All language subtitles for The Simpsons - 29x06

D'oh!

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- Sync and corrections by ByDem -
- www.addic7ed.com -

This is Kent Brockman on location

among the good people of Springfield.

Coward!

Because today, we celebrate
beautiful Skyline Park,

a reclamation project
built atop the ruins

of the Springfield Monorail.

Monorail. Monorail. Monorail. Monorail.

No, they're not building a new monorail.

Why not? This one couldn't fail.

Couldn't fail. Couldn't fail.

♪ It's a monstrous creation ♪

♪ Of mass transportation. ♪

Throw me again!

No, we're repurposing
the old monorail track

into a completely new
and original feature

we ripped off from New York:

the Springfield Skypark-Line.

I love this space.

Planters, benches,

solar-powered talking trash cans.

Thank you for the used porn.

Huh?

Uh, okay, uh, do we go, uh,

gut to gut or, uh, butt-butt to nut?

Don't worry, we'll use the bypass board.

Okay, fatsos, suck it in.

- Oh!
- Whoa.

Oh!

I got Homer's sandwich.

I got Wiggum's gun.

And now, to culminate today's events,

let's turn on the electricity

that illuminates
the tiny "no smoking" signs.

Huh? Somehow the track is getting juice!

Yes! Now to put it on power save.

The monorail... it's alive!

I warned you not to...

Ha-ha!

Welcome, senior citizen.

No more Nimoy!

On the positive side,
with this disaster,

we have surpassed Detroit and Kabul

as the world's most unlucky city.

Er, ah, er.

Couldn't you have at least put
little wedges under the wheels?

Er, uh, sorry, sweetheart,
but running a city is

a little more complicated
than getting your nails done.

Don't you worry

your pretty little head about it.

Mr. Mayor, that is so sexist.

Uh-oh, sounds like
someone's girdle is pinching.

Well, now, it's all in fun.

No one respects you ladies more than I.

Now if you wouldn't mind
serving the coffee and cake,

we men can get down to business.

This is the last time I'm doing this.

So I better do it perfectly.

Here you go, Dr. Hibbert.

I can't believe Mayor Quimby
talking down to me like that.

And by the way, women don't
wear girdles anymore.

We wear Spanx and other shapewear.

Tell me about it.

People think we've moved on, but
this world is as sexist as ever.

Thanks, Obama.

What's so great about Quimby anyway?

I could cut a ribbon.

And I could make it curl nicely

using the edge of the giant scissors.

You'd be a great mayor, Mom.

You're organized, you manage the budget,

and thanks to Dad, you're
an expert on the court system.

Fun fact: being a defendant
gets you out of jury duty.

Mom, this is our time.

Wonder Woman showed
that if you're a goddess

with superpowers, there's
no limit to what you can do.

You could be mayor!

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.

A woman prime minister, okay.

Women Ghostbusters, cool.

Woman head of the Federal Reserve,

as far as I'm concerned, what's that?

But a woman mayor?

If Mom becomes mayor,
we can get