The Simpsons s03e09 Episode Script

Saturdays of Thunder

##Ahh, the Simpsons ## D'oh! Products you could only imagine before.
The Foam Dome.
TheJet Walker.
Mr.
Sugar Cube.
That baby changed our lives.
I'm actor Troy McClure.
You might remember me from such TV series as Buck Henderson, Union Buster and Troy and Company's Summertime Smile Factory but I'm here to tell you about Spiffy the 21 st century stain remover.
Let's meet the inventor-- Dr.
Nick Riviera.
Thank you, Troy.
Hi, everybody.
Hi, Dr.
Nick.
Troy, I brought with me the gravestone of author and troubled soul, Edgar Allan Poe.
One of our best writers.
Yes, but unfortunately a century of neglect has turned this tombstone into a depressing eyesore.
I guess we're gonna have to throw it away.
Not so fast, Troy.
With one application of Spiffy you'll think the body's still warm.
Ooh! Ahh! ''Quoth the raven--'' What a shine! Ooh! That's one clean tombstone.
- Dad, you got a power drill? - In the garage.
I'm offering three bottles-- enough to clean 1 ,000 tombstones-- for only $39.
95.
Boo! I'm afraid you're gonna have to do better, Doctor.
Yeah, give us a break, Doctor.
But how can I make it lower than $39.
95? Find a way.
I can't find the safety goggles for the power saw.
- If stuff starts flying just turn your head.
- Check.
Okay.
I'll throw in a fourth bottle the applicator glove and a state of Kansas Jell-O mold-- $29.
95.
- D'oh! D'oh! Okay.
Okay, calm down.
Homer, can you get the door? It's my sisters.
- Homer, be nice.
- Okay, I will.
I will.
Coming over here-- Patty, Thelma, what a pleasant surprise! What do you know.
He's wearing pants.
I owe you lunch.
Ugly.
Ugly.
Butch.
What's the matter? Can't you find a hairstyle you like? Hold the phone.
That's the one for me.
- Ed Asner? - No, next to him.
Mary Tyler Moore.
- Mmm.
- Mmm.
- Mmm.
Expiration date,June 1 989 uh, 201 2, yeah.
Homer, are you ordering junk off the TV again? Shh! They'll hear you.
Oh, who's using the power tools? I don't know.
Some guy, I guess.
We're going to the beauty parlor.
You should do something with the kids while I'm gone.
Oh, sure, great idea.
I'd love to.
D'oh! Did you hear that? - Yes.
- How much? - Everything.
- What's the quickest, easiest way to do something with you? Take us to the video store? Anything for my little girl.
Bart! You can't weld with such a little flame.
Stupid kid.
Ooh! McBain.
Mm-mm-mm.
McBain, you keep eating them hot links you never gonna make it to a pension.
- Come on, live a little.
- No, thank you.
I got me a future.
I'm two days away from retirement.
My daughter's graduating from college.
Little Suzie is growing up.
As soon as we nail Mendoza my old lady and I are gonna sail around the world like we always wanted.
We just christened a boat.
Yes, sir, everything is gonna be just perf-- Aaah! Damn, damn, damn.
McBain.
- Yes? - I'm not gonna make it.
Oh, stop talking crazy.
Just do one thing for me.
Get Mendoza.
Mendoza! - You want to rent it, sir? - Why? I just saw the best part.
Ooh.
Death by Knockout, Blood on the Ice.
Ho, ho! Football's Greatest Injuries.
- Lisa, we're going.
- But I can't find Happy Little Allison Tinkly-Winkly Town.
Just grab something.
All these movies are great.
Look at this.
''Test your F.
Q.
-- Fatherhood Quotient.
'' Maybe you should try it on Homer.
He'll fail it.
Uh-huh.
In a second.
Well, I don't know.
Oh, now Henry Winkler, there's a father.
Listen to what he told a close friend.
''I don't always keep my cool like the Fonz but my love for my kids has given me plenty of happy days.
'' Mmm.
They call him the Galloping Gazelle.
His habitat-- the frozen tundra of Soldier Field.
For six seasons and two Pro Bowls he grazed on the tasty green turf of the end zone until one fateful Sunday in November when the Gazelle was stopped in his tracks by a big cat named Wayne Shashefski.
Homie, we're back.
Don't mind that clod, Patty.
You could turn the world on with your smile.
Could you turn off the TV? - There's a test I want you to take.
- Oh, great.
You made me miss Joe Theisman.
This is from the National Fatherhood Institute.
It evaluates your knowledge of your son and rates you as a father.
Oh, Marge.
Question one.
''Name one of your child's friends.
'' Uh, let's see, Bart's friends.
Well, there's the fat kid with the thing.
