am.
Whoa, man.
Look at the size of this thing.
I wonder
if it really works.
'Cause I got
a lot of spying to do.
Bart!
What are you doing?
Sorry, Dad.
The answer to that is top secret.
- Oh, Bart.
- What?
Go take some wildlife pictures
or something.
Ew, gross.
Mom, Bart was taking
a picture of his butt.
Oh, sure. Like I'm really gonna
take a picture of my butt.
Stop it, you two.
And put on some nice clothes.
Since it's just
the four of us tonight,
- we're having dinner
at The Rusty Barnacle.
- Yea, fried shrimp!
Aw, Mom. Can't we just
grab a burger at--
Only four of us?
Who escaped?
Your father.
He's having a boys' night out.
Just as I was asking myself,
"Where did my seven-year-old
boy get the money...
for a Father's Day present?"
I opened the box.
And inside was little
Eugene's baseball glove.
He had given me the one thing...
that mattered most to him
in the whole world.
Eugene, when I see you--
the one thing that matters
most to me in the whole world--
married tomorrow,
I'm going to know
just how you felt that day.
- I love you, Dad.
- I love you, son.
Where am I,
the planet Cornball?
Hey, don't worry. Things are gonna pick
up once the entertainment gets here.
- Ooh, entertainment.
- Yes, sir.
Ahoy! I spy
the children's menu.
- Ahoy, this place bites.
- Bart.
So, what's it gonna be,
me little bucko?
Hm, let's see.
This evening
I shall go for the...
- squid platter,
- Ew.
With extra tentacles, please.
Oh, Bart. Excuse me, sir.
The party next door seems
to be a little raucous.
Could you please ask them
to quiet down a little bit, please?
Aye, aye.
Eh, eh, eh, eh.
Hey, try to keep
it down, guys.
- Okay?
- Hey, shut up.
Open the door and lie on the floor
said Barnacle Bill the sailor
Hmm.
Here you go.
There you are.
For the baby.
And one squidplatter,
extra tentacles.
- Bart, quit fooling around
and eat your dinner.
- Yeah, eat it, Bart.
Ugh. May I please be excused
for a minute?
Okay, but don't dawdle.
Your food will get cold.
Okay, Eugene.
One last taste
of bachelor freedom.
Presenting
Princess Kashmir,
queen of the mysterious East.
Now this is
what I call a party.
How do I tell you this, my boy?
We're in hell.
Look at him squirm.
- You care to dance?
- She wants you, Homer.
Go for it, Homer!
Shake his buns.
I'm sorry.
I don't usually laugh like this.
Ai, caramba.
Wow, man.
Oh, this is the most fun
I've ever had in my life.
The meeting of the Future Photographers
of America is now in session.
We would like to welcome
our new member, Bart Simpson.
Whoa. People, people.
Don't applaud. Let's get to work.
My goodness.
Quite exciting.
- Extremely sensual.
- The subtle gray tones recall
the work of Helmut Newton.
Who's the sexy lady,
Bart?
Beats me. But the guy dancing
with her is my pop.
- Wow!
- He brings to mind
the later work of Diane Arbus.
Bart, I'd really appreciate
a print of your masterwork.
- Me too.
- Yeah, come on.
Sorry, guys.
No can do.
Aw. Oh.
Come on, Bart. You're gonna make me
a print, aren't you?
Will you swear not to let another
living soul get a copy of this photo?
- Okay. Yep.
- Cross your heart and hope to die?
- Stick a needle in your eye?
Jam a dagger in your thigh?
- Yep. Yep.
Eat a horse manure pie?
- Yep.
- Well, okay.
- Pst. Look what I got.
- Whoa. I gotta have a copy of that.
- Sorry.
- Aw, come on.
Well, okay.
Hey, Bart. How come Milhouse gets a
copy of your girlie picture and I don't?
- I thought I was your friend too.
- Well, okay.
Son, why are you wasting your time
with this sleazy trash?
Sorry, Dad.
Wait till I show
the guys at work this little doozy.
Mike, this is Al.
Just wanted to thank you for the
"informative memo" you faxed me.
