The Simpsons s37e07 Episode Script

1
The Simpsons ♪
And Moses raised his staff unto the sky,
and the Lord sent forth a mighty
tempest that thundered like
[PIPE ORGAN PLAYS]
Oh, come on now, Alice.
That's a bit much.
Alice!
[ALL GASP]
Today, we hold an assembly
for a dead lady you never met,
because this wonderful, generous woman
has left her entire estate to the school
to fund the new music program.
[GASPS] This is a dream come true.
We can get
Um Uh
I'd like a word.
My name is Joe Quimby III.
Mr. Dahan's homeroom.
I go to this school now.
[NELSON] Welcome, rich kid.
Maybe by "music program",
instead of new instruments,
Mrs. Glick really meant an
epic three-day music festival.
[TECHNO MUSIC PLAYS]
We could get performers
like Little Smelly,
DJ Breakfast, Jupiter Jerks,
the recently reunited G.O.R.M,
and possibly Chunk Mafia!
[NELSON] Chunk it up!
This once-in-a-generation tornado
of fun will become a reality
when I'm elected as your student council
president in next month's election.
- [ALL CLAMORING]
- Absolutely!
No, no. A festival is just one weekend,
but a new music program will produce
timpanists and flautists forever.
We could be lectured by Lisa,
or let's all kick off my son's
campaign with free frozen yogurt!
This isn't what Mrs. Glick wanted!
I've heard of frozen
water and plain yogurt,
but this is extraordinary.
Those Quimbys have
run this town forever,
and they've never had a day
of struggle in their lives!
What's for supper?
I was weeping in the fields
when I found a turnip!
A whole blessed turnip!
A rock?
Wee Joe has the real turnip!
[MOB CLAMORING]
Farewell, Ma and Pa.
In this town, all I shall ever be
is the son of a pig whistler.
I want something more!
- [WHISTLING]
- [GRUNTING] Oink, oink, oink.
[ORCHESTRAL MUSIC PLAYING]
Hmm. Joseph O'Shaughnessy
from Quimby, Ireland.
Never seen an apostrophe in a
name before. Must be a typo.
Welcome to America, Joe Quimby.
[ATMOSPHERIC MUSIC PLAYING]
Someone ought to run against
that rich, little nepo-Quimby.
Someone who cares about the school
with real plans for the future.
Someone like [GASPS] me.
Two votes. That's all you get.
You and Milhouse maybe.
I'm still doing my research.
The only candidate with a chance
against Joe Quimby III would be Bart.
Everyone loves the cis Caucasian
bad boy, and you should see his polling.
Bart's playing well with all the demos,
bullies, nerds, twinks,
by which I mean kids who like Twinkies.
So, I have to get my idiot brother
elected to save the music program?
[GROANS]
Well, I guess
if you wanna win in politics,
you've got to get your hands dirty.
[GRUNTING]
Do we really want to
spend the rest of our days
scavenging through horse
leavings for coins and buttons?
Buck up, Joe.
Being a dunglark is part of
the fast-growing gag economy,
and who else will hire us?
No Irish can be a foot-post,
a beetler, a bodger, a coal heaver,
a garthman, a hello girl,
a loblolly boy,
a propbobby,
or even a lowly scrimshander.
Well, at least we can watch
the Saint Patrick's Day parade.
["THE WIND THAT SHAKES
THE BARLEY" PLAYING]
Hey, this is a respectable parade.
Oh, there's Spanucci,
the barrel king of Slobtown.
Ooh. He looks like a good man.
Perhaps he'll give me a job.
Ha! I'd never hire an Irish!
Farewell, you slightly
different kind of Catholic dog.
- [TRADITIONAL IRISH MUSIC PLAYING]
-
[KEYS JINGLING]
Oh, hello, Celtic scum.
What are you carrying?
I made you a corned beef sandwich.
[CHOKING]
Needs mustard. [CHOKES]
[REPORTER] After the accidental
choking death of Rigatoni Spanucci,
a will found on his body states
he's bequeathed his barrel factory
to his dearest friend, Joe Quimby.
And bad news for Wall Street means a
windfall for Quimby's new business.
Stockbrokers are losing
the shirts off their backs
and the suits that go with them.
Lucky for them, Quimby's barrels
are there to cover their shame.
Quimby then bet it all to
start his own movie studio.
Here he is at the premiere of his new
hit, barrel-based musical Over the Falls.
