All language subtitles for The Simpsons - 33x22 - Poorhouse Rock.WEB.HULU.en

Mmm, cookies.

They're not cookies,
they're biscuits.

That's British for cookies.

And they're not for you
or you or you.

Or you or you. Not you.

Not for you.

These treats are for my lady friends.

They're coming over to watch
a very classy

historical British
streaming show,

and none of you are invited.

Cor blimey.

Now here's a distraction
for each of you.

I downloaded you a podcast
about beers

that you don't hear
much about anymore.

Ooh, there's a whole episode
about I öwenbr äu.

If no one minds,
I brought a few beverages

to lubricate the evening.

- Me, too. - Same.
- Way ahead of you.

So what the hell are we
waiting for?

Let's dial up the Netflix.

I've got Helen Lovejoy's
password.

She came to live with us
when she and the Reverend

were taking a break.

She swore me to secrecy
about that, but whoops.

The Springfield ladies had

a marvelous time
journeying back to an era

when England was filled with
eligible young ladies in corsets

courted by hot,
multiracial dudes

with rock-hard abs.

The writing on this show
is amazing.

Oh-ho. Men can have
muscles on their chests now?

The ad in the beer podcast

is an ad for beer.

That is so smart.

I've just swum back from Europe.

We've just won
the Battle of Knicker-bulge.

Let us all doff our clothes
in triumph.

¡Ay, caramba!

Bart, don't watch that.

Now go to bed.

Mmm, looks like the Earl
of Sixpackingham

is showing the whole
walking stick.

Ooh, I'll drink to that.

Honey, what's wrong?

You look like what I see
in the mirror every morning.

Also, a strange blender is
on your nightstand.

I think I drank just

a toonsie-teensy bit too much

with the girls last night.

Marge, you need to take
a long look at yourself.

We can't be a two-hangover
household. We just can't.

I'm sorry, sweetie,
but I just don't think

I can go to church
this morning.

Oh, my...
Aw...

No church? Oh, no.

Well, I guess I'll have
to find another way

to spend my Sunday.

Mmm, chest chips.

I meant you'll have to
take the kids to church

- on your own.
- D'oh!

Aw, it's not fair.

I always go to church hungover.

It's always the committed
drinkers who get punished.

Boozehounds just can't
catch a break.

You know, hymns like that

make God come off
a little thirsty.

Now I'd like to invite
our littlest angels

to head to Sunday school
with Mrs. Lovejoy.

Try spending a weekend with her
in the Wisconsin Dells.

This week's
Junior Jesus Jamboree topic

is "Honor Thy Mother
and Father."

- Who would like to go first?
- Oh! Oh!

Sunday school presentations
don't affect my grades

and won't help me
get into college,

and I'm not even
a practicing Christian,

but I still have
a sick need to excel,

so pick me! Pick me! Pick me!

I think we'll start with... Hmm.

Bart Simpson.
Oh, but I'm guessing

you forgot all about
your presentation.

You know, Helen,
for a woman of faith,

you have so little of it in me.

For this assignment,
I was born ready.

Well,

it's not hard
to honor my mother.

Marge is a class act
all the way.

As for my father, well,
with a dad

like Homer Simpson,
how could I not honor him?

He's so hardworking
and dignified.

And he carries himself
with such class and panache.

Mascot, oh, goes for the kiss

and, oh, he goes into the
proposal with the bouquet.

Tosses it away
and he faints out of love,

and the big, fat guy
is having none of it

and he's giving chase.

- The fat guy is on the field.
- Come here, you.

And the Freak is running away,

and he's using the players
as obstacles.

And now he's smashing his...

You know something,
that's just not right.

Sweetie, do your thing.

Baby coming through.
Crying now and pooping soon.

As you can see,
wherever my dad goes,

people cheer.

Look, if you didn't want me
to pee in a cup,

then the movie
should have commercials.

Whiz break!
Whiz break! Whiz break!

Get him out of here.

In conclusion, I honor my father

because he is
not not not not a loser.

One, two, three, four.

That's an even number of nots.

He thinks I'm a loser.

How dare you show your peers
a supercut of me at my worst?!

Haw-haw!

Haw-haw-haw!

I hate the Welsh,
but I hate you even more!

My son has no respect for me.
He shamed me

in front
of the whole Sunday school.

Even Ralph.
What about all the videos

of me not being a loser?
Where were they?

Oh, boy. It's so sad

that kids just use cameras
for shaming.

We've raised a generation
that only loves fails.

My fails.

At least I have a lady
to rub my face.

Bart's gonna spend the rest
of his life lotioning himself.

Maybe Bart doesn't understand

how hard you work
to provide for this family.

When I was a girl,

my father took me to work
with him one day.

I felt so proud
when I saw him playing pizza

in that antacid commercial.

That's what I should do.

Take Bart to work.

Then he'll be proud of me.

Pizza proud.

Seven, eight and nine.

Watch me work

and be proud, you jerk.

No.

I don't want
to hear your friends

tell me how big I've gotten.

Oh. Well-played, big man.

Larry!
Slap a guest badge on him!

Larry!

And this thing over here
is if the core gets too hot.

I'm all over that.

