The Simpsons s22e07 Episode Script

How Munched is That Birdie in the Window

(helicopter whirring) (gasps) (school bell ringing) (Barney belches) (whistle blows) (yells) (beeping) (playing the blues) (playing the blues) Ooh! (gunfire) (tires screeching) (horn honking, Grampa shouts) D'oh! (tires screeching) (grunts) (eerie music plays) (zapping) Mm-hmm (thunderous rumbling) Ooh! (grunts) (hisses) D'oh! (electrical crackling) (thunderclap) (shuddering) Oh, don't be scared, boys.
That's just the angels bowling.
(thunderous rumble) (thunderous rumble) (thunderous rumbling) And so The Bloody Hangman, his hair sticky with blood, skittered along the cobblestones, gunk dripping from his one good eye, singing his evil land chantey.
Ker-shaw, ker-shew I'm after you With my bloody noose Strong enough to hang ten moose Ker-shaw, ker-shew ♪ It's just a story ♪ ♪ But it's really true! ♪ (shuddering) MARGE: Homer, are you scaring those kids? No, I'm not! Yes, I am.
The Bloody Hangman walks on his stubby bone feet through the plague-ridden streets of London You said it was Boston.
Did I? Anyway, The Bloody Hangman set to his gory work.
Bodies piled up like those stackable plastic chairs.
Like those chairs in the music room? Possibly! (whimpers) (cackles) (gasps) The Hangman's here! Ker-shaw, ker-shew, my lies have come true! (Homer gasping) Huh.
It's a pigeon.
Aw, the poor guy hurt his wing.
Hey, there's a number on him.
What is it? (gasps) I bet it's a combination to a safe! Or, more likely, the phone number of the bird's owner.
(dialing) Ask about the safe.
No, better yet, act like you know about the safe.
MAN: Hello.
Yes, I believe I have your pigeon, "Raymond Bird," and I need to know how to return him to you.
He's a homing pigeon, girlie.
Why don't you let him fly home? Unless you want to spring for a limo.
Yes, he could fly home, except that he has a broken wing.
Perhaps you and your sarcasm could come to Springfield and retrieve him.
Are you kidding? Wherever I go, 200 birds gotta come with me.
And they all want to sit in the front seat with Daddy.
(dial tone) (sighs) Looks like you're going to have to take care of him, Bart.
Me? Just what in my long, sad history with frogs makes you think I can take care of a bird? (yelps) No, no Listen, don't tell anyone, but I can't stand pigeons! They're like rats with wings! He's crawling on your arm.
(gasps) Oh Okay, maybe he's not so bad.
(giggles) (retches) Oh! No! No! No! Get off! Get off! Get off! Okay, Ray, your wing is healed.
Go on.
Live your life.
Aw, c'mon, man.
Admit it-- you knew this day would come.
(cooing) You and I have shared too many seed bells to just walk away from this.
(cooing) Go ahead, make fun of me.
I lost my heart to a bird.
(half-heartedly): Haw-haw.
Man, you were not into that.
What's wrong? My mom ran off with my birthday clown.
(cooing) (staples clacking) All finished, boy.
That coop looks a little flimsy.
(scoffs) Flimsy? This gentle pat says different.
D'oh! Now that you're officially my bird, let me fill you in on the pecking order around here.
The top dog is me, followed by the top dog, the dog then the cat and then you But don't feel bad.
You're ahead of Milhouse.
C'mon Bart.
How long can you stay mad? I thought your race car was a Transformer! Nothing's one thing anymore! Sorry, man, it's still too soon.
No problem.
I'll just be right behind this fence, whenever you're ready to forgive me.
Now? Do you forgive me now? Now? Now? I'm scared, Bart.
(gunfire) ANNOUNCER: Bored by black and white footage of World War II? Recently uncovered color footage will get you back in the game! Order this DVD now, featuring dictator commentary by Hitler and Mussolini.
And as a special bonus, the story of the carrier pigeon-- the Allies' winged warrior.
