The Simpsons (1989–…): Season 26, Episode 2 - The Wreck of the Relationship - full transcript
Homer and Bart turn to the open seas to improve their relationship, and Marge becomes a trash talking victim after she drafts Homer's fantasy football team.
D'oh!
(tires screeching)
(grunts)
(screams)
(door slams)
(laughs)
(whistle blows, crowd cheers on TV)
(retches, groans)
(laughs)
(groaning, grunting)
(Bart laughs)
Well, it wasn't easy, but we managed to watch
every "testicle fail" video on the Internet.
Now to leave a great comment.
LOL.
That's gotta hurt.
Oh... I guess there's nothing left to do
but go outside and play.
Wait-- a sponsored link.
MILHOUSE: Ooh!
A trailer for Project: After Party.
The long-awaited sequel to Project: Party.
(gasps) That's a red band trailer.
We're not old enough to see that.
Sure we are. I just have to enter my birthday.
January 1, 1900.
No movie's so dirty the oldest man in the world can't see it.
Well, they did everything they could to stop us,
but we hacked through anyway.
NARRATOR: They thought the party was over.
After party!
♪
(gasps) (gasps)
Brief nudity!
I thought we installed parental blocking software
on all our computers.
I don't know what that stuff blocks.
Mammogram appointment.
(alarm blares)
I told you to clean your room
and instead you're watching chest videos.
Look at all those bowls of half-eaten cereal.
The cereal on the bottom gets soggy.
I know how cereal works. Now clean your room.
Why should I? It's just gonna get dirty again.
I'm in charge. You do what I say.
I'll get to it when I get to it.
That better not mean what it means when I say it.
(squishing)
D'oh!
That boy has no respect for my authority.
Maybe you two are more similar than you'd like to admit.
We're not similar.
I love being told what to do by someone
who's wise in the ways of the world. Love it!
Here's what I would do: in the middle of the night,
clean Bart's room for him,
then, in the morning, thank him for cleaning his room.
You poor woman.
Dealing with Bart
has turned your mind to ketchup water.
You rest. I'll be the boy's father now.
I'm done.
I'd like it if you ate a little more broccoli.
Eh, I'm not feelin' it.
Your mother said eat your broccoli.
Why do I need to eat broccoli?
So that you can grow up healthy and strong, like...
Randy Quaid. Yeah, Randy Quaid.
He's very healthy.
Look, I'll drink another glass of milk.
(scoffs) Milk. That's for babies
and old guys who can't sleep at night
because of what they did in the war.
Broccoli.
Hey, what if I eat the broccoli?
I love the stuff. (chuckles)
You eat a sundae. Marge, get Lisa a sundae.
You are not leaving this table
until you eat that broccoli.
And I'm going to sit right here until you do.
(scoffs) You'll never out-sit me.
Oh, really? You think your skinny butt
can sit on that hard, wooden chair longer than
El Gordo?
(gasps)
The sit is on.
Eat your broccoli.
No.
Eat your broccoli. No.
(snoring) (alarm rings)
Read your broccoli.
No.
They've been at it all night.
I know, but they're not gonna
waste a whole Saturday inside.
(phone rings)
Mm-hmm?
Homer, where are you? Our fantasy football draft
is about to start.
(gasps) Today's our draft.
I've got to pick a good fantasy team.
When I lost last year,
they made me do something so humiliating...
Jeebus loves Tebow.
(Homer whimpers)
And so the fat man caves.
If you need me, I'll be up in my room eating cereal.
Half a bowl of cereal.
Marge, I want you--
my wife-- to draft my fantasy football team.
(all gasp)
I-I don't really
know that much about the...
My team name is "Somewhere Over the Dwayne Bowe"
and my password is "Annoyed Grunt."
Draft with God, honey.
Eat your broccoli.
(panting) Martin's been secretly
taking self-defense courses,
and now he's beating up Nelson.
MARTIN: Hi-yah! NELSON: Ow. Ow. Whoa. Aah!
His fat fists are a blur.
