The Simpsons s02e03 Episode Script

Treehouse of Horror

Hello, everyone.
You know, Halloween is a strange holiday.
I don't understand it.
Kids worshiping ghosts, pretending to be devils things on TV that are inappropriate for children.
Things like the next half-hour.
Nothing bothers my kids.
But tonight's show, which I wash my hands of, is really scary.
If you have sensitive kids, maybe you should tuck them into bed instead of writing us angry letters.
Thanks for your attention.
Tree House of Horror What a haul this year.
I love Halloween.
Wait a minute.
Let's see what the kids are up to.
And the policeman on the phone said: "We traced the call.
It's coming from the floor below you! Get out!" But it was too late.
End of story.
I heard that in the third grade.
It's not scary.
-Is too.
-Is not.
-Is too.
-Is not.
-Fine! Then you tell one scarier.
-Flashlight, please.
-Here's a story that's scarifying.
-Oh, brother.
I call it, "Bad Dream House.
" -That's all.
Sign here.
-There you are.
-And a dollar for you.
-A buck.
-I'm glad there's a curse here.
-Huh? Well, it's all ours! -I can't believe how cheap it was.
-Motivated seller.
Well, he must have been motivated.
Prime location, 18 rooms, moat.
We shouldn't be able to afford this.
So we got a deal for once.
Quit fighting it.
It just seems too good to be true.
Mom! Bart threw a book at me.
-Did not! -Did too! Get out.
-What on earth was that? -Oh, just the house settling.
This kitchen certainly could use a woman's touch.
-Homer! What's this in the corner? -I don't know.
Looks like a vortex.
A gateway into another dimension.
Ooh, a vortex.
Catch! Hey, pretty slick.
"Quit throwing garbage into our dimension.
" Mom! Dad! Help! Get out! Okay, boy, let's see you talk yourself out of this one.
I can feel an evil presence in here.
-Evil? -Quiet.
You're scaring your mother.
Children, get your coats.
We're leaving right now.
It's only natural there would be things wrong with a home like this.
It's a fixer-upper.
What's the problem? We get some priests-- I won't live in this evil house just to save money.
Don't be so stubborn! We're not talking about a few dollars.
We're talking a few thousand dollars! It's got great high ceilings! Tell you what.
Let's sleep on it.
Okay? -All right.
If anything happens-- -What could happen? They are all against you, Bart.
You must kill them all.
They all must die.
-Are you my conscience? -I'm-- Yes, I am.
The butcher knife, Lisa.
They are all against me.
They all must die.
Oh, Marge.
I'm in the kitchen, Homer.
Die! Die! Everybody die! What's going on out here? -Homer! Bart! Lisa! Maggie! Stop it! -Sorry, Dad.
-Sorry, Bart.
-Sorry, Mom.
We're leaving.
-You said you'd sleep on it.
-I don't care.
This family has had its differences but we've never had knife fights.
I blame this house.
Mom! Dad! Look! -It's an ancient Indian burial ground.
-Man, this place has everything! An ancient Indian what? Mr.
Plott? Homer Simpson here.
When you sold me the house you didn't mention one thing.
You didn't tell me it was built on an Indian burial ground! No, you didn't! That's not my recollection! Yeah? Well, all right.
-He says he mentioned it.
-Let's go, kids.
-Ah, Marge.
-Homer! You will die.
You will die slowly.
Your stomach will swell.
Your intestines will writhe and boil.
Your eyes will burst and some horrible stuff possibly your brains, will start coming out through your nose.
Shush! Shut up! Quit trying to push us around! Stop saying those horrible things and show some manners! Look.
I've never been so angry.
My hands are shaking.
Better than your eyes bursting.
-Do it again.
-What? -Make the walls bleed.
We own you.
Let's see some blood.
-I don't have to entertain you.
-Do it! Do the blood thing.
Come on! Do it! Do it! Do it! Why are you scaring us? To keep us from getting close -and maybe even loving you? -Leave me alone.
Don't talk that way.
-Hey, listen, lady-- -Oh, don't call me lady.
My name is Marge Simpson, and we're not going anywhere.
We're going to have to live together, so you better get used to it.
-Can I think about this? -Sure.
Life with the Simpsons.
What choice do I have? -Wow! -Bitchen! It destroyed itself rather than live with us.
You can't help but feel a little rejected.
-That wasn't scary.
-Oh, yeah? Well, how about this severed finger! Eww! Baby spit! Well, that last story was a warmup for this macabre tale I call: "Hungry Are the Damned.
" -Homer, all these flies.
-Not to worry.
I'll just turn on the trusty bug zapper.
Ooh! That was a big mama.
That should do it.
Man alive, there's nothing better than a hamburger grilled to perfection.
Cool, man! The burgers are getting cold, guys-- Holy moly.
Huh? Greetings, Earthlings.
I am Kang.
Do not be frightened.
We mean you no harm.
-You speak English.
-I'm speaking Rigelian.
By coincidence, our languages are exactly the same.
-What are you gonna do with us? -We're taking you to Rigel Four.
A world of infinite delights to tantalize your senses and challenge your intellect.
To you, we Simpsons are a lower order of life.
We face that prejudice every day, but we are happy on our planet.
We throw ourselves on your mercy.
Please return-- -Dinner! -Get a load of that spread.
Here you go.
Take all you want, but eat all you take.
Thank you, Mr--? To pronounce it correctly, I would have to pull out your tongue.
-Fried shrimp.
-Sloppy joes.
-Smothered pork chops.
-Look! Radish rosettes.
These are hard to make.
They're an advanced race.
Come, Earthlings, eat.
