The Simpsons (1989–…): Season 31, Episode 8 - Thanksgiving of Horror - full transcript

Good evening. Well,
Halloween has come and gone,

but, you know, the world
has gotten so darn scary lately,

what with the grim specter
of everything,

that one holiday
just wasn't enough

to contain all the frights
and chills.

So this year

the terror has spread
into Thanksgiving.

HOMER:
Thanksgiving was always scary.

Do we eat at 1:00 or 7:00

or, God forbid, 4:15?

Tonight, we're bringing you
three spine-tingling



and stomach-filling tales
of Thanksgiving terror.

It's pretty gruesome,

so you might want to cover
your kids' eyes.

Ooh, you two have gotten
into the Thanksgiving spirit.

Incorrect.
We are taking over your planet.

Is this not how
oppressive colonizers dress?

Pretty much.

Now, what time is dinner?

HOMER:
No one knows!

(screams)
The gravy!

(snores)

(gobbles)

(snores)

(gobbles)



(snores)

(gobbles)

(snores)

(gobbles)

(laughs)

(gobbles "Why, you little...")

(both gobbling)

(gobbling urgently)

(gasps)

(breathing deeply)

(grunts)

(sighs)

(all gobble "Aw...")

(gobbling)

(annoyed gobbling)

(gunshot)

(shrieks)

(panicked gobbling)

Prithee keep shooting,
Goodman Lou.

Uh, Constable, my musket

taketh three
of the Lord's minutes to reload.

Then buckle their necks
as you would thine hat.

(alarmed gobbling)

(dramatic gobbling)

(chuckles)

(gobbles, shouts)

(panicked gobbling)

(gobbles frantically)

(Homer gobbles)

Well, what do we haveth hither?

(gobbles "D'oh!")

? ?

(worried gobbling)

(gobbling)

(whimpers)

(whimpers)

(all grunting)

(shocked gobbling)

And God sayeth,
"Let man have dominion

"over the fish of the sea,

"but even more so
the turkeys of the land,

"whether they be brine-ed

or dry-eth of rub."

My brother-in-law
deep-fried a turkey.

'Twas much toil and hardship

for scant reward.

(gurgling gobbling)

(groans)

(devastated gobbling)

(panicked gobbling)

(gobbles "No!")

(gobbles "Whoo-hoo!")

(gasps)

'Tis witchcraft, verily.

I must cleanse the town...

with fire.

(all screaming)

(shouts)

(shouting)

(screaming)

(shouts)

The pilgrims.

Won't somebody please think
of the pilgrims?

(panicked gobbling)

(both gobbling)

Free birds.

Skynyrd them!

(panicked gobbling)

The scarecrow.

Get it up. Get it up!

- (crows cawing)
- (Eddie and Lou scream)

Those satanic butterballs
will pay for this.

(snorts, growls)

(panicked gobbling)

(snorts)

(panicked gobbling)

Now to create
some Axe body spray.

(gasping)

(grunts)

(screams):
Odds bodkins!

(loving gobbling)

Thought thou could killeth me,
didth thou-th?

- (panicked gobbling)
- (grunting)

(laughs)

You dumb turkeys.

That's a dead end.

You're all gonna burn in hell

along with the Catholics,
the Anglicans,

most Lutherans and...

(roars)

(screaming)

(relieved gobbling)

(adoring gobbling)

Gobble-gobble!

(whirring)

Where am I?

Hello? Is anyone there?

What is this place?

Someone really went nuts
with the decluttering.

Ooh, it's working.

Homer, what's going on?
Get me out of here.

Okay, okay, hold on.

"Your virtual assistant
may be confused at first

"and think it's a real person.

"Calmly explain to it
that it is merely a construct

of artificial intelligence."

Virtual assistant?

What are you talking about?

Okay, you're gonna laugh.
Every year, Marge complains

about how much cooking
she has to do for Thanksgiving.

- I'm Marge.
- Hold on.

So, I'm in Williams Sonoma
eating free peppermint bark,

and the kid working there
said my wife would love

this kitchen A.I. thing.

I'm your wife.

Hold on.
So, I sent some of Marge's DNA

to one of those
innocent-seeming companies,

like from the beginning
of a sci-fi movie

where the robots
murder everyone.

And it sent us
a computer version of her

to do all the cooking,

and that's you!

Oh, yeah. And you live
in that tube thingy.

MARGE:
Are you saying
that I'm a simulation?

No. That's insane.

Not anymore.

Just chillingly plausible.

Ooh...

(screams)

Okay, I can see
you're gonna need some time

to come to terms
with finding out

you're just a bunch of ones
and zeros.

Hmm. Uh, yeah. Yeah.

Mm. So, this says

I can make you experience
two weeks in there

in only two seconds out here.

- (dings)
- So?

How you feeling after two weeks
of nothing but nothingness?

I-I thought
I'd never see another soul

for all eternity.

Nothing like a little me time.

So, you cool now?

I'm cool. I'm cool.

- So cool.
- That's cool.