I've never seen moves like that.
KEARNEY: And never will again.
Sounds like quite a match.
And here's your ticket to a front-row seat.
No. No.
I'll never eat those filthy mini-trees.
Today, I wear the vest.
Haw. Haw.
(groans)
Now I am never eating that broccoli.
Homie. Homie, the fantasy draft just ended.
I got you five kickers.
It is called football, right?
You are definitely eating that broccoli.
(Homer and Bart growling)
This has got to stop.
If you don't go to work, you're going to get fired.
I can get another job. Who wouldn't want to hire
a man who won't back down?
I could be a prison warden
or a Southern anything.
I've got an idea,
but I'll need that broccoli.
(blender whirrs)
These two fruit smoothies
look and taste exactly the same.
One of them, however, has the broccoli blended in.
Bart picks one of the smoothies and drinks it--
maybe he had the broccoli, maybe he didn't.
No one knows, so neither of you has given in,
and this horrible impasse can come to an end.
Uh, works for me.
I'm in.
Oh, thank God.
Hmm...
Oh, no, the broccoli.
(annoyed grunt) You did that on purpose!
You lick this table clean!
Come on. Lick it. (grunting)
(both grunting, groaning)
(both grunting)
Come on, now, you can still lick it.
Oh, I'm afraid Homer and Bart's problems
are beyond our power to solve.
There's only one thing left to try.
(snoring)
(snoring)
(both grunt)
(all grunt)
(whispers): And, lift.
Put my sack back on. I'm trying to sleep.
(both snoring)
(grunts)
Hmm?
(gasps) (gasps)
Where are we?
I don't know.
Eat your broccoli. No.
We're on an old-time boat.
We've been kidnapped.
(chuckles): Not kidnapped, shanghaied.
Oh. Oh.
My name is Captain Bowditch.
Your wife signed you up for a week at sea,
where you'll live like sailors, eat like sailors
and use therapeutic techniques to solve father-son conflicts...
like sailors.
Hmm? Hmm?
For there's no better place
to solve relationship issues than on...
The Relation Ship.
"Relation Ship."
It works two ways. (laughs)
Pretty good. (laughs)
Pretty good.
Hey, lame ass,
Thanks to you, we're stuck on a stupid therapy boat.
I'm the lame ass?
The only lame ass on this boat
is you and all the other lame asses!
(both grunting, groaning)
Shouldn't we do something?
We are doing something.
We're empathizing.
I just know Bart and Homer are best friends already.
I can feel it. (computer dings)
Ooh, I'm getting a message from your father's
fantasy football league.
I must still be logged in as him.
Lenny used the "uck" word.
Mom, it's trash talk.
You know how guys say mean things to their friends,
the way women say nice things to their enemies.
Oh. (computer dings)
Yikes!
Well I don't like this trash talk.
And I'm gonna do something about it.
Even if I have to bring in the big guns.
Dear Lord, please help Homer's friends understand
that make-believe computer football is no excuse
for using the Internet to be mean.
(phone buzzes)
(gasps) Trash talk?
In church? No.
No, not here.
(phones buzzing)
MARGE (gasps): It's everywhere.
And now, a moment of silence
for the victims of the Shelbyville sinkhole.
(phone buzzes)
(Marge gasps)
The Wi-Fi. The Wi-Fi. I've got to take out The Wi-Fi.
She's under a lot of stress.
Her husband's at sea.
(bell dinging)
Ahoy, lads and dads.
It's never easy to talk about
your feelings in front of strangers...
so we're going to sing about them.
♪ Who wants to sing about their feelings ♪
♪ Who wants to go first and sing about their feelings ♪
♪ I'll go first and sing about my feelings ♪
♪ I'm so happy to be singing.
Now, Homer.
D'oh!
So, Cletus, Gitmo,
what brings you fellas to The Relation Ship?
My daddy's always overpraisin' me.
Aw, that's great honesty, son.
I'm so proud of you.
(scoffs) Why won't you let me fail?
What about you, Bart, Homer? Homer?