And this dealie over here
is if the core...

goes missing.

Has that ever happened?

Not on my watch.
And the way you can be sure

is that everyone you know
isn't dead.

Hey, Homer.

Monday morning doughnuts
are here.

Take your pick.

Chocolate frosted? Maple bar?

Better hurry
or you're gonna get plain.

Doughnuts.
Do you have to pay for 'em?

Sure, technically.

It's an honor system.

A pop machine full of free pop.

A TV showing that jerk Dr. Phil.

A poster on how to choke a guy.

I think that's
for after you choke him.

Simpson,

I need that updated spreadsheet

on the hard water
degradation rate.

Watch this.

I told you interns

to spread-date the graduation
on the hard lemonade.

So find out
what I'm talking about

- and get it done!
- Yes, Mr. Simpson.

And you get free markers?
When I get back to school,

I'm gonna go Sistine Chapel
on those toilet stalls.

Why wait?

Here you go, Simpson.

Best part of the job.

You know it, Linda.

Dad, is that your paycheck?

Sure is.

Can I see it?

I'll do you one better.

Give it to me in singles.

Minus
the 8.5% check-cashing fee.

I didn't ask
for your life story.

And here's
what makes it all worthwhile.

You get all that every week?

Every two weeks.

Ah, the laugh of respect.

Oh, my God, is it picture day?

Lisa, quick,
let me fix your hair.

Ow! It's not picture day,

and my hair's not pasta.

I am dressed this way
to honor Dad.

I never thought about it,
but Homer makes enough

to pay for this awesome crib,
two cars,

with enough left over
to fill the freezer

with three kinds
of french fries:

Waffle, curly and steak-cut.

Dad, all these years

I thought you were
just some uncool roommate

that I got stuck with.

Now I realize you're a winner.

And that's why I want to be
a nuclear safety inspector.

Marge, he doesn't
just respect me.

He wants to be me.

What a feeling.

Oh... this must be
how LeBron feels about...

...Bronny.

Just like you, Dad, I can't wait

to live the American dream.

Well, actually...

- What?
- Oh, nothing.

Pew, pew, pew!

I'm a superstar spaceman.

I'm a modern superhero.
I can fly,

but I can't process
my own trauma.

I'm a nuclear safety guy.

I get tons of money
for not blowing the town up.

Well, the thing about that is...

- What?
- Nothing.

Forget I said anything.

Hey, Dad, guess what.

I made a homemade ID badge,
and Larry just waved me in.

Huh. Where is he?

Oh, man, what a gig.

Homer's got it made.

He sure does.

So, you're visiting your old man
at work today?

I sure am. And this sweet job

will be mine someday.

Wha...?

Hate to burst your bubble, kid,

but the kind of job your dad has

- just doesn't exist anymore.
- Why not?

Well, there's no simple answer
to that.

- All right. See you later.
- Bart, come with me

to a magical place
far in the past:

America in the 20th century.

Uh, sure.

But you better not
start singing.

The decline of unions,
rampant corporate greed,

Wall Street malfeasance

and the rise
of shortsighted politics

all contributed to increased
economic inequality,

widespread real unemployment,
wage stagnation,

and a lower standard of living
for millions of Americans.

All right, thanks
for the history lesson, nerds.

But what does any of this
have to do with me?

You see, my dad's still working,

and I want to be just like him.

I'm sure you do.

But there's something else
you need to learn,

and my friend here
is happy to teach you.

Ugh, you.

For days, you've been dying
to say something. Just spill it.

I'll probably just buy
a PlayStation 6.

Okay, so, you're saying
maybe I'll have a tough time

getting a job like my dad's.

No, no, I'm saying

you'll definitely never get
a job like your dad's,

and you'll have a tough time

finding
something significantly worse.

Thanks for the song and dance,

but I think
I'm gonna be just fine.

No. Just... no.

Okay, great.
So I have no options whatsoever.

Smell you later, dude.

Isn't it infuriating?

We'll never live
as well as they did.

Why doesn't anyone do anything
about this?

Well, there's an answer to that,
but it's not one you'll like.

So, as you can see, Bart...

Bart?

Burn it.

"Burn it"? Burn what?

Well, that's up to you.

All I know
is what a janitor knows.

I do enjoy destroying things.

And this tie looks flammable.

Wait, Bart, I meant the system.

Burn it down and then reform it.

It was a metaphor.

Eh. I never learned
what that word means.

- Our education system is also terrible.
- No!

Oh, my God.

Oh, so this is real?

Help!

I want to live
to see the future,

even if it's gonna be
incredibly crappy!

You saved me.

Thanks! By the way,
how good's your pay?

Mom, Dad,
I figured out what I'm gonna do.

I'm gonna be a fireman.

Well, it is true that fire
isn't going anywhere.

- What the hell was that?
- From what I can gather,

a singing janitor
took Bart on a magical journey

through
America's postwar economy.

Also, Lisa was a rapper.

I'm a little concerned that Bart
set his tree house on fire.

It does seem
like an escalation.

Maybe we can use
this opportunity

to upgrade the backyard.

Yeah. We could get a gazebo.

That'd be nice.

I just read through
our homeowners policy.

We're not covered
for musical numbers.

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