Whoops. Here comes the boss.
Gotta go.
Reverend Lovejoy,
your wife confiscated this...
from one of the boys in the choir.
Why this sheep has strayed
from my own flock. His name's--
Homer Simpson, sir,
a low-level employee...
- in sector 7-G.
- Simpson, huh?
- A family man?
- Wife and three kids, sir.
I'd like to see our self-styled
Valentino tomorrow morning, Smithers.
What are we laughing at?
One glazed and
one Scratch-'N-Win, please.
You look familiar, sir. Are you
on the television or something?
Sorry, buddy. You got me confused
with Fred Flintstone.
Oh. Liberty Bell.
Another Liberty Bell!
One more and I'm a millionaire.
Come on, Liberty Bell,
please, please, please.
D'oh!
That purple fruit thing.
- Where were you yesterday?
- Hey, hey. Looking good.
- What do you want, pal?
- Hey mister.
Do, do, do, do, do
Do dee do dee do
Well, a "do dee do dee do"
to you too, pint size.
Jeez, you get
a lot of nutcases in here.
Oh, sir, I've seen things
you can't imagine.
- Hey, hey, hey.
- I hear you, buddy.
Whew. Full moon.
Hmm. Still got it.
What is the meaning of this?
Meaningless, Marge. Don't even
attempt to find meaning in it.
There's nothing between me
and Princess Kashmir.
- Princess who?
- Hey, my photo.
- Your photo?
- Uh-oh.
- Why you little--
- Why you big--
- Bart, go to your room.
- I'm out of here.
- Look, Marge, honey, baby, doll, I--
- Homer,
I don't even want
to look at you right now.
What are you saying, honey?
- But where will I sleep?
- My suggestion...
is for you to sleep
in the filth you created.
Would a motel be okay?
Oh, I knew you'd
come to your--
Here. If you have any soul left,
you'll need these.
I know I will.
What's the matter, Homer?
Hottest ladies' night in months...
- and you're not even
checking out the action.
- Oh, Moe.
My wife gave me the old heave ho
because of some lousy picture.
- What, this one?
- D'oh!
- So, uh, where are you
staying tonight, Homer?
- Motel, I guess.
Oh, no.
No pal of mine is gonna stay...
in some dingy flophouse.
Ah.
If you get hungry
in the middle of the night,
there's an open beer
in the fridge.
Look, Barney.
See the row of tiny lights up there?
The middle one
is my house.
Someone must have left
the porch light on.
Hey that's rough,
pal.
Hello, Marge.
- You left your damn porch light on.
- Barney!
- You left your damn porch light on.
- Barney!
Homer's not
made of money, you know.
- Who is this?
- Don't listen to him, Marge. He's--
- Oh, it's you.
- Oh.
Homer, you're overwrought.
Why don't you
unwind a bit?
Party down the hall.
You know, this
apartment complex caters...
to upscale young singles like me.
No, Barn. I just want
to crawl into bed.
Suit yourself, Homer.
Nighty-night.
I wonder when
Dad's coming home.
Homer Simpson.
Homer Simpson.
Report at once to Mr. Burns' office.
Oh, no.
What in blue blazes
do you think you're doing, Simpson?
- What do you mean, sir?
- I mean this.
A plant employee carrying on...
like an oversexed
orangutan in heat.
This is a family
nuclear powerplant, Simpson.
Our research indicates
that over 50 percent of our power...
is used by women.
I will not have you offending my
customers with your bawdy shenanigans.
It won't happen again, sir.
I promise.
- May I get out of your sight now?
- Just a second, Simpson.
Smithers, would you leave
the room for a minute?
Yes, sir.
Simpson,
I am by most measures
a successful man.
I have wealth and power
beyond the dreams of you
and your clock-punching ilk.
And yet, I've led
a solitay life.
The fair sex
remains a mystery to me.
You seem to have
a way with women, a certain--
how shall I put it--
animal magnetism.
Help me, Simpson.
Tell me your secret.
Uh, Mr. Burns, in spite
of what everybody thinks,
I'm no lover boy.