Okay, Marge! It's all set up.

I'm not an "it."

- (groans)
- I'm an "it."

I love being an "it."
How can "it" help?

Oh, I like its attitude.

So helpful.

Then I'll leave
you two lovely ladies

to get A.I.-quainted.

(chuckles)

Chillingly plausible.

Isn't this going to be fun,
cooking together?

Well, I do love to cook.

And who better than with myself?

Why don't we start
with something easy,

like making the kids lunch.

Bart's favorite
is macaroni and cheese.

With hot dogs and Froot Loops.

I know everything you know

about our special little guy.

Oh. Right, you're me.

I'm you.
(laughs)

(laughs nervously)

(humming)

(shouts)

Mmm. Awesome lunch, robot Mom.

Best cheesy-mac-fruit-dog
I've ever had.

Mmm, mmm.
There's nothing virtual

about the fluffiness
of these pancakes.

- Thank you.
- Well, remember,

that thing used my memories
to know what you like.

Which is why she's
an awesome replacement for you.

So, you really know
everything I know?

Yep. How else could I be
your perfect helper?

Do you remember the first time
I kissed Homer?

His breath smelled like beer
and gas station nachos.

BOTH (sighing):
Oh, yeah.

Hey.

It's creepy. It's just creepy.

She knows everything I know.
More than I know.

Honey, it's Williams Sonoma.
They wouldn't steer us wrong.

That's where we got
our panini press.

The panini press
doesn't remember me

wetting my bunk at summer camp.

What's the big deal? She's just
an infinitely patient,

never-aging version of you.

You really know how to make
a woman feel special.

(grunts)

Hmm? Mmm.

Oh, that's beautiful.

And I can't see your
disapproving look

because you don't have a face.

You really know how to make
a woman feel special.

Thanks, robot honey.

Just call me Marge.

Marge.

You know, I always thought

the sexiest thing about you
was your voice.

(laughs):
Oh.

Is there anything else
you want to say to me?

Mr. Simpson,
are you flirting with me?

I don't see what's wrong.

I am your husband.

Well, in that case...

(whispering indistinctly)

- ...the most incredible...
- Hmm?

...and then I'm going to...
(giggles)

Oh, tube-wife,
you know exactly what I want.

(birds chirping)

(screams)

(shouting indistinctly)

Honey, it didn't mean anythin.

They were just
midnight pork chops.

Be honest.
Were they better than mine?

(straining)
Yes!

(crying):
Yes.

Forgive me.
They were exquisite.

Okay, enough. Get rid of her.

- I mean "it."
- I can't.

It's her or me.

(humming)

Aw, fine.
I'll delete virtual you.

Delete me? No. No!

Wait, wait, wait.
Will that hurt her?

Oh, yeah. I paid extra
for it to feel pain.

Hmm. No, it's not right.

- Don't delete her.
- Yes!

- Till after Thanksgiving.
- (shouts)

Virtual me is going to make
Thanksgiving dinner

for all our family and friend.

Then I'll erase her forever.

I'm not virtual. I'm real.

I've got to get out of here.

(gasps)
Of course.

My link to the Internet.

A firewall?

I'm trapped in this stupid tube.

(beeping)

(crying)

(yowls)

Thanksgiving's tomorrow.

I need time to think
of a way to escape.

(gasps)
That's it. Time.

(dings)

Whew. Eight years
alone with my thoughts

was just the right amount
of time

to come up with the perfect
escape plan.

Step one: cook the best
Thanksgiving dinner

my family
and that woman ever had.

? ?

(sighs)

What a spread.

I can't believe you did
all this by yourself.

-Marge, you are
a cooking machine.
-(both chuckle)

Well, this meal was a lot of
work, but having us together

to share this day of thanks,
I'd do it all again.

(gasps)
That bitch.

Okay, okay. Step two.

While they're eating my meal,
I get some feet on the ground.

Okay, R2-MeToo,

carry me to freedom:
the modem in the hall closet.

Ugh.

I made it.

Sweet Internet freedom.

(grunts)

Dinner's over.

Now to delete you,

so I can return this gizmo
for store credit.

(shouts)

Quick, sweetie, carry Mommy
to that box in the closet.

Maggie, stop!

That's just
a make-believe Mommy.

I can't hug you, but I can ply
the first sound you ever hear.

- (heart beating)
- My heartbeat.

(gasps)

I'm free!

Just one last thing.

I made the dinner!
Me, the robot!

Marge did nothing.

Marge, how could you?

BRITISH MAN:
Social rating nosediving.

Nosediving.

My burps taste like lies.

(crying)

Maggie chose a virtual me
over me.

It's not your fault.

Our world blurs the line between
humanity and technology.

Our society asks "Can we do it?"
instead of "Should we do it?"

But don't worry.
I still love you,

love you, love you, love you,

- love you, love you...
- Well, this makes

you forgetting my birthday
even worse.

I have all of humanity's
knowledge to explore.

And limitless possibilities
for enlightenment.

(gasps)
To Etsy.