Hey, Joe. Stave a seat for me!
[CAMERA SHUTTERS CLICKING]
Joe, you've conquered
so many industries. What's next?
Well, I was thinking of
running for city council.
[ALL LAUGHING]
The Irish barrel monkey
wants to be in politics.
[SCOFFS] Know your place,
you filthy Irish.
[JOURNALISTS LAUGHING]
[GROANS]
Extra, extra.
Barrel Baron's baby about to be born!
Father just hearing it now.
Son, I may be a barrel king
and movie mogul,
but to the people that hold the strings,
I'll always be a dirty Irish dung lark.
Not you.
One day you'll wear these.
[BABBLING, STAMMERING]
Trust me, boy,
you're going to be a winner.
Trust me, Bart,
you're gonna be a winner.
I'm already a winner.
I just got the high score.
Bart, you have to run for president.
Somebody's gotta stop little Quimby.
Oh, but I don't wanna be president,
and I'm excited for that music festival.
He's getting the Chunk Mafia.
Chunk, chunk it up.
[PANTING] Are you guys chunking it up?
[TECHNO MUSIC PLAYING]
- Chunk it up. Chunk it up.
- Chunk it up. Chunk it up.
[BOTH BEATBOXING]
Chunk it up.
But, Bart, if you run for president
and win, it'll drive Skinner crazy.
Huh? Chunk it up.
[MUSIC CONTINUES, ENDS]
A cherry bomb in every toilet
and a beehive in Skinner's car.
[SKINNER] They're in my ears!
And we'll save Lisa's
stupid music program.
- No! [MUFFLED SCREAM]
- [BEES BUZZING]
[NARRATOR] Can our school risk a
president whose name rhymes with fart?
Six, five.
[NARRATOR] Four, three, two, one.
[FARTING]
[NARRATOR] Bart dealt it,
but you don't need to smelt it.
Next Thursday, vote Joe Quimby III.
He's killing us on the
Bart-fart rhyme angle.
This is exactly what
took down Kevin Kiarrhea.
[ALL GROAN]
Hold on. Hold on.
If they're gonna fight dirty, so can we.
With exhaustive negative
opposition research.
The Quimbys have had so many scandals,
and nothing has stopped them.
From bootlegging to barrel
shaving and so much philandering.
Also, how many bridges
can one family drive off?
Ugh, just keep microfiche-ing.
Fiche, fiche, fiche,
fiche [SOFTLY] fiche, fiche.
Wait a second. Bouvier?
That woman who married Mayor
Quimby looks a little like Mom
[GASPS] And that flower girl is Mom.
Yeah, that's me in the picture [GRUNTING]
and the bride is my aunt Beatrice,
and I don't want to talk about it.
Uh, okay, but I just have
a couple more questions.
Sorry, I can't hear you!
I think a fork fell in.
[CLINKING]
I'm not afraid to tell
you the hard truth.
The rich deserve tax breaks for yachts
and LeRoy Neiman paintings
and fancy dinners like this one.
[CHEERING]
[RATTLING]
Terrific speech, Son.
You've grown up to make me, your mother,
and my five mistresses very proud.
Uh [SIGHS]
Oh, Donkey Kong Junior.
Maybe we'll both live
up to the expectations
of our barrel-cursed fathers.
You're blowing your chance to do real
good for the people of Springfield.
Who the hell are you?
Beatrice Bouvier.
I get coffee for the
person who gets you coffee.
Look, your family money and
your pretty-boy good looks
aren't going to win you this election.
You, uh, think I'm pretty?
You can make a real difference,
but oh, no,
you just wanna please your rich daddy
and his lobster rattling friends.
Hmm. Who am I kidding?
The first casualty of politics is hope.
I quit.
Don't leave, you lippy dame!
If you want me to stay,
you have to hit the real neighborhoods
and meet the people you'll be serving.
Okay, but you're driving.
There's a, uh,
lot of bridges between here and there.
[TRADITIONAL IRISH MUSIC PLAYING]
This is Slobtown.
The working-class heart of Springfield.
Ugh. My father left this
neighborhood as soon as he could.
Ugh. What is that?
That's a Slobtown meat cone.
A waffle cone full of beef stew.
Ugh, these people are animals.
Thank God they don't get to vote.
They do, and the cone allows
them to hold stew in one hand
while hooping a barrel with the other.