Simpson,
I'm asking you nicely.
- I don't really know, sir.
- Simpson!
Well, I wine them,
I...
dine them,
bring them flowers,
write them love poetry, sir.
Of course.
It's simplicity itself.
I won't forget this,
Simpson.
Now return to your work and tell
no one of what transpired here.
- Anybody home?
- Hi, Daddy.
Welcome back, Dad.
- How's your mom?
- Still kind of ticked off.
Yeah.
Good luck, man.
Oh, thanks, boy.
Hello, Marge.
It's me, Homer.
Are you still mad?
You are still mad.
Don't need to say it.
I'm your loving husband.
I can read you like a book.
I'll just have
some milk.
Look, I'm not drinking
out of the carton.
Look, I'm not drinking
out of the carton.
Come on, Marge! Please forgive me.
I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry.
Homer, you don't even know
why you're apologizing.
Yes, I do.
Because I'm hungry,
my clothes are smelly,
and I'm tired.
I've been
thinking, Homer,
and you know what bothers me
the most about this whole thing?
You taught Bart
a very bad lesson.
Your boy idolizes you.
- Oh, he does not.
- Yes, he does, Homer.
And when he sees you
treating women as objects,
he's going to think
that it's okay.
You owe your son
better than that, Homer.
So what should I do, Marge?
Well, I think you
should take Bart...
to meet this exotic
belly-person.
I want him to see
that she's a real human being...
with real thoughts
and real feelings.
I want Bart to see you apologize
for the way you treated her.
Okay. Your wish is my command,
my little--
Do it!
Princess Kashmir?
You must mean April Flower.
She's working
over at the Girlesque.
See, I'm tying to teach my son here
about treating women as objects.
Oh, that's a good idea.
Uh, but April's over
at Foxy Boxing tonight.
Just let me say
that it is an honor...
to have Springfield's number-one
swinger here with us to--
Forget that.
I'm teaching my boy a lesson.
Is she here or not?
Uh, try Mud City.
We're gonna try one more place,
the Sapphire Lounge.
Bart! I said look
at the floor.
...he really loves me--
There she is. Hey, Princess, it's me,
the guy from the snapshot.
Oh. Oh, hi.
Places, ladies, places.
Can I get just a little
cooperation? It's show time.
I'm here because I want to apologize
for treating you like an object.
- Uh-huh.
- I also want my boy...
to find out that you're more
than just a belly.
I want him to meet the woman behind
all the spangles and glitter...
and find out that she has
thoughts and feelings too.
- Oh, well, okay.
But can we make it quick?
- Nice to meet you, ma'am.
Could you tell him
a little about yourself?
- Well, uh, my real name
is Shawna Tifton.
- Uh-huh.
- My pet peeve is rude people.
- Uh-huh.
- And my turn-ons include silk sheets...
- Uh-huh.
- and a warm fireplace.
- Thank you very much, ma'am.
We'll be on our--
- I've heard them say so often
They can love
their wives ooh
But I think
that's just foolish
Men must have hearts
Made of stone
Now my heart is made
- Cool, man.
- Of softer stuff
Get out of my cage.
- My boss will freak out.
- Oh, no.
- A pretty girl can't
look my way without
-Don't. Don't!
- Don't. No.
- Get out. Get out of here.
Get your hands off.
A new romance
Oh I could love
a million girls
And every girl a twin
I could love a Chinese girl
an Eskimo or--
Get off of my stage,
fat boy.
Hey, it's the guy from the picture.
- Homer Simpson!
- Sorry, partner.
I didn't recognize you
at first.
Ladies and gentlemen,
it's an honor...
to have a real swinging cat
with us tonight.
Homer Simpson,
party guy.
Mr. Maestro.
Oh I could love
a million girls
And every girl a twin
Yeah I could love
a Chinese girl
An Eskimo or Finn
I could dig a Deutschland chick
a girl with golden curls
In fact I think
that we could love
About a million girls
Heh. Hey.
Ooh. Look out.
Yeah.
- How does he do it, Smithers?
- He's a love machine, sir.
Da, da, da
Way to go, Dad.
