The Simpsons (1989–…): Season 26, Episode 4 - Treehouse of Horror XXV - full transcript

(Johnny Carson
Tonight Show theme playing)

KANG:
Live from Rigel 7, Conquerors
of Rigels 4 through 6,

it's the 25th annual
Treehouse of Horror!

With special guest stars
Jennifer Lawrence,

Warren Beatty, John Travolta,

Clint Eastwood, George Clooney,

Prince, Taylor Swift,
Sean Penn,

Bruce Springsteen,
Helen Mirren,

Morgan Freeman, James Franco,

Kanye West and...
Leonardo DiCaprio.

(applause and cheering)



Why?

(Kang and Kodos laughing)

This has been a bad week,
even for you, Simpson.

Concrete in the sandbox?

I don't get lost anymore!

Spreading the rumor
that today's lunch

would be served
by a naked lady.

Move it!
Boobs! Boobs!

I want to see boobs in the soup!

There is no naked lunch lady!
Bart made it up!

Yes, yes,
I-I knew that.

There's no hope
for you, Simpson.

You'll be locked
in detention

until you graduate
to the penal system.



(laughing)
Penal.

Stop laughing! I said
"penal," not "penile."

(laughs)
Penile.

It's not like you
made me say "penis"!

(laughing)

(groaning)

Hmm.

Ow! Oh.

Someone could get really hurt
by this.

Stick your finger
in that desk.

Really, Bart?

Hmm, looks like ancient Aramaic.

Fortunately, I have
an app for that.

(beep)

(click, trilling, ding)

Hey!

"He who reads
this rune translation

will be taken to damnation"?

(both gasp)

(both scream)

(hissing)

(alarm sounding)
SKINNER:
Simpson!

(hissing)

(both grunt)

BOTH:
Huh?

We're in Hell?!

Cool! Now I can look
up all those people

who said "See
you in Hell."

Hey, pal, what are
you in here for?

Heresies, like Docetism.

Docetism?

The belief that Jesus' body
was just an illusion.

Is that still big?

Haw-haw! Your heresies
were venialized

by the council
of Palermo.

Oh, shut up,
shut up, shut up!

(crowd chatter and groaning)

We've got millipedes,
toothheads, screaming torsos...

(screaming)

...your bleeding eyes
with finger-legs.

And all the girls
are mean girls.

Red dress,
how original.

Making fun of someone's clothes.
How original.

Huh. You want
to walk with us?

It's true.

It would be a cold day
in Hell when I was popular.

Huh?

Young man,
where's your Hell pass?

Skin him!

Whoa.

(gasps)

(grunts)

Huh?

Hmm.

So,

what would be
the appropriate eternal torture

for someone who robbed a bank?

(flame whooshing)

Uh...

Someone who robs a bank.

How would you punish them
for all time?

Mm... Jeffistopheles?

(in squeaky voice):
Uh... wh-whipping?

Okay. Good.

No one likes to be whipped,

but is there anything
more connected to the sin?

Torture?

What if you made the robber
eat bags of money

until his stomach exploded?

Good. Very good.
(high-pitched whooshing)

Mm.

Psychological
torment.

Pain plus fear.

Oh, can you all feel
how much richer that is?

You get a pumpkin sticker.

Ow.

(gasps)
This has never happened before.

I have a crush on my teacher!

Down here, we can
make that happen.

(locker door squeaks)

(both giggle)

Every time the sinner
screams in pain,

the scream blows this windmill,

which pumps even more piranhas
into his aquarium underwear,

causing more screaming.

Wow. Wow.
Oh, that is
so evil.

And I know evil.
I'm head of the teachers' union.

(bell ringing)

(grunting and groaning)

Bart, I found a portal
back to Earth.

Right here?

No, no, no, no!
That's Super Hell!

Hot Stuff?

I didn't realize
you were that evil.

(à la Droopy):
No, I'm being punished

for how lame my comics were.

(whooshing)

I melted it. Get it?

(crow caws)

(flames whooshing, hissing)

Welcome to Earth.
Local time is 10:37.