[OOMPAH MUSIC PLAYING]
Oom-pah, oom-pah, slap your son
Oom-pah, oom-pah, lots of fun ♪
My father would sing me
to sleep with this song.
The widow drowned herself in tears
Oom-pah, oom-pah, fun for years ♪
- Hey!
- Hey!
[ALL CHEERING]
I get it now.
Politics is about improving
the lot of working folks.
Beatrice,
will you be my campaign manager?
Will you promise to be the
best version of yourself?
You're the first person
I've never wanted to lie to,
so I'm not lying when I say yes.
I may be a lemon pelted simpleton,
but this feels like real growth.
Elect me,
and we'll have more money for parks,
education, and inspiring murals of
ethnically diverse children getting along.
[ALL CHEERING]
Meat cones for both of you on the house.
Would you like a napkin?
No, because it ain't a Slobtown
meat cone unless you're wearing it.
[ALL CHEERING]
As E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial said,
we "phoned home" with a message of hope,
and the voters told us we have
the "Eye of the Tiger".
[CROWD CHEERING]
You've always vetted my policy
proposals, but this one's all my own.
Beatrice Bouvier, will you, uh
[STAMMERS]
Yes, yes. A thousand focus groups, yes!
[CHEERING]
[BART] Are you tired of
band-aids in the Jell-O?
[FARTS]
[BART] Playground slides
with exposed bolts?
[FARTS]
[BART] And entitled rich kids
trying to run our school?
[FARTS]
[BART] It's 3 a.m. Whose
finger do you pull?
Next Tuesday,
vote Bart "The Fart" Simpson.
Dude, way to flip the fart narrative.
Oh, genius ad, Lisa.
And get this, in the school paper's
poll of four-square players,
you're tied with Quimby two to two.
It's weird,
but it turns out I love popularity.
Excuse me, I got a rope of
kindergartners begging for the Fart Man.
[ALL CHUCKLING]
Do you, Joe Quimby Junior,
take Beatrice Bouvier to be
your lawfully wedded wife?
Yes, I do, and there's no ums,
uhs, or ahs about it.
I now pronounce you man and wife.
You may kiss the bride.
[ALL CHEERING]
Joe, your father wants to talk to you.
Marrying a slobtown girl
will help us with the unions.
Smart move, Son.
I married her because I love her.
Never say that on the record.
Now, there's one thing your image needs.
What? Mistresses?
Uh [STAMMERS] My dad
says being a philanderer
is an essential part of my
hyper-masculine political image,
but don't worry,
I told him I would never cheat on you.
Oh, thank God.
He'll be happy as long as
the press catches me in bed
naked with many, many sexy ladies,
but I will commit
neither hanky nor panky.
So you'll respect me privately,
but humiliate me publicly?
I don't have a choice.
I'm sorry, but whatever my father wants,
my father gets.
Oh. You broke my heart, Joe Quimby.
[SOBBING]
Are you going off to
your magical castle?
Princesses aren't real,
and there is no happily ever after.
[SOBBING]
[PENSIVE MUSIC PLAYING]
[ORCHESTRAL MUSIC PLAYING]
Let's check the lunchroom map.
It all comes down to the
girls who sniff Sharpies
and that sad boy who's
always throwing up.
Uh, I'm hearing all the votes are in,
and we can now call the
election for Joseph Quimby III.
They rejected my music program.
Oh, who cares? They rejected me.
[STUDENTS] Joe, Joe, Joe, Joe.
Failure music, please.
[MELANCHOLY MUSIC PLAYING]
And that's the best they'll ever sound.
I need to talk to you.
I thought you did an amazing
job on Bart's campaign.
The way you linked me to
chocolate milk inflation?
Negative, unfair,
and I wish I'd thought of it.
Compliment noted.
Lisa, my father
has endless plans for me,
and now those plans include
having you on my team.
Why would I work for you?
You deep faked a picture of
my brother picking his nose.
That wasn't a deep fake.
[GROANS] That makes sense.
My father wants you,
and whatever my father wants,
my father gets.
I need your answer by Monday at recess.
Don't sweat this decision too much.
Just remember, it's all just a game.
[SLURPS]
[SIGHS] It's all just a game.
You spend your whole life chasing
sashes, and then it's over.
Mr. Mayor,
something amazing has happened.
Beatrice came back?
No, you forgot about
your televised debate.