Uh-oh.
Wait a minute.
Wait a minute.
Stop the music.
Quiet, please.
I have something to say. Quiet.
You with the hair,
down in front.
Oh, no.
He's sunk even lower.
I have something to say
to all the sons out there.
To all the boys, to all the men,
to all of us.
It's about women,
and how they are not mere objects
with curves that make us crazy.
No, they are our wives,
they are our daughters,
our sisters,
our grandmas, our aunts,
our nieces and nephews.
Well, not our nephews.
They are our mothers.
And you know something, folks?
As ridiculous as this sounds,
I would rather feel the sweet breath
of my beautiful wife...
on the back of my neck
as I sleep...
than to stuff dollar bills
into some stranger's G-string.
Am I wrong?
Or am I right?
My wife gets the cutest little thing,
right here, when she smiles.
- This is my Suzie.
- Oh, she's so cute.
Here's mine.
You know, my mom sounded
a little down the other day.
I'd better
give her a call.
- Homer.
- Marge.
All right, folks. Show's over.
No more to see, folks.
Come on. Only sick people
want to see my folks kiss.
birthday party?
Oh, it was delightful.
The frosting on the cake
was this thick.
And Eugene Fisk--
my poor sucker of an assistant--
didn't know the fruit punch
was spiked...
and he really made
an ass of himself...
putting the moves on the new girl
in Valve Maintenance.
Does this girl like him?
I have to warn you, Marge,
I think the poor young thing
has the hots for yours truly.
Homer.
Just keeping you
on your toes, babe.
Two hundred and thirty nine pounds!
Oh, I'm a blimp.
Why are all the good things
so tasty?
From now on,
exercise every morning.
You're not a blimp,
Homer.
You're my big
cuddly teddy bear.
Aw, baloney. Yeah, right.
Aw, baloney. Yeah, right.
Oh, give me a break.
Wow, cool, man!
Oh, no!
Two hundred
and thirty nine pounds?
I'm a whale.
Why was I cursed with this weakness
for snack treats?
Well, from now on,
exercise every morning, Homer.
Oh. Don't strain
yourself, dear.
Good idea, Marge.
By the way,
this Friday night...
I'm gonna be attending a little
get together with the boys at work.
Eugene Fisk is marrying
some girl in Valve Maintenance.
Homer, is this
some kind of stag party?
No, no, Marge.
It's gonna be very classy.
A tea-and-crumpets
kind of thing.
Eugene Fisk.
Isn't he your assistant?
- No! My supervisor.
- Didn't he used to be your assistant?
- What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?
- Sorry, Homer.
- Uh-oh, it's the "fe-mailman."
Female carrier, Bart.
Lady, where's my spy camera?
- "Where's my spy camera?"
- Where's my spy camera?
Where's my spy camera, lady?
- Every day for the last six months--
- Where's my spy camera?
Where's my spy camera?
Where's my spy camera?
Here's your
stupid spy camera!
Oh.
Thanks, ma'am.
Whoa, man.
Look at the size of this thing.
I wonder
if it really works.
'Cause I got
a lot of spying to do.
Bart!
What are you doing?
Sorry, Dad.
The answer to that is top secret.
- Oh, Bart.
- What?
Go take some wildlife pictures
or something.
Ew, gross.
Mom, Bart was taking
a picture of his butt.
Oh, sure. Like I'm really gonna
take a picture of my butt.
Stop it, you two.
And put on some nice clothes.
Since it's just
the four of us tonight,
- we're having dinner
at The Rusty Barnacle.
- Yea, fried shrimp!
Aw, Mom. Can't we just
grab a burger at--
Only four of us?
Who escaped?
Your father.
He's having a boys' night out.
Just as I was asking myself,
"Where did my seven-year-old
boy get the money...
for a Father's Day present?"
I opened the box.
And inside was little
Eugene's baseball glove.
He had given me the one thing...
that mattered most to him
in the whole world.
Eugene, when I see you--
the one thing that matters
most to me in the whole world--
married tomorrow,
I'm going to know
just how you felt that day.
- I love you, Dad.