General Patton, this bird has a message for you.
There's a bomb in my helmet.
(grunts) Caesar can have his eagle, Alexander the Great his gryphon I'll take the American fighting pigeon any damn day! Wow, Ray, you have hidden talents! Is he good at tic-tac-toe, like that chicken I played, lost to, and ate at the State Fair? No, I was thinking we could use him to send messages back and forth.
Way ahead of you.
(chuckles) Mom, why am I so repulsed by pigeons? It doesn't make any sense.
I'm a member of People for the Ethical Treatment of Amoebas, The League of Women Vultures, the NAAC Porcupines, Kids For Squids, the ACL Unicorns, Clamnesty International and, uh well, those are the best ones.
Sweetie, everyone has an animal they can't stand.
Indiana Jones had snakes, the Grizzly Man had grizzlies, and you know, I'm not crazy about opossums.
Really? Those creepy little claws (shudders) (rustling) Opossum! (stifled groan) Mom, it's just Maggie.
Oh! (chuckles) Aww Who's a possum? You're a possum.
What's that? I'll tell you later.
(groaning) Ooh! What the?! (mutters) (student coughing) All right, I won't ask who sent this note if I can use the bird to send a note of my own.
As long as it means we're not learning.
"Every day since we broke up is the greatest day of my life.
" Is that from Edna? I feel for you, Seymour.
If you ever need a shoulder to lean on, I'm here for you.
, Chalmers and I are doing it"?! She was on the rebound from Willie.
(mutters) Ooh, a carrier pigeon.
Perhaps an update on the siege of Khartoum.
"Do a ballet dance without no clothes on.
" Bad grammar, good advice.
(laughing) I'll catch up with you guys later.
(barking) Hey, Homer, you ever think about racing that bird? You can race pigeons? Hey, if it moves, you can bet on it.
What about the Detroit Lions? Now, now, lay off Detroit.
Them people is living in Mad Max times.
But I was thinking you could enter this bird in the annual Springfield to Shelbyville Birditarod.
Hmm? Hmm.
Me, the patriarch of a bird-racing dynasty.
(fanfare plays) Congratulations, Homer.
Danica Patrick in my thoughts! That's right, Homer.
I'm contractually obligated by my sponsors to appear in random fans' fantasies.
Better not tell Marge about this.
You Brickyard bimbo! (both grunting) (screams) (laughs) Ended that a little too soon.
(grunting) What they don't suspect is that I'm into this.
(grunts) (laughs) Hear that, boy? You're gonna be a racing pigeon.
It's getting a little chilly; I better put a blanket on Ray.
(barks) Whoa! Dad, help! Stupid dog! Let go of that delicious bird! (grunting) (gasps) (sobs): No! (grunts) (gulps) (burps) Come on out, birdie! Follow the sound of (echoing): my voice! It's just as well.
There's no such thing as a Birditarod.
It was just a trick to scam you out of your house.
Good day.
(singing "Taps"): Taps, taps, taps Taps, taps, taps Taps, taps, taps, taps, taps, taps Taps, taps, taps Taps, taps, taps What do you think, Mom? Well, ask your new father.
(horn honking) You haven't earned the right to say that to me.
Dearly beloved, I'd like to open this service with the words of Emily Dickinson: "Hope is the thing with feathers" Oh, stupid dog! (groaning) This funeral just got depressing.
Let's lighten up the mood, boys.
(snapping rhythmically) Gray skies are gonna clear up Put on a happy face Brush off the clouds and cheer up Put on a happy face.
That song does make me feel a little better.
It's from Bye Bye Birdie.
(sobbing) You really don't get it.
(panting) (over TV): The Itchy and Scratchy Show.
Your crimes against the animals have gone before the jury.
We probably should deliberate, but we're kind of in a hurry.
I never met a dog I didn't hate.
(chuckles) Ah, yes.
A little hair of the dog that bit me.
I hope you've learned something here.