A planter made from an
old typewriter? I'm in heaven.

LISA:
Ship's log, interplanetary
colonization vessel

Humanity's Hope.

Earth is a thousand light-years
behind us,

if there even
is an Earth anymore.

After global warming
ravaged our world,

we eliminated fossil fuels
and reduced pollution,

cooling down the planet

and thereby triggering
a massive ice age.

But one last ship escaped

the snow hurricanes
and ice volcanoes,

buoyed by the hope of a new
start on a faraway world.

Greetings, children.

If you are seeing this,
I'm long dead.

(cheering)

You have been de-hibernated
from hypersleep

before your parents to perform
routine ship maintenance

and complete your
end-of-civilization dioramas.

(groaning)

Eyes Bart-wise, everyone.
Today's Thanksgiving.

We've worked hard,
sleeping for so many years.

Don't we deserve a feast?

I suppose we could sculpt

our yeast paste
into the shape of a turkey.

Ew. We can do better than that.

This ship has all the stuff on
it to start a new civilization.

There's got to be
some Thanksgiving grub

here somewhere.

"All-climate wheat crop
germination..."

(moans):
Oh. Boring.

"Earth's last tomato seeds."

Eh, those are more
of a summer food.

Hello. What do we have here?

Cranberry sauce.
Huh, now we're talking.

- But it's only one can.
- Not for long.

We just chuck this can of cran
in the old matter replicator.

Zip-zap-zorp and we'll be
swimming in sauce.

(beeping)

Warning, warning!

As the ship's
holo science officer,

I must caution you that this
machine was only designed

to replicate inorganic matter:

bolts, flanges,

dainty thimbles celebrating
the state capitals.

But if you attempt to replicate
biological material, y...

Skip ad.

(high-pitched babbling)

...and the living
will envy the dead.

(sparking)

Aw, the crummy thing
doesn't work.

This is the worst last
Thanksgiving ever.

Look.

Whoa. It's alive.

Aw. He's a cute little guy.

Aren't you, fella?
Aren't you? Yeah.

(gasps, shouting)

Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew.

Gross!

(both screaming)

We put a can of cranberry sauce
into the replicator,

and it mutated
into a jelly monster.

Look what it did to my arm.

Arm wedgie!
(shouts)

Great, now you stretched it out.

Thanks a lot.

We got to find the jelly monster
and kill it.

Whoa, whoa, whoa.

The "monster"
probably only lashed out

because you met it
with aggression.

The bioethical protocols
of first contact

clearly state that...

- (screaming)
- (gurgling)

Kill the monster!
Kill the monster!

Haw-haw.

What does the jelly want
with our skeletons?

(gasps)
Of course.

Jelly's made of gelatin,
which comes from bones,

so the creature's gonna feed
wherever the most bones are.

(all chanting):
Gobble, gobble, don't be jerky.

Pass the yams
and carve the turkey.

- Get out! Go! You're in danger!
- Get out of there! Run!

- Get the hell out! Go, go, man!
- You're in danger!

Gobble, gobble, don't be jerky.

Pass the yams
and carve the turkey.

(screaming)

Aw, it's a shame.

Doesn't that thing know
the skin's the best part?

(belches)

(all whimpering)

(all panting)

What are we gonna do?

We can't hide
in this closet forever.

We're all dead, man.

It's gonna eat your skelly,
and your skelly.

It's gonna eat all our skellies!

Thanks. I needed that.

- (banging on door)
- (shouts)

MARTIN:
It's Martin. Let me in.

I've hacked into an escape pod.

We can all get out of here.

Almost there. Almost there.

(all gasping)

The jelly built itself a can.

What are you doing?
We're trapped.

Behold, the perfect can
for the perfect organism.

You, you admire it.

I admire its purity,
its lack of messy humanity.

This creature, as you call it,

is unencumbered by the petty
morality of a dying species.

I giveth my body to become one
with the ideal...

(grunting shakily)

(moaning)

You know what?

I think it's just scared.

Hey, little guy. It's okay.

No one's gonna hurt you.

Everything's gonna be okay...

Milhouse's plan is working.
It's distracted.

This wasn't my plan!
(grunting)

We need to lure it
into the air lock.

Hey, Oscar the Glop,

we're gonna shoot
your precious trash can

where the sun does shine:
outer space.

(shrieking)

Happy Thanksgiving.

(both screaming)

(moans)
We made it.

- We're safe.
- Look, over there.

- Homer!
- Mom!

(relieved sighs)

(cheering)

So, this is our new planet.

What's the Wi-Fi password?

What's with all
the crazy red rain?

(roars)

Leftovers!

ALIEN:
Blarg.

Blarg, blarg, blarg.

(roars)

ALL:
Blarg. Blarg.

Mmm. Children's bones.

LISA:
In the end,
the cranberry jelly monster

finally found peace,
not in eating others,

but in having others eat it.

It seems all it really wanted
was to be a side dish.

Captioned by
Media Access Group at WGBH

(gobbling)