- I love you, son.
Where am I,
the planet Cornball?
Hey, don't worry. Things are gonna pick
up once the entertainment gets here.
- Ooh, entertainment.
- Yes, sir.
Ahoy! I spy
the children's menu.
- Ahoy, this place bites.
- Bart.
So, what's it gonna be,
me little bucko?
Hm, let's see.
This evening
I shall go for the...
- squid platter,
- Ew.
With extra tentacles, please.
Oh, Bart. Excuse me, sir.
The party next door seems
to be a little raucous.
Could you please ask them
to quiet down a little bit, please?
Aye, aye.
Eh, eh, eh, eh.
Hey, try to keep
it down, guys.
- Okay?
- Hey, shut up.
Open the door and lie on the floor
said Barnacle Bill the sailor
Hmm.
Here you go.
There you are.
For the baby.
And one squidplatter,
extra tentacles.
- Bart, quit fooling around
and eat your dinner.
- Yeah, eat it, Bart.
Ugh. May I please be excused
for a minute?
Okay, but don't dawdle.
Your food will get cold.
Okay, Eugene.
One last taste
of bachelor freedom.
Presenting
Princess Kashmir,
queen of the mysterious East.
Now this is
what I call a party.
How do I tell you this, my boy?
We're in hell.
Look at him squirm.
- You care to dance?
- She wants you, Homer.
Go for it, Homer!
Shake his buns.
I'm sorry.
I don't usually laugh like this.
Ai, caramba.
Wow, man.
Oh, this is the most fun
I've ever had in my life.
The meeting of the Future Photographers
of America is now in session.
We would like to welcome
our new member, Bart Simpson.
Whoa. People, people.
Don't applaud. Let's get to work.
My goodness.
Quite exciting.
- Extremely sensual.
- The subtle gray tones recall
the work of Helmut Newton.
Who's the sexy lady,
Bart?
Beats me. But the guy dancing
with her is my pop.
- Wow!
- He brings to mind
the later work of Diane Arbus.
Bart, I'd really appreciate
a print of your masterwork.
- Me too.
- Yeah, come on.
Sorry, guys.
No can do.
Aw. Oh.
Come on, Bart. You're gonna make me
a print, aren't you?
Will you swear not to let another
living soul get a copy of this photo?
- Okay. Yep.
- Cross your heart and hope to die?
- Stick a needle in your eye?
Jam a dagger in your thigh?
- Yep. Yep.
Eat a horse manure pie?
- Yep.
- Well, okay.
- Pst. Look what I got.
- Whoa. I gotta have a copy of that.
- Sorry.
- Aw, come on.
Well, okay.
Hey, Bart. How come Milhouse gets a
copy of your girlie picture and I don't?
- I thought I was your friend too.
- Well, okay.
Son, why are you wasting your time
with this sleazy trash?
Sorry, Dad.
Wait till I show
the guys at work this little doozy.
Mike, this is Al.
Just wanted to thank you for the
"informative memo" you faxed me.
Whoops. Here comes the boss.
Gotta go.
Reverend Lovejoy,
your wife confiscated this...
from one of the boys in the choir.
Why this sheep has strayed
from my own flock. His name's--
Homer Simpson, sir,
a low-level employee...
- in sector 7-G.
- Simpson, huh?
- A family man?
- Wife and three kids, sir.
I'd like to see our self-styled
Valentino tomorrow morning, Smithers.
What are we laughing at?
One glazed and
one Scratch-'N-Win, please.
You look familiar, sir. Are you
on the television or something?
Sorry, buddy. You got me confused
with Fred Flintstone.
Oh. Liberty Bell.
Another Liberty Bell!
One more and I'm a millionaire.
Come on, Liberty Bell,
please, please, please.
D'oh!
That purple fruit thing.
- Where were you yesterday?
- Hey, hey. Looking good.
- What do you want, pal?
- Hey mister.
Do, do, do, do, do
Do dee do dee do
Well, a "do dee do dee do"
to you too, pint size.
Jeez, you get
a lot of nutcases in here.
Oh, sir, I've seen things
you can't imagine.