Grow large with food.
Something's not quite right.
The girl's right.
Let's get some applesauce for these pork chops! -What are you looking at, buddy? -Your wife's quite a dish.
It's our pleasure to provide you with entertainment on your journey.
We get over a million channels from the far reaches of the galaxy.
-Do you get HBO? -No.
That's extra.
Here's our achievement in amusement technology.
An electronic version of table tennis.
-Your paddles have been replaced-- -That's just Pong! -Get with the times, man.
-We played that before marriage.
We did build this spaceship.
Anyone that has mastered intergalactic travel, raise your hand.
-All right, then.
Your game is very nice.
-How come you guys never eat? Oh, we wouldn't want to spoil our appetite for the feast when we land on Rigel Four.
-Ooh, a feast.
-Will we be invited? Oh, you'll be at the feast.
I have a feeling you'll be the guests of honor.
-Tell us more about this feast.
-No, eat now.
When we arrive, there will be plenty of time to chew the fat.
Very good, Earth boy.
Excellent, Mr.
This will give the humans the perfect flavor.
Stop! Don't you see what's happening? They're fattening us up so they can eat us! -Lisa.
-Oh, come on, Lisa.
If you don't believe me, look at this book I found.
-She's right.
-You have stopped eating.
Listen, you big stupid space creature! Nobody, but nobody, eats the Simpsons.
-I beg your pardon? -We found your book.
You mean this? It's a harmless cookbook.
It's just a little dusty.
Wait a minute.
Wait, there's still more space dust on here.
-Let me get this straight.
-They thought we would eat them.
-Good God! Is this some kind of joke? -No, they're serious.
Why were you making us eat? Make you eat? We merely provided a banquet and you made pigs of yourselves.
I slaved in the kitchen for days for you people and-- Well, if you wanted to make Serak cry, mission accomplished.
You aren't the only beings who have emotions, you know.
We offered you paradise.
You would have experienced emotions greater than what you call love greater than what you call fun.
You would have been treated like gods and lived forever in beauty.
But, now, because of your distrustful nature, that can never be.
For a superior race, they really rub it in.
There were monsters on that ship, and we were them.
See why we say you're too smart for your own good? -Way to go, Lis.
-Yeah, thanks, Lisa.
Hello, something scary happening.
Hey, it's Halloween.
Put the book away.
For your information, I'm about to read a tale by Edgar Allan Poe.
That's a schoolbook.
-Don't worry, you won't learn anything.
It's called, The Raven.
Once upon a midnight dreary While I pondered Weak and weary Over many a quaint and curious Volume of forgotten lore I nodded, nearly napping Suddenly there came a tapping As of someone gently rapping At my chamber door -Just some visitor-- -I muttered Tapping at my chamber door Only this and nothing more -Are we scared yet? -Bart, he's establishing mood.
Ah, distinctly I remember It is in the bleak December Each dying ember wrought Its ghost on the floor Eagerly I wished The morrow Vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow Sorrow for the lost Lenore Oh, Lenore.
For the rare and radiant maiden Whom angels name Lenore Nameless here For evermore The silken sad uncertain rustling Of each curtain thrilled me Filled me with fantastic terrors Never felt before To still my beating heart I stood repeating A visitor at my chamber door And nothing more My soul grew stronger Hesitating then no longer -Sir-- -Said I Or Madam, truly your Forgiveness I implore I was napping, and you came rapping And so faintly you came tapping Tapping at my chamber door That I scarce was sure I heard you Here I opened Wide the door This better be good.
Darkness there and nothing more You know what's scarier? -What? -Anything! Back into the chamber turning My soul within me burning Soon again I heard tapping Something louder than before -Surely-- -Said I Something at My window lattice Let me see what thereat is And this mystery explore I flung a shutter With a flirt and flutter In stepped a Raven Of the days of yore No obeisance made he Not a minute stayed he Mien of lord or lady Perched above my door Perched upon a bust Just above my door Perched and sat And nothing more -Thy crest be shorn and shaven-- -I said Art sure no craven, ghastly ancient Raven wandering from the nightly shore -Tell me what thy name is-- -Quoth the Raven -Eat my shorts! -He says, "Nevermore.
" -And that's all he'll ever say.
Then methought The air grew denser -Perfumed by some unseen censer -Stupid censer.
Swung by Seraphim Whose foot tinkled on the floor -Wretch-- -I cried God lent thee By angels sent thee Respite from thy Memories of Lenore Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe And forget this lost Lenore -Quoth the Raven-- -Nevermore -Be that word our sign of parting-- -I shrieked up starting Get thee into the tempest And the night's Plutonian shore Leave no black plume as a token Of the lie thy soul hath spoken Leave my loneliness unbroken Quit the bust above my door Take thy beak from out my heart And take thy form from off my door -Quoth the Raven-- -Nevermore Take thy beak from out my heart And take thy form from off my door Quoth the Raven -Nevermore -Why you little-- Come back here, you little raven! Nevermore, nevermore Nevermore The Raven never flitting Still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust Just above my chamber door His eyes have the seeming Of a demon that is dreaming The lamplight o'er him streaming Throws his shadow on the floor My soul from out that shadow That lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted Nevermore Lisa, that wasn't scary.
Not even for a poem.
It was written in 1845.
Maybe people were easier to scare.
Like Friday the 13th Part I.
It's pretty tame by today's standards.
Children, bedtime! I guess I'll have no trouble getting to sleep tonight.
Oh, no, Marge.
Come on, please.
I'm not sleeping with the lights on.
They're just children's stories.
They can't hurt you.
Oh, I hate Halloween!
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