Lethargy, skin spots,
spongy gums-- this man's got scurvy.
But we've only been at sea one day.
When's the last time you had citrus?
I had a mimosa at brunch a few years ago.
Well, Bart, while your father spends the next few days
sucking out of the lemon barrel,
you'll drink deep of the hearty grog of empowerment.
What does that mean?
Mainly climbing.
Except for Wednesday night when we project a movie on the sails.
But, really, a lot of climbing.
(Gilbert and Sullivan's "We Sail the Ocean Blue" playing)
Sheepshank, bowline, clove hitch...
(Homer sucking)
Dad, look, I did a round turn with two half hitches.
You lie!
(gasps)
Wait a minute.
Windswept hair, rugged tan,
rough, calloused hands.
You're enjoying this, aren't you?!
So what if I am? You're my son and you will hate what I hate.
Angled parking. Lemons.
Kickstarters by famous guys who already have lots of money.
And this boat!
I'm old enough to choose my own things to hate.
And the things I like.
And I like being a sailor.
Betrayed by my worst enemy.
I never would have seen it coming.
Why, Bart, that's a perfect halyard cleat.
Just like you taught me, Captain.
Over, under, over, under, over, under, under, under, over, over,
over, over, over, over, over, under, over, half hitch.
Well, the standard form is under, over, under, over,
under, under, under, under, under,
over, over, under, under, under, under,
around, over, over, under...
Fathers, sons,
together we've made a lot of progress on this voyage.
I learned that left is called "port."
I finally got over my sea sickness.
(retches)
Terrific, Homer. Just terrific.
But one sailor has truly taken to nautical life.
I hereby award Bart Simpson the post of midshipman.
(spits)
Wow.
So now I can give orders?
That's right, Mr. Midshipman.
Wait a minute. I'm his father.
He can't order me around.
He's your superior officer,
so he can and will order you around.
And what if I refuse?
Oh...!
I'm sorry we had to discipline you.
On the positive side, you won't miss out
on the father/son hornpipe dance.
(playing accordion)
Oh, I hate the Golden Age of Sail.
(whistles)
Officer on deck!
Seaman Homer, you're supposed to be swabbing the deck.
Why should I? It's just gonna get dirty again.
I'm in charge. You do what I say.
Fine. I'll swab whatever you say.
Look! I'm swabbing the deck.
I'm swabbing this giant tree that the sail grows out of.
Ooh! I'm swabbing the top of the ocean.
Ooh! Swab, swab, swab...
Hey! What the...?
Fantasy football has turned every man in this town
into a trash-talking monster.
Oh, face it-- all men live in a sad world
of profanity, boob jokes and tired comedy references.
Más cowbell!
(laughter)
There's only one thing that will shut these guys up.
You got to beat one of them at fantasy football.
(dramatic, epic sports theme music playing)
Then that's what I'm gonna do.
NARRATOR: Game day.
As an icy mist rose
from a package of defrosting hamburger meat,
desktop gladiator Marge Simpson
prepared to lead her husband's team against
undefeated trash-talker Moe Szyslak.
Mom did everything: she checked injury lists,
scouting reports, she even studied the tapes.
The tapes of The Real Housewives of Tampa Bay,
where she watched star running back Lakwando Demarius
get kicked out of his house
after buying his wife the wrong color convertible.
That doesn't match my phone!
Lakwando's mind won't be on the game.
And...
benched.
And now to make my big move.
Homer's team e-mailed asking to start five kickers.
I was like, "Okay, it's, uh, your funeral."
There would be no funeral.
High winds, unlocked by the savage power of climate change,
allowed Marge's five kickers to launch a long-range campaign
of three-point annihilation.
An 85-yard field goal?
You got to be kidding me! Refresh, refresh.
But no amount of refreshing could alter the facts:
Despite a breathtaking ignorance
and a powerful dislike of the sport,
a rookie housewife had defeated a savvy veteran,
proving conclusively that fantasy football
is basically just luck.
Ahoy, Midshipman.