We know you have your
choice of portals,

so thank you for choosing
the Burns Hellport,

a division of
Gulf and Western.

(Lisa pants, Bart grunts)

Mom, Dad,

I want to
change schools.
Hmm?!

I found a place
that really wants to teach me,

and I really want to learn.

Homie, our prayers
have been answered.

Keep your pants on, Marge.

It's probably
some private school

that costs
a million dollars a year,

and then they squeeze you
for extra money

through book fairs
and silent auctions.

And parents get 20 e-mails a day
from the school,

and everyone hits
"reply all" to everything.

Dad, it's not a
private school.

It's free.

Oh, that's fine then.

(man screaming)

I couldn't help noticing
this school is located in...

I'm not one
to judge, but, um...

I'll say it, Marge.
It's in Hell!

The Inferno!
Perdition!

Arizona without the golf!

No. We do have golf,
but all the greens are tricky.

No!

Look, as educators,

our job is to gently nurture
your child's passion.

Hmm. That is
the kind of nonsense

you're always
falling for.

Mom, please tell me
I can go to Hell.

Well, I guess
we could try it for a semester.

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

You know,
we have many opportunities

for parent involvement.

(scoffs)

Yeah, I'll be sure
to take a look at that.

(grunting)

♪ Hell

♪ Hell is for children

♪ And you know that their little
lives can become such a mess ♪

♪ Hell

♪ Hell is for children

♪ And you shouldn't have
to pay for your love ♪

♪ With your bones
and your flesh ♪

Hmm.

♪ No, hell is for children.

Now, students,
it's final exam day,

and none of you wants
to repeat the class

like a certain student
I don't want to embarrass.

Torture?

Uh...

Beelzebart, you're first.

And you're going to torment

a very special sinner
we've prepared just for you.

Homer?

That-That's my dad.
I can't hurt him.

No, boy.
I want you to do it.

What? Why?

Bart, you went to Hell

and came back a
winner, like Jesus.

Now, come on, boy.

Pull me apart
like string cheese.

D'oh! D'oh!
(shrieks)

Webster defines success

as the action
of achieving one's goals.

Don't you, Webster?

I don't care! Why am I here?

You changed the "R-E"
to "E-R" in "theater."

I hate that!

Well, I'll tell you
who supposed to be here--

class mal-edictorian,

Beelzebart Simpson.

(applause and cheering)

(Homer chuckling)

Which one's yours?

(grunting)

Nice.

MOE:
That was me,
when I was a young hoodlink,

with me three bestest glugs,
Leonard, Carlton and Dum.

We was narsty tastards,
we were, even though we dressed

like Carol Channing's
backup dancers.

Some days, we'd employ a bit
of the bash

while having a go
at the West End Wiseguys...

Ooh, stop it!
Hey, pally, come on.

Hey, what's wrong with youse?

Ooh, I was told this would be
a verbal debate! Ooh!

...and cap off the night with
a little of the ol' in-out.

ALL:
In. Out.
(bell dinging)

In. Out.
(bell dinging)

In. Out. In. Out.
(bell dinging)

MOE:
Everything was all
fish and chippy

until Dum collected himself
a twiggy-wick.

(with British accent):
Hello, little lamb.

What say we go
back to my place

for a little
of the old Luther Van?

♪ I can't fool myself,
I don't want nobod... ♪

(William Tell Overture plays)

Oy! I'm getting hitched
to this bluebird,

and she wants me
to give up the glug life.

Welly, welly,
well, well, well.

What sorry future
could you have

without your truest
lunos by your side?

Dum got a job
at the Tower of London

as a Beefeater!

I hope it's what
I think it is.

MOE:
Who knew, my brothers, that
when Dum found his Dumpling

that was the end
of our band of glugs?

Leonard and Carlton informed me
my leadership

was no longer needed.

(grunting)

Ah.

Not the Shard!
Not the Shard!

(groaning)

So I took up
the respectable life

of a sleazy barkeep.

(sighs heavily)

These eye clamps are the only
way I can tolerate today's TV.

TV ANNOUNCER:
Tonight on Fox...