The little wiener who's always got his hands in his pockets.
They want a name, not a vague description.
Okay.
Hank? Hank? Hank who? - HankJones.
- Homer, you made that up.
Question two.
''Who is your son's hero?'' - Steve McQueen.
- That's your hero.
''Name another dad you talk to about parenting.
'' - Next.
- ''What are your son's hobbies?'' He's always chewing on that phone cord.
- He hasn't done that since he was two.
- Then he has no hobbies.
Oh, really? Maybe you should go out to the garage and see.
Bart.
Bart! - What? - Do you have any hobbies? - No, not really.
- Well, that's what I-- Wait a minute.
What are you doing? - Building a soap box derby racer.
- D'oh! That's a hobby.
Hey, so it is.
Oh, my God.
I don't know jack about my boy.
I'm a bad father.
You're also fat.
I'm also fat! National Fatherhood Institute.
Please hold.
National Fatherhood Institute.
- Dave speaking.
- I'm Homer Simpson.
I just took your test.
I got a zero.
Good Lord! A zero? Lana, cancel my 1 :00.
Mr.
Simpson, we'll send a wood-paneled station wagon over for you immediately.
Hey, Bart, where did you get the lumber? As three-time derby champ Ronnie Beck says ''Poorly guarded construction sites are a gold mine.
'' A conventional design.
Yeah? Are you building a racer, Martin? In between other projects.
If you'll excuse me, I've booked some time at the wind tunnel.
Good-bye, son.
Bart, I think they're finally hauling your dad away.
Maybe it's for the best.
For starters, Mr.
Simpson take this copy of Fatherhood by Bill Cosby.
If he's as smart as he is funny, I'm sold.
If you want to be a good father, you have to spend time with your son.
That's easy for you to say you preachy, egg-headed institute guy.
- How much do you see your son? - Why don't you ask him yourself? - Homer, meet Dave,Jr.
- Huh? How's your research, son? I think we're near a breakthrough.
- Good work.
- Thanks, Dad.
Oh, how I envy you.
That back and forther you witnessed didn't happen overnight.
It took years of effort.
- I've never been afraid of hard work.
- That's the spirit.
Step one-- find an activity to share.
Does the boy have any interests? - What boy? - Your son.
Find something he likes and share in it.
Well, he is building a soap box derby racer! Oh, that would be perfect.
Dear God! Not again! Bart, I'm gonna help you build that racer.
Thanks, but I'm almost done.
- Get back on the couch and watch TV.
- Okay.
No! I'm gonna do it.
Sorry, Dad, but three-time soap box derby champion Ronnie Beck never needed his dad's help.
But you can use me.
I'm good.
I built a lot of things around the house-- the spice rack the bird feeder the Gymboree.
What was that? Ah, who cares? Son, please let me help you.
Come on, Dad.
It would be weird.
This isn't working at all.
It's hopeless.
Wait a second.
Hmm.
''Cosby's first law of intergenerational perversity.
''No matter what you tell your child to do he will always do the opposite.
'' Huh? Don't you get it? You gotta use reverse psychology.
That sounds too complicated.
- Okay, don't use reverse psychology.
- All right, I will.
Son, I don't think you should let me help you.
If you really want to help, clean these paint brushes.
Thank you, Bill Cosby.
You've saved the Simpsons.
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.
Hmm, yeah.
- I like our chances, son.
- Ugh! Your father's not supposed to help build your racer - but you should at least consult him about it.
- D'oh! You're in heat four.
Whoa.
Where's your helmet? Helmets are for wusses.
I can't let you go without a helmet.
He's my son, and if he doesn't wanna wear one, you can't make him.
Okay, fine.
I wanna get out of here sometime today.
Attention, everyone.
To those questioning the value of the space program behold! Ay, caramba! Hey you can't smoke in the pit area.
Fine.
Hey, Simpson where's your losermobile? Losermobile.
Wait a minute.
Uh, it's over there, Nelson.
Whoa, talk about your pieces of crap.
I don't care who wins, as long as one of us beats that guy.
- Same here.
- Careful, boys.
It took me months to steal that bumper.
Help! Help! - What was that? - You didn't hear nothing! - You nervous, son? - Don't worry, Dad.
As three-time soap box derby champion Ronnie Beck says ''Gravity is my copilot.
'' Hey, boss.
Just in case you need it.
Ahh, thanks, guys.
Now get out of here! Oh, I didn't realize this hill was so high.
Could I have another-- Deploy, damn you! Deploy! It hurts! It hurts! Owee! Owee! Owee! Ow! Mm-hmm.
Young man, this stress fracture will require you to be in a cast for six weeks.
That means I can't possibly race.
You're lucky to be alive.
Save your palliative cliches for the next poor sap, Doctor.