I hope your voyage on The Relation Sp
is proving interpersonally fruitful.
I don't know. It's really hard
when someone doesn't respect your authority.
Epiphany ho.
And I'm sure your father has been doing some growing
and learning of his own.
♪ I found some booze in another dad's bag ♪
♪ Drunk, drunk
♪ Drunk on a boat
Yi-yo-yu!
(grunts) You don't need booze, Homer.
I went to sea because I'm a recovering alcoholic.
But out here on the waves, I no longer crave
the sweet, warm, soothing flavors
of yummy, yummy rummy.
(gulping)
I love this boat!
With all its pullies and flappies and...
Everything has a name.
You know what, Homer?
I've always wanted to eat a parrot.
What's the big deal? It's just like a green chicken!
Yeah...
NARRATOR: But fortune did not favor The Relation Ship,
as the same winds that lofted Marge's fantasy field goals
to victory now sent gales of doom
toward this vessel of questionable therapeutic value.
(thunder rumbling)
White lightnin' squall!
Why is the captain just juggling?
Okay, o-okay.
I can do this. I can do this.
Someone count me in!
I said count me in!
Don't worry, I'll radio the Coast Guard for help.
The therapy bears! Look out for the therapy bears!
Oh...!
I'm a-comin', bears!
Don't stand there gawking like a dang fool!
Do somethin', boy!
You criticized me!
That's all I ever wanted, Daddy,
honest parenting.
CLETUS: Aw...
Now I'm the ship's highest-ranking officer.
It's up to me to get us to shore.
Dad, we can make it to harbor
if we can just sail around that lighthouse.
Are you crazy? We'll never make it!
Drop the anchor and wait out the storm!
No, we need to sail.
I'm dropping the anchor!
Can't you just do what I say?
You've never done what I say-- ever!
(booming, crashing)
(gasps)
(gulps, groans)
(gasps)
Now can we please respect each other?
(booming, crashing)
Yes, son. We can.
Awaiting your orders, Mr. Midshipman!
Put up the storm jib and haul in the main sheet!
Aye aye, sir.
Another success story for The Relation Ship.
(glugging)
(humming happily)
(humming happily)
So, did your sailing adventure help you work out your issues?
Does this answer your question?
(sailor's hornpipe music plays)
Yar! Quite a hornpipe thar be.
But, uh, surely you would never have gone on a sea adventure
without your old friend, the Sea Captain.
Yar.
That's gonna hurt for a long time.
Yar.
(Gilbert and Sullivan's "We Sail the Ocean Blue" playing)
♪ My name is Joseph Bowditch
♪ From a seaport known as Mystic ♪
♪ To me!
♪ Way, heal away, we'll heal away, Joe ♪
♪ I sail at dawn, bound for Cape Horn ♪
♪ And counseling holistic
♪ To me!
♪ Way, heal away, we'll heal away, Joe ♪
♪ Whoop!
♪ We'll work your conflicts out ♪
♪ Through sailing's therapeutic powers ♪
♪ Swab, role play, we'll heal away, Joe ♪
♪ The fresh water is limited
♪ So please combine your showers ♪
♪ Gay, we're not gay
♪ So that's okay, Joe
♪ Way, heal away
♪ A boat can cure your problems ♪
♪ To me!
♪ Way, heal away, we'll heal away, Joe ♪
♪ There's no e-mail, just raising sails ♪
♪ And then trust exercises ♪ To me!
♪ Way, heal away, we'll heal away, Joe ♪
♪ No more than one small carry-on ♪
♪ Or else the ship capsizes
♪ Way, heal away, we'll heal away, Joe ♪
HOMER: ♪ I got a bad sunburn
♪ And I was crapped on by a seagull ♪
♪ Way, heal away, we'll heal away, Joe ♪
♪ I don't see any lifeboats
♪ And I don't think that is legal ♪
♪ Way, heal away, we'll heal away, Joe ♪
♪ Whoop! ♪ Way, heal away
♪ For mental health, we're sailing ♪
♪ Way, heal away, we'll heal away, Joe! ♪
♪ To me!