- Hey, hey, hey.
- I hear you, buddy.
Whew. Full moon.
Hmm. Still got it.
What is the meaning of this?
Meaningless, Marge. Don't even
attempt to find meaning in it.
There's nothing between me
and Princess Kashmir.
- Princess who?
- Hey, my photo.
- Your photo?
- Uh-oh.
- Why you little--
- Why you big--
- Bart, go to your room.
- I'm out of here.
- Look, Marge, honey, baby, doll, I--
- Homer,
I don't even want
to look at you right now.
What are you saying, honey?
- But where will I sleep?
- My suggestion...
is for you to sleep
in the filth you created.
Would a motel be okay?
Oh, I knew you'd
come to your--
Here. If you have any soul left,
you'll need these.
I know I will.
What's the matter, Homer?
Hottest ladies' night in months...
- and you're not even
checking out the action.
- Oh, Moe.
My wife gave me the old heave ho
because of some lousy picture.
- What, this one?
- D'oh!
- So, uh, where are you
staying tonight, Homer?
- Motel, I guess.
Oh, no.
No pal of mine is gonna stay...
in some dingy flophouse.
Ah.
If you get hungry
in the middle of the night,
there's an open beer
in the fridge.
Look, Barney.
See the row of tiny lights up there?
The middle one
is my house.
Someone must have left
the porch light on.
Hey that's rough,
pal.
Hello, Marge.
- You left your damn porch light on.
- Barney!
- You left your damn porch light on.
- Barney!
Homer's not
made of money, you know.
- Who is this?
- Don't listen to him, Marge. He's--
- Oh, it's you.
- Oh.
Homer, you're overwrought.
Why don't you
unwind a bit?
Party down the hall.
You know, this
apartment complex caters...
to upscale young singles like me.
No, Barn. I just want
to crawl into bed.
Suit yourself, Homer.
Nighty-night.
I wonder when
Dad's coming home.
Homer Simpson.
Homer Simpson.
Report at once to Mr. Burns' office.
Oh, no.
What in blue blazes
do you think you're doing, Simpson?
- What do you mean, sir?
- I mean this.
A plant employee carrying on...
like an oversexed
orangutan in heat.
This is a family
nuclear powerplant, Simpson.
Our research indicates
that over 50 percent of our power...
is used by women.
I will not have you offending my
customers with your bawdy shenanigans.
It won't happen again, sir.
I promise.
- May I get out of your sight now?
- Just a second, Simpson.
Smithers, would you leave
the room for a minute?
Yes, sir.
Simpson,
I am by most measures
a successful man.
I have wealth and power
beyond the dreams of you
and your clock-punching ilk.
And yet, I've led
a solitay life.
The fair sex
remains a mystery to me.
You seem to have
a way with women, a certain--
how shall I put it--
animal magnetism.
Help me, Simpson.
Tell me your secret.
Uh, Mr. Burns, in spite
of what everybody thinks,
I'm no lover boy.
Simpson,
I'm asking you nicely.
- I don't really know, sir.
- Simpson!
Well, I wine them,
I...
dine them,
bring them flowers,
write them love poetry, sir.
Of course.
It's simplicity itself.
I won't forget this,
Simpson.
Now return to your work and tell
no one of what transpired here.
- Anybody home?
- Hi, Daddy.
Welcome back, Dad.
- How's your mom?
- Still kind of ticked off.
Yeah.
Good luck, man.
Oh, thanks, boy.
Hello, Marge.
It's me, Homer.
Are you still mad?
You are still mad.
Don't need to say it.
I'm your loving husband.
I can read you like a book.
I'll just have
some milk.
Look, I'm not drinking
out of the carton.
Look, I'm not drinking
out of the carton.
Come on, Marge! Please forgive me.
I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry.
Homer, you don't even know
why you're apologizing.
Yes, I do.
Because I'm hungry,
my clothes are smelly,
and I'm tired.
I've been
thinking, Homer,
and you know what bothers me
the most about this whole thing?
You taught Bart
a very bad lesson.
Your boy idolizes you.
