Homer: Lisa, you like homework. Could you fill out this form for me?
Lisa: Well, all right. If you'll listen to the poem I just wrote.
Homer: D'oh...! Oh, okay.
Lisa: "Meditations on Turning Eight", by Lisa Simpson. [reads] "I had a cat named Snowball. / She died, she died! / Mom said she was sleeping. / She lied, she lied! / Why oh why is my cat dead? / Couldn't that Chrysler hit me instead? / I had a hamster named Snuffy. / He died--"
Homer: Stupid family going to stupid Flanders' stupid barbecue. What if they got back and I was dead from not eating? Then they'd be sorry. They'd say, "Oh no, why did we go to Flanders barbecue? Why did we leave Homer all alone without any food?" And I'd be laughing. Laughing from my grave. Heh heh heh.
Mr. Burns: [using a left-handed can opener] The worm has turned, has it not, my tin-plated friend? Look at you! You were once so proud. Now feel the wrath of the left hand of Burns!
Mr. Burns: Quit complaining! This way I don't have to waste money on morphine! Well Smithers, you were right, he was not dead. I guess I owe you a Coke after all. And as for you, you clinking, clattering cacophany of colligenous cog and camshifts, take that! [Mr. Burns kicks the robot, which tips and looms over him.]
Smithers: Run, sir!
[The robot lands on Mr. Burns, crushing him save for his head.]
Mr. Burns: Every bone in my body broken... vital organs leaking fluid... slight headache... loss of appetite...Smithers, I'm going to die.
Smithers: No sir! Is there anything I can do?
Mr. Burns: We have one chance. Go to my office. Second drawer...there is some ether...
[Homer awakens, then walks into bathroom to remind himself that it was only a nightmare. When he closes the medicine cabinet, he sees Mr. Burns' head grafted onto him.]
Mr. Burns: Perhaps you're wondering why you have two heads. Well my body was crushed, so my head was grafted onto your, shall we say, ample frame.
Homer: [hyperventilating] I didn't wake up! It's all a dream! It's just a dream!
Mr. Burns: Oh that's right! It's all a dream! Or is it? [laughs evilly]
[Screen fades to black as creepy music plays, then the scene resumes with the normal Simpsons music; looking like a canonical episode.]
Narrator: Next week, on "The Simpsons":
Lisa: Don't forget Dad, tonight my class is having an all-you-can-eat spaghetti dinner.
Mr. Burns: But Homer, tonight's our meeting for Queen Beatrix of the Netherlands.
Homer: You know, Marge, that Bart is a little miracle – his winning smile, his button nose, his fat little stomach, his face alight with wholesome mischief. He reminds me of me before the weight of the world crushed my spirit.
Homer's Brain: Don't you get it? You've got to use reverse psychology.
[Homer and Marge are on TV being interviewed by Kent Brockman.]
Kent Brockman: So, it seems we've all been victims of a cruel hoax, masterminded by a 10-year old hooligan. The time has come for finger-pointing, and most of them are squarely aimed at the boy's parents.
Homer: It's not our fault! We didn't want the boy, he was an accident!
McClure: But remember: we can't tell you how to have a good time. You have to tell us! As I said to Dolores Montenegro in Calling All Quakers: Have it your way, baby! [Exits the picture via a hang glider]
Marge: [picks up phone] Hello, Room Service? I'd like a banana fudge sundae. With whipped cream! And some chocolate chip cheesecake. And a bottle of tequila!
Ned: Alright, that's it, young man! No Bible stories for you tonight!
[Todd runs upstairs crying.]
Maude: Weren't you a little hard on him?
Ned: Well, you knew I had a temper when you married me.
[Homer is still trying to build the doghouse when he accidentally hits his finger with his hammer.]
Homer: Aw, fudge! That's... broken. (steps on a nail) Oh, fiddle-dee-dee! That will require a tetanus shot. I'm not going to swear... but I'm going to KICK THIS DOGHOUSE DOWN!!!
[He starts screaming gibberish and kicking the doghouse. Marge and Lisa arrives with a newly purchased doghouse for Santa's Little Helper from the money in the Swear Jar with an added bonus: Duff Beer for Homer for his commitment in withholding the use of profanity.]
Homer: I can't get your song out of my mind. I haven't felt this way since "Funkytown!" Can I get a copy?
Lurleen: [pointing to her noggin] Sorry, Homer. All my songs are up here: "I'm Basting a Turkey With my Tears," "Don't Look Up my Dress Unless You Mean It," "I'm Sick of Your Lying Lips and False Teeth..."
[Lurleen records a new song]
Lurleen: Oh the bases were empty on the diamond of my heart,
When the coach called me up to the plate,
I'd been swingin', and missin', at lovin' and kissin',
My average was point double oh eight.
So I spit on my hands, knocked the dirt from my spikes,
And pointed right towards center field,
This time I'm hitting a home run,
This time, love is for real.
I'll slide... I'll steal... I'll sacrifice
A lovin' fly for you,
I been slumping all season but now I found a reason,
I struck on a love that is true.
I used to play the field,
I used to be a roamer,
But the season's turning 'round for me now,
I finally bagged me a homer.
That's right, I finally bagged me a Homer.
Studio Manager: Um, Lurleen, we're gonna have to cut you off, we're getting some kind of grinding noise on the track. [cut to Marge grinding her teeth]