("We Sail the Ocean Blue" playing)
Shh!
(tires screeching)
(grunts)
(screams)
(door slams)
(laughs)
(whistle blows, crowd cheers on TV)
(retches, groans)
(laughs)
(groaning, grunting)
(Bart laughs)
Well, it wasn't easy, but we managed to watch
every "testicle fail" video on the Internet.
Now to leave a great comment.
LOL.
That's gotta hurt.
Oh... I guess there's nothing left to do
but go outside and play.
Wait-- a sponsored link.
MILHOUSE: Ooh!
A trailer for Project: After Party.
The long-awaited sequel to Project: Party.
(gasps) That's a red band trailer.
We're not old enough to see that.
Sure we are. I just have to enter my birthday.
January 1, 1900.
No movie's so dirty the oldest man in the world can't see it.
Well, they did everything they could to stop us,
but we hacked through anyway.
NARRATOR: They thought the party was over.
After party!
♪
(gasps) (gasps)
Brief nudity!
I thought we installed parental blocking software
on all our computers.
I don't know what that stuff blocks.
Mammogram appointment.
(alarm blares)
I told you to clean your room
and instead you're watching chest videos.
Look at all those bowls of half-eaten cereal.
The cereal on the bottom gets soggy.
I know how cereal works. Now clean your room.
Why should I? It's just gonna get dirty again.
I'm in charge. You do what I say.
I'll get to it when I get to it.
That better not mean what it means when I say it.
(squishing)
D'oh!
That boy has no respect for my authority.
Maybe you two are more similar than you'd like to admit.
We're not similar.
I love being told what to do by someone
who's wise in the ways of the world. Love it!
Here's what I would do: in the middle of the night,
clean Bart's room for him,
then, in the morning, thank him for cleaning his room.
You poor woman.
Dealing with Bart
has turned your mind to ketchup water.
You rest. I'll be the boy's father now.
I'm done.
I'd like it if you ate a little more broccoli.
Eh, I'm not feelin' it.
Your mother said eat your broccoli.
Why do I need to eat broccoli?
So that you can grow up healthy and strong, like...
Randy Quaid. Yeah, Randy Quaid.
He's very healthy.
Look, I'll drink another glass of milk.
(scoffs) Milk. That's for babies
and old guys who can't sleep at night
because of what they did in the war.
Broccoli.
Hey, what if I eat the broccoli?
I love the stuff. (chuckles)
You eat a sundae. Marge, get Lisa a sundae.
You are not leaving this table
until you eat that broccoli.
And I'm going to sit right here until you do.
(scoffs) You'll never out-sit me.
Oh, really? You think your skinny butt
can sit on that hard, wooden chair longer than
El Gordo?
(gasps)
The sit is on.
Eat your broccoli.
No.
Eat your broccoli. No.
(snoring) (alarm rings)
Read your broccoli.
No.
They've been at it all night.
I know, but they're not gonna
waste a whole Saturday inside.
(phone rings)
Mm-hmm?
Homer, where are you? Our fantasy football draft
is about to start.
(gasps) Today's our draft.
I've got to pick a good fantasy team.
When I lost last year,
they made me do something so humiliating...
Jeebus loves Tebow.
(Homer whimpers)
And so the fat man caves.
If you need me, I'll be up in my room eating cereal.
Half a bowl of cereal.
Marge, I want you--
my wife-- to draft my fantasy football team.
(all gasp)
I-I don't really
know that much about the...
My team name is "Somewhere Over the Dwayne Bowe"
and my password is "Annoyed Grunt."
Draft with God, honey.
Eat your broccoli.
(panting) Martin's been secretly
taking self-defense courses,
and now he's beating up Nelson.
MARTIN: Hi-yah! NELSON: Ow. Ow. Whoa. Aah!
His fat fists are a blur.
I've never seen moves like that.
KEARNEY: And never will again.
Sounds like quite a match.
And here's your ticket to a front-row seat.
No. No.
I'll never eat those filthy mini-trees.
Today, I wear the vest.
Haw. Haw.
(groans)
Now I am never eating that broccoli.
Homie. Homie, the fantasy draft just ended.
I got you five kickers.
It is called football, right?
You are definitely eating that broccoli.
(Homer and Bart growling)
This has got to stop.
If you don't go to work, you're going to get fired.
I can get another job. Who wouldn't want to hire
a man who won't back down?
I could be a prison warden
or a Southern anything.
I've got an idea,
but I'll need that broccoli.
(blender whirrs)
These two fruit smoothies
look and taste exactly the same.
One of them, however, has the broccoli blended in.
Bart picks one of the smoothies and drinks it--
maybe he had the broccoli, maybe he didn't.
No one knows, so neither of you has given in,
and this horrible impasse can come to an end.
Uh, works for me.
I'm in.
Oh, thank God.
Hmm...
Oh, no, the broccoli.
(annoyed grunt) You did that on purpose!
You lick this table clean!
Come on. Lick it. (grunting)
(both grunting, groaning)
(both grunting)
Come on, now, you can still lick it.
Oh, I'm afraid Homer and Bart's problems
are beyond our power to solve.
There's only one thing left to try.
(snoring)
(snoring)
(both grunt)
(all grunt)
(whispers): And, lift.
Put my sack back on. I'm trying to sleep.
(both snoring)
(grunts)
Hmm?
(gasps) (gasps)
Where are we?
I don't know.
Eat your broccoli. No.
We're on an old-time boat.
We've been kidnapped.
(chuckles): Not kidnapped, shanghaied.
Oh. Oh.
My name is Captain Bowditch.
Your wife signed you up for a week at sea,
where you'll live like sailors, eat like sailors
and use therapeutic techniques to solve father-son conflicts...
like sailors.
Hmm? Hmm?
For there's no better place
to solve relationship issues than on...
The Relation Ship.
"Relation Ship."
It works two ways. (laughs)
Pretty good. (laughs)
Pretty good.
Hey, lame ass,
Thanks to you, we're stuck on a stupid therapy boat.
I'm the lame ass?
The only lame ass on this boat
is you and all the other lame asses!
(both grunting, groaning)
Shouldn't we do something?
We are doing something.
We're empathizing.
I just know Bart and Homer are best friends already.
I can feel it. (computer dings)
Ooh, I'm getting a message from your father's
fantasy football league.
I must still be logged in as him.
Lenny used the "uck" word.
Mom, it's trash talk.
You know how guys say mean things to their friends,
the way women say nice things to their enemies.
Oh. (computer dings)
Yikes!
Well I don't like this trash talk.
And I'm gonna do something about it.
Even if I have to bring in the big guns.
Dear Lord, please help Homer's friends understand
that make-believe computer football is no excuse
for using the Internet to be mean.
(phone buzzes)
(gasps) Trash talk?
In church? No.
No, not here.
(phones buzzing)
MARGE (gasps): It's everywhere.
And now, a moment of silence
for the victims of the Shelbyville sinkhole.
(phone buzzes)
(Marge gasps)
The Wi-Fi. The Wi-Fi. I've got to take out The Wi-Fi.
She's under a lot of stress.
Her husband's at sea.
(bell dinging)
Ahoy, lads and dads.
It's never easy to talk about
your feelings in front of strangers...
so we're going to sing about them.
♪ Who wants to sing about their feelings ♪
♪ Who wants to go first and sing about their feelings ♪
♪ I'll go first and sing about my feelings ♪
♪ I'm so happy to be singing.
Now, Homer.
D'oh!
So, Cletus, Gitmo,
what brings you fellas to The Relation Ship?
My daddy's always overpraisin' me.
Aw, that's great honesty, son.
I'm so proud of you.
(scoffs) Why won't you let me fail?
What about you, Bart, Homer? Homer?
Lethargy, skin spots,
spongy gums-- this man's got scurvy.
But we've only been at sea one day.
When's the last time you had citrus?
I had a mimosa at brunch a few years ago.
Well, Bart, while your father spends the next few days
sucking out of the lemon barrel,
you'll drink deep of the hearty grog of empowerment.
What does that mean?
Mainly climbing.
Except for Wednesday night when we project a movie on the sails.
But, really, a lot of climbing.
(Gilbert and Sullivan's "We Sail the Ocean Blue" playing)
Sheepshank, bowline, clove hitch...
(Homer sucking)
Dad, look, I did a round turn with two half hitches.
You lie!
(gasps)
Wait a minute.
Windswept hair, rugged tan,
rough, calloused hands.
You're enjoying this, aren't you?!
So what if I am? You're my son and you will hate what I hate.
Angled parking. Lemons.
Kickstarters by famous guys who already have lots of money.
And this boat!
I'm old enough to choose my own things to hate.
And the things I like.
And I like being a sailor.
Betrayed by my worst enemy.
I never would have seen it coming.
Why, Bart, that's a perfect halyard cleat.
Just like you taught me, Captain.
Over, under, over, under, over, under, under, under, over, over,
over, over, over, over, over, under, over, half hitch.
Well, the standard form is under, over, under, over,
under, under, under, under, under,
over, over, under, under, under, under,
around, over, over, under...
Fathers, sons,
together we've made a lot of progress on this voyage.
I learned that left is called "port."
I finally got over my sea sickness.
(retches)
Terrific, Homer. Just terrific.
But one sailor has truly taken to nautical life.
I hereby award Bart Simpson the post of midshipman.
(spits)
Wow.
So now I can give orders?
That's right, Mr. Midshipman.
Wait a minute. I'm his father.
He can't order me around.
He's your superior officer,
so he can and will order you around.
And what if I refuse?
Oh...!
I'm sorry we had to discipline you.
On the positive side, you won't miss out
on the father/son hornpipe dance.
(playing accordion)
Oh, I hate the Golden Age of Sail.
(whistles)
Officer on deck!
Seaman Homer, you're supposed to be swabbing the deck.
Why should I? It's just gonna get dirty again.
I'm in charge. You do what I say.
Fine. I'll swab whatever you say.
Look! I'm swabbing the deck.
I'm swabbing this giant tree that the sail grows out of.
Ooh! I'm swabbing the top of the ocean.
Ooh! Swab, swab, swab...
Hey! What the...?
Fantasy football has turned every man in this town
into a trash-talking monster.
Oh, face it-- all men live in a sad world
of profanity, boob jokes and tired comedy references.
Más cowbell!
(laughter)
There's only one thing that will shut these guys up.
You got to beat one of them at fantasy football.
(dramatic, epic sports theme music playing)
Then that's what I'm gonna do.
NARRATOR: Game day.
As an icy mist rose
from a package of defrosting hamburger meat,
desktop gladiator Marge Simpson
prepared to lead her husband's team against
undefeated trash-talker Moe Szyslak.
Mom did everything: she checked injury lists,
scouting reports, she even studied the tapes.
The tapes of The Real Housewives of Tampa Bay,
where she watched star running back Lakwando Demarius
get kicked out of his house
after buying his wife the wrong color convertible.
That doesn't match my phone!
Lakwando's mind won't be on the game.
And...
benched.
And now to make my big move.
Homer's team e-mailed asking to start five kickers.
I was like, "Okay, it's, uh, your funeral."
There would be no funeral.
High winds, unlocked by the savage power of climate change,
allowed Marge's five kickers to launch a long-range campaign
of three-point annihilation.
An 85-yard field goal?
You got to be kidding me! Refresh, refresh.
But no amount of refreshing could alter the facts:
Despite a breathtaking ignorance
and a powerful dislike of the sport,
a rookie housewife had defeated a savvy veteran,
proving conclusively that fantasy football
is basically just luck.
Ahoy, Midshipman.
I hope your voyage on The Relation Sp
is proving interpersonally fruitful.
I don't know. It's really hard
when someone doesn't respect your authority.
Epiphany ho.
And I'm sure your father has been doing some growing
and learning of his own.
♪ I found some booze in another dad's bag ♪
♪ Drunk, drunk
♪ Drunk on a boat
Yi-yo-yu!
(grunts) You don't need booze, Homer.
I went to sea because I'm a recovering alcoholic.
But out here on the waves, I no longer crave
the sweet, warm, soothing flavors
of yummy, yummy rummy.
(gulping)
I love this boat!
With all its pullies and flappies and...
Everything has a name.
You know what, Homer?
I've always wanted to eat a parrot.
What's the big deal? It's just like a green chicken!
Yeah...
NARRATOR: But fortune did not favor The Relation Ship,
as the same winds that lofted Marge's fantasy field goals
to victory now sent gales of doom
toward this vessel of questionable therapeutic value.
(thunder rumbling)
White lightnin' squall!
Why is the captain just juggling?
Okay, o-okay.
I can do this. I can do this.
Someone count me in!
I said count me in!
Don't worry, I'll radio the Coast Guard for help.
The therapy bears! Look out for the therapy bears!
Oh...!
I'm a-comin', bears!
Don't stand there gawking like a dang fool!
Do somethin', boy!
You criticized me!
That's all I ever wanted, Daddy,
honest parenting.
CLETUS: Aw...
Now I'm the ship's highest-ranking officer.
It's up to me to get us to shore.
Dad, we can make it to harbor
if we can just sail around that lighthouse.
Are you crazy? We'll never make it!
Drop the anchor and wait out the storm!
No, we need to sail.
I'm dropping the anchor!
Can't you just do what I say?
You've never done what I say-- ever!
(booming, crashing)
(gasps)
(gulps, groans)
(gasps)
Now can we please respect each other?
(booming, crashing)
Yes, son. We can.
Awaiting your orders, Mr. Midshipman!
Put up the storm jib and haul in the main sheet!
Aye aye, sir.
Another success story for The Relation Ship.
(glugging)
(humming happily)
(humming happily)
So, did your sailing adventure help you work out your issues?
Does this answer your question?
(sailor's hornpipe music plays)
Yar! Quite a hornpipe thar be.
But, uh, surely you would never have gone on a sea adventure
without your old friend, the Sea Captain.
Yar.
That's gonna hurt for a long time.
Yar.
(Gilbert and Sullivan's "We Sail the Ocean Blue" playing)
♪ My name is Joseph Bowditch
♪ From a seaport known as Mystic ♪
♪ To me!
♪ Way, heal away, we'll heal away, Joe ♪
♪ I sail at dawn, bound for Cape Horn ♪
♪ And counseling holistic
♪ To me!
♪ Way, heal away, we'll heal away, Joe ♪
♪ Whoop!
♪ We'll work your conflicts out ♪
♪ Through sailing's therapeutic powers ♪
♪ Swab, role play, we'll heal away, Joe ♪
♪ The fresh water is limited
♪ So please combine your showers ♪
♪ Gay, we're not gay
♪ So that's okay, Joe
♪ Way, heal away
♪ A boat can cure your problems ♪
♪ To me!
♪ Way, heal away, we'll heal away, Joe ♪
♪ There's no e-mail, just raising sails ♪
♪ And then trust exercises ♪ To me!
♪ Way, heal away, we'll heal away, Joe ♪
♪ No more than one small carry-on ♪
♪ Or else the ship capsizes
♪ Way, heal away, we'll heal away, Joe ♪
HOMER: ♪ I got a bad sunburn
♪ And I was crapped on by a seagull ♪
♪ Way, heal away, we'll heal away, Joe ♪
♪ I don't see any lifeboats
♪ And I don't think that is legal ♪
♪ Way, heal away, we'll heal away, Joe ♪
♪ Whoop! ♪ Way, heal away
♪ For mental health, we're sailing ♪
♪ Way, heal away, we'll heal away, Joe! ♪
♪ To me!
("We Sail the Ocean Blue" playing)
Shh!