- Oh, he does not.
- Yes, he does, Homer.
And when he sees you
treating women as objects,
he's going to think
that it's okay.
You owe your son
better than that, Homer.
So what should I do, Marge?
Well, I think you
should take Bart...
to meet this exotic
belly-person.
I want him to see
that she's a real human being...
with real thoughts
and real feelings.
I want Bart to see you apologize
for the way you treated her.
Okay. Your wish is my command,
my little--
Do it!
Princess Kashmir?
You must mean April Flower.
She's working
over at the Girlesque.
See, I'm tying to teach my son here
about treating women as objects.
Oh, that's a good idea.
Uh, but April's over
at Foxy Boxing tonight.
Just let me say
that it is an honor...
to have Springfield's number-one
swinger here with us to--
Forget that.
I'm teaching my boy a lesson.
Is she here or not?
Uh, try Mud City.
We're gonna try one more place,
the Sapphire Lounge.
Bart! I said look
at the floor.
...he really loves me--
There she is. Hey, Princess, it's me,
the guy from the snapshot.
Oh. Oh, hi.
Places, ladies, places.
Can I get just a little
cooperation? It's show time.
I'm here because I want to apologize
for treating you like an object.
- Uh-huh.
- I also want my boy...
to find out that you're more
than just a belly.
I want him to meet the woman behind
all the spangles and glitter...
and find out that she has
thoughts and feelings too.
- Oh, well, okay.
But can we make it quick?
- Nice to meet you, ma'am.
Could you tell him
a little about yourself?
- Well, uh, my real name
is Shawna Tifton.
- Uh-huh.
- My pet peeve is rude people.
- Uh-huh.
- And my turn-ons include silk sheets...
- Uh-huh.
- and a warm fireplace.
- Thank you very much, ma'am.
We'll be on our--
- I've heard them say so often
They can love
their wives ooh
But I think
that's just foolish
Men must have hearts
Made of stone
Now my heart is made
- Cool, man.
- Of softer stuff
Get out of my cage.
- My boss will freak out.
- Oh, no.
- A pretty girl can't
look my way without
-Don't. Don't!
- Don't. No.
- Get out. Get out of here.
Get your hands off.
A new romance
Oh I could love
a million girls
And every girl a twin
I could love a Chinese girl
an Eskimo or--
Get off of my stage,
fat boy.
Hey, it's the guy from the picture.
- Homer Simpson!
- Sorry, partner.
I didn't recognize you
at first.
Ladies and gentlemen,
it's an honor...
to have a real swinging cat
with us tonight.
Homer Simpson,
party guy.
Mr. Maestro.
Oh I could love
a million girls
And every girl a twin
Yeah I could love
a Chinese girl
An Eskimo or Finn
I could dig a Deutschland chick
a girl with golden curls
In fact I think
that we could love
About a million girls
Heh. Hey.
Ooh. Look out.
Yeah.
- How does he do it, Smithers?
- He's a love machine, sir.
Da, da, da
Way to go, Dad.
Uh-oh.
Wait a minute.
Wait a minute.
Stop the music.
Quiet, please.
I have something to say. Quiet.
You with the hair,
down in front.
Oh, no.
He's sunk even lower.
I have something to say
to all the sons out there.
To all the boys, to all the men,
to all of us.
It's about women,
and how they are not mere objects
with curves that make us crazy.
No, they are our wives,
they are our daughters,
our sisters,
our grandmas, our aunts,
our nieces and nephews.
Well, not our nephews.
They are our mothers.
And you know something, folks?
As ridiculous as this sounds,
I would rather feel the sweet breath
of my beautiful wife...
on the back of my neck
as I sleep...
than to stuff dollar bills
into some stranger's G-string.
Am I wrong?
Or am I right?
My wife gets the cutest little thing,
right here, when she smiles.
- This is my Suzie.
- Oh, she's so cute.
Here's mine.
You know, my mom sounded
a little down the other day.
I'd better
give her a call.
- Homer.
- Marge.
All right, folks. Show's over.
No more to see, folks.
Come on. Only sick people
want to see my folks kiss.