(groaning)

Turn it off!
I'll be good!

(crying):
I'll be good!

(doorbell rings)

There's been a terrible
accident, sir.

Please grant me
access to your home.

Are you kidding me?

I inventedthat gag.

Please, sir. Certainly
a Christian is required

to completely unbolt his door.

Come on, you can't pull the
wooly bull over my viddyballs.

(groaning)

That's a bit
of the old... haw-haw!

(door squeaking)

(Moe grunting)

(grunting)

Not my Shmoo!

Not my Shmoo!

(Moe crying)

(Shmoo shatters)

Those punks got no respect
for them what come before.

Didn't even wear no codpieces.

How do they expect to draw
the eye to their chunky-wunks?

I need me glugs back
for one last bit of barmy.

No! You should not
be out glugging,

shin-slicing,
or eye groining.

We've got a sweet little toddle
to take care of.

(squeaking)

(squeaking)

Enough of this quiet home life!

It's time to be a man again.

After all these month-os,
I hope we don't disremember

how to dash and bash.

Let's start easy with a
little walk into the jay.

(siren blares)

Wait! I recognize those cops

what's be whackin'
my gob-topper!

It's Leonard and Carlton!

(laughter)

You blokes want to join me for
one last bit o' noggin' boggin'?

I saved your bowlers.

Hmm? Hmm?

Once again, the glugs
was hittin' the streets

all slow-motion like--
and just as scarifyin'

and intimidato as ever.

Hey, keep up!

(panting)

We put nasties in a hat
and selectoed out one.

♪

(deep, echoing groaning nearby)

Hey, what kind
of whoo-hoo is this?

Welcome to the most
frustrating, befuddling

and, yes, erotic book release
party you've ever attended.

Sir, are you done
with my bird mask?

(chuckles): Oh, I don't think
you want to wear it now.

I'll be the
judge of that.

Come on, me glugs!

Let's show these
nectarinoes we're still

the best at what we do:

beatin' up old people
and bare-naked ladies!

Get them,
becostumed weirdos!

Sex-view blockers,
keep blocking.

♪

I'll, uh, I'll let you finish.

(ape-like grunting)
("Also Sprach Zarathustra"
playing)

I thought
I left my iPhone here.

(inquisitive grunt)

(hammers cock)

Ooh! Even I forget
what this is a reference to.

MOE:
And so, O my brothers,
I was beaten, I was bruised,

I couldn't score at an orgy.

♪

But I was happy.

All right, let's burn this,
let's rewrite everything,

and, uh, let's start all over.

("The Blue Danube" playing)

(music stops abruptly)
Ow.

♪

(tired mumbling)

(low grunt)

Stupid blood--
asking me for a favor!

(grunts)

Homer, Homer, look what
someone left in the kitchen.

Frosty chocolate milkshakes.

Dad, the TV's screwed up.

It only plays
Married... with Children.

Aw, Peg, you're sick.

Let me call Dr. Kevorkian.

We haven't had sex
in four years, Al.

(audience jeers)

Now I'm the one
who needs Kevorkian.

(audience laughter)

VOICES (distorted):
Our house.

This house is haunted.

(gasps)
The milkshakes have vanished!

(slurping)

Hmm? What?

(slurping)

♪

Homie, I think
we're not alone.

I was sleeping in the dryer
and got caught in your sheets.

I'll go make up
the couch for you.
(whimpers)

(Marge moaning
amorously)

Whoa, Marge,
that was fast.

Yeah, that's it, baby.

Grab my chest with
your cold, icy hands.

(moans)

(shrieks)
The bed is lifting me!

The elevator at work
can't even do that.

I demand you put me down
right after the sex!

D'oh!

All right, show
yourselves

in the name
of this book!

D'oh! Oh.

The power of Chrysler
compels you!

What are you,
cavemen?

Turn on the lights!

(screaming)

Hey! A little respect!

(grumbles)

Take a picture--
it'll last longer, man.

Hey, if you're Homer
Simpson, show me your
driver's license!

Well, I traded it to a kid
for a bite of his sandwich.