(groans) Mr.
and Mrs.
Simpson, Bart has been very sad lately.
We know.
And we're going to do something about it.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no.
Please don't do anything.
Not only have his grades gone up, but the enthusiasm has gone out of his pranks.
I mean, take a look at this.
(Marge groans) (chuckles) If anything, I was wondering if you could make him sadder.
How can you say a thing like that? Marge, listen to the man; he pays Bart's salary.
No, he doesn't.
Why can't you support my gibberish? I'd do it if you were stupid.
Marge, Homer, this marital discord is perfect.
But please, save it for home where your son can see it.
(groans): Oh! (clock ticking) Bart, Santa's Little Helper, come on in.
A shrink that takes kids and pets? Hey, in this economy, I'll even remove tattoos.
Even my tramp stamp? I got the idea from a show where people regret these.
Homie, why don't you study these? (laughs) (sobbing) (gasps) (frightened whimpering) Oh, baby.
Well, what do you know! Oh, come on! So, Marge, what I understand from our phone conversation is you have a very poor service provider.
I bought it because Catherine Zeta-Jones told me to.
What a fool I was.
Secondly, there's been a major breach of trust between Bart and Santa's Little Helper.
Well, he shouldn't kill birds.
It's not right.
That is correct, according to human standards.
But all a dog can do is follow his animal inclinations, right? I guess.
So, Bart, as the one with the larger brain Nicely done, boy.
maybe you can find it in your heart to forgive him.
(growling) See? He's a questionable character.
He used to hang around racetracks, you know.
Bart, could you wait outside? (growling) It's not going to work.
You have to give the dog away.
Are you sure? As sure as I am that I'll be billing you for that torn magazine.
Oh, that's pretty sure.
Subscription rate, right? Newsstand.
(groans) Why is it coming with us? And for once, I'm not talking about Lisa.
It's amazing how I can feel sorry for you and hate you at the same time.
I'm sure there's a German word for it.
We're bringing the dog because we've found him a new home at a farm upstate where he can run and play all day.
You're gonna put him down? No! For once, a pet going to a farm upstate really is going to a farm upstate.
What about all the other pets you told us went to a farm upstate? Hmm.
Backyard, backyard, toilet, ocean, don't know, backyard, Flanders' mailbox, Lenny's freezer, tire fire.
This is where we're ditching the dog? Well, "ditching" is a harsh word.
Enough chitchat.
Time for Operation Dog Dump.
It wasn't really a lot of chitchat.
It was still too much.
We'll take good care of your dog.
I'm sure you will, because you take such good care of your ostriches.
(humming) D'oh.
Maybe we should get going.
Bart, sweetie, would you like to say good-bye? Well, boy, I guess this is it.
We've shared a lot of great memories, like the time we got our picture in the paper with the caption "Who's walking who?" I mailed them the answer, but they never printed it.
(sniffles) But it's not my fault you're leaving, it's yours.
Because you should never, ever kill a bird! Ever! I'd like a moment to myself.
(cell phone ringing) Ooh, unknown caller! (squawks) Hey! All right, you, give me back my phone and nobody gets hurt! (grunts) You said nobody gets hurt! Those were your exact words! (grunting) (whimpers) (squawking) (grunting) (screaming) So, Lisa, do you want an ostrich feather centerpiece? Not really.
Well, we've got to buy something.
(ostrich squawking, Bart screaming) Help! (barking) Kill the bird! (growling) Never kill a bird! Never kill a bird! (whimpering) Why, you little (pained squawking) Pa! You got to see this! Oh, right, I-I forgot.
(pained squawking) (groans): Oh.
More Oxycontin Candy, sweetie? Mm-hmm.
Well, boy, I guess I owe you an apology.
Who's a bird-eating monster? You are! You are! Yes, you are.
Well, Bart learned a lesson, and most important of all, we don't have to stop and pick up dinner.
You do for me.
(Marge groans) (Homer choking) HOMER: Help me! Shh!
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