Is it okay to visit? Of course.
Hey, man, cool crash.
- Way to cheat death.
- Thanks, Bart.
You had the best stick there.
I wish I could build 'em like you.
That racer transformed me into the twisted creature you see before you.
I'll never race again.
If you don't race, Nelson will win.
Even if I wanted to, I'm in no shape to do it.
Unless-- Bart, will you drive my car? I don't know if I should.
My dad and I built our car together.
If I drove someone else's, it'd kill him.
On the other hand, I'll do it.
We've got a lot of work to do on the car.
I'm pulling you out of school for two weeks-- I don't know how to say this, but I don't wanna drive your car.
It's slow, it's ugly, it handles like a shopping cart.
The car has a few bugs, but we're Team Simpson.
Dad, I love you, but you taught me to win.
- When did I teach you that? - I picked it up somewhere.
If I drive Martin's car, I can win.
- I'm sorry, but-- - No, go ahead, leave me.
- Dad-- - Go on and win.
Go on and win without your dad.
I'll just sit here in Li'l Lightnin' which the Simpsons built and remember that for one brief shining moment I had a son.
Ow.
Ohh! Dad.
Can you take me to Dr.
Hibbert's? Why? What's wrong? I scheduled a tetanus booster.
Maybe I'm being a little anal but barefoot season's coming up and there's a world of rusty nails out there.
Sure, I'll take you, wait with you, worry about you then you'll ride home with someone who has a faster car.
This is how you get your kicks, isn't it, Lisa? D'oh! Martin, your bone is healing nicely.
Tell me something I don't know.
Dr.
Hibbert, Lisa needs a-- You! Home wrecker! Mr.
Simpson, you have every right to be angry.
But rest assured, your son loves you.
You certainly gave that boy the heebie-jeebies.
- Dad, aren't you coming? - No.
- Now, don't pout.
- I'm not pouting.
You are.
You gotta come.
I just got your hat out of the fridge.
- Sorry.
- Don't you have something to say to Bart? [ Homer] No.
Can't think of a thing.
I've always said you were a good father.
I've always defended you when people put you down.
- That's for sure.
- She ain't lying.
But I guess I was wrong.
You are a bad father.
Leave me alone.
Good morning, everybody and welcome to an event that harkens back to the carefree days of the Great Depression-- the soap box derby.
In just minutes these junior Al Unser,Jrs will lock horns.
Huh? ''Name your son's hobbies.
'' Building a soap box racer.
''Name one of your child's friends.
'' Martin.
Martin! I'll curse that name till the day I die! Huh? ''Who is your son's hero?'' Three-time soap box derby champion, Ronnie Beck.
Wow.
I'm one question away from being a perfect father.
''Name another dad you talk to about parenting.
'' - Ohh! - Hey-hey-ho, Simpson.
Shut up, Flanders.
Flanders! Flanders! Flanders.
Uh-- Uh-- When should a boy start dating? - There are two schools of thought on the subject-- - Great! Thanks! I talked to Flanders about parenting! I'm a perfect father! Hold on, son.
I'm a-comin'.
My friend and I have a bet.
Are you Mary Tyler Moore? Ooh! Wow! It really is you.
If she breaks up on you, steer away from the grandstands or you might kill hundreds of innocent spectators.
- What did I just tell you? - Kill spectators.
What is the matter with you? It's my dad-- lying there on the couch drinking a beer, staring at the TV.
I've never seen him like that.
Forget about your father! You're driving for me now.
Do it for your old man, boy.
Simpson, prepare to die.
Let's rock.
Ladies and gentlemen to drop the green flag-- our beloved mayor Diamond Joe Quimby.
To everyone participating today, I salute your vigor.
Check out the rack on the blond in the fourth row.
Go! Go! Go! Go! Ha! Ha! Like the elegant Roman in Judah Ben-Hur these modern charioteers battle ferociously.
No quarter given; none asked.
The world has not seen the likes of this since the French carried Lucky Lindy off on their shoulders from Le Bourget Field.
And now, to present the trophy three-time soap box derby champion, Ronnie Beck.
Congratulations, Bart.
Seeing you out there brought back a lot of memories.
Thanks, Mr.
Beck.
I was alone out there but someone was riding with me in spirit.
This is for you, Dad.
No, son, you earned it.
I might remind you both I did design that racer.
The driver is essentially ballast.
The better man won, Simpson.
You can really drive.
Thanks, Nelson.
Put her there.
Ha-ha, ha-ha-ha Loser! Na-na, na-na-na You know, there is such a thing as being a bad winner.
Mom, I never won before.
I may never win again.
Na-na, na-na-na That's my boy.
# Na-na, na-na-na # Na-na, na-na-na Shh!