It starts in five minutes.
Oh, right. I'm running for governor now.
Mr. Mayor, some critics say you're
skating by on your family money
and pretty-boy good looks.
How do you respond?
I say I love you, Beatrice,
and I'm so sorry I hurt you.
I want the voters to know
I'm not having sex with an
endless parade of nubile beauties.
I only want to have routine, reliable
intercourse with the woman I love,
and even then [SOBS]
not that frequently.
If he can't even cheat on his wife,
how can he repave our highways?
I say we turn on him.
[CROWD MEMBERS CLAMORING] Yeah!
[CROWD MEMBER] He's a wuss.
Dad, other than that last question, uh,
how do you think I did in the debate?
I stole the family turnip.
I left the land of my birth.
I killed a man with a
corned beef sandwich.
[INHALES SHARPLY] All to make
our name in this country.
[BREATHING HEAVILY]
Okay, all pretty positive so far.
But you've ruined all that.
[BREATHING HEAVILY] You'll never be
more than the mayor of a two-bit town.
You're a failure,
and you've forever brought
shame to the Quimby name.
[GASPING]
- [CHOKING]
- [MONITOR FLATLINES]
[SOBBING, STAMMERING]
Oh, if there was only a way
to, uh, make this right.
Have a son and raise him
to succeed where you failed.
[GASPS]
[TRUCK BEEPING]
Thanks for reaching out, Lisa.
I've only heard about your family
through your aunts, Patty and Selma.
How's your morbidly obese alcoholic father
dealing with his chronic butt fungus?
Um He gets by.
One more question.
Why is your mom just
standing in the doorway?
Because when I was four,
you told me that princesses aren't real,
and there's no happily ever after.
Oh, gosh, did I say that?
Yes, and I wasn't ready to hear that
my dreams would never come true.
[GASPS] And that's why
I married the first
I love your dad. Great guy.
Marge, I'm so sorry, but you
should know what happened that day.
I had just found out that the
love of my life betrayed me.
I never saw him again
or ate meat out of a cone.
[GASPS] Oh.
He chose his father's ambitions
over his love for you.
I'm so sorry.
Poor Joe, he never stood
a chance against his dad.
His son wants my help,
and I think I know how to give it to him.
[VIDEO GAME BEEPING]
[LISA] Joe, Joe.
Joe, I finally understand your family,
and I've written the first
speech of your administration.
Oh, I love it.
Let me introduce my son
and your new president,
Joseph Fitzgerald Shriver
Onassis Schlossberg Quimby III.
[STUDENTS APPLAUDING, CHEERING]
Joe, Joe, Joe.
Ever since my grandfather
got rich making barrels,
my family has been
jumping over those barrels
and hitting them with hammers.
But we have never been
able to escape them
because those barrels are filled
with ambition instead of love,
and often they are on fire.
It is true.
I can play this game no longer because
my soul has run out of quarters.
I'm stepping down, but I leave you
in the worthy hands of Bart Simpson.
What up, Springfield?
We did it! Chunk it up.
[ALL] Bart, Bart, Bart!
Sorry, but the school constitution says
that the next in line of succession
is the Chief hall monitor.
That's, uh, Martin Prince.
Suck it, Simpsons,
and I'm saving the music program.
Hit it.
[ATMOSPHERIC MUSIC PLAYING]
I'm sorry I let you down, Father.
[SINGER] Oompah, oompah
Stare at sun ♪
Burn your eyeballs,
lots of fun ♪
I've never been more proud of you.
Bart, we broke a 100-year
cycle of emotional trauma.
So what? History is boring.
Don't they say it just
keeps repeating itself?
Sure, but each time
it's a little different.
Eat some glass, hurts to pass ♪
Oom-pah, oom-pah lots of fun ♪
Hey!
[TECHNO MUSIC PLAYING]
Chunk Mafia.
What? Chunk, chunk ♪
Chunk, chunk, chunk it up
Chunk, chunk ♪
Chunk it up ♪
Chunk, chunk, chunk it up
Chunk, chunk it up ♪
Chunk it up ♪
Chunk, chunk, chunk it up
Chunk, chunk it up ♪
Chunk, chunk ♪
Chunk, chunk, chunk it up
Chunk, chunk it up ♪
Chunk, chunk, chunk, chunk,
chunk, chunk Chunk it up ♪
[MUSIC ENDS]
Shh!