(gasps)
He is me!

Noble spirits,
your time has passed.

(belches)

That was unmotivated.

Don't have a cow, man.

Shut up!
Ay, caramba!
(belches)

Homer, do something!

Why is it always me?

I work 12 hours a week,
you know.

She doesn't know
what a good thing she's got.

I likea man
who can relax.

Not like Grumpy-Lumpy there.

Quit makin' cracks!

Speaking of cracks,
pull up your pants, dude.

I'll crack you!

(grunting)
(chuckling)

What kind of afterlife
is this?

Can't even strangle
my dead kid.

So yeah, things aren't perfect
with the missus and me,

and, uh, by the way,
nice melons.

Those are
in the kitchen!

D'oh! I can't believe you
wasted our money on fruit!

(purring)
Homer Simpson!

Can you be
more specific?
(growling)

(both chuckling)

(giggles)

Mmm!

(grumbles)

There's no reason
to be jealous.

It's just
younger you.

Oh! So, he likes
ghosts better, eh?

Fine.

Hmm.

Might as well clean this
while I'm killing myself.

(quiet grunting)

(grunting)

(thud)

(humming a tune)

Hmm?

(chuckles):
Well, hello-ho-ho.

Aah! A ghost!

I feel like a ghost,

the way you haven't been
paying attention to me.

Plus, I'm dead.

Don't yell at me--
I'm a double widower.

But I can handle
all the ghosts
you can float at me.

Won't the other Homer
be a problem?

Heh! I think he gets it.

See? He...
You stupid...

What the...? Ooh!

Mmm, I smell toast.

(groans)

(whoosh)

Well, I guess

you and I are
in charge now, Bart.

But if we split the chores,
I'm sure that we c...

What are you doing?!

Sayonara, sucker!

Oh, no, you're not
leaving me to clean this up!

(yells)

(grunts)

(whoosh)

Whoo-hoo! I'm the
last of the Simpsons!

In I.Q. only!

Huh?

(grunts, coughs, groans)

GROUNDSKEEPER WILLIE:
Thank you!

Willie's got stew
for the winter.

Wait a minute--
who killed Maggie?

This is all your fault, Homer,
for wanting somebody new.

I just wanted
the woman I married.

I never realized you had
so much work done.

Simpsons, please!
This fighting
solves nothing!

Dr. Marvin Monroe?!

Are you alive or dead?

(groans) I'm in some
horrible limbo.

I can walk halfway through
walls, then I get stuck.

(creaking)
Uh-oh.

Now I'm gonna have to look
at that every morning.

Well, I think you're
helping us make progress.

Thank you.

Let's not fight anymore.

Let's just make him
decide between us.

Choose me because
I'm not bitter yet,

I can stay up later,
and you're on my
mind all the time.

Hmm, Marge number two,
how would you win my whoopie?

Those are great reasons,
but there's one reason

you should choose me: because
I know everything you've done,

and yet I still want
to be with you.

That is so beautiful.

(both sigh)

You're right, Marge--
I could never leave you,

not even for you.

If there was a dot
or a squiggle different,

that would be too much.

Oh, Homie!
Oh, Homie!

(all moaning)

It's time to cut
the treacle, man.

Why, you little...!

(birds chirping)

Mmm...
(belches)

(loud chewing,
belching continues)

(whoosh)

I just had a worrisome thought.

If there can be two incarnations
of the Simpsons,

why couldn't
some evil marketing entity

produce millions of others?

(new Homer voice):
All right, Simpsons,
welcome to our new home.

Yo, yo, Santa's Little Helper
is in da house!

(howls)

(fierce grunt)

♪

Mmm!

(squeaky gibberish)

(high-pitched):
D'oh!

Okay, hold still.

This is the last
picture on the roll.

Isn't it about time
you went digital?

Watch your mouth,
you little smart-ass.

ORIGINAL LISA:
Yeah, Bart.

Nothing's gonna ruin this one.

(timer ticking)

Here we go.
Here we go.

Here we go.

(gulping)

(flash pops, camera whirs)
HOMER: D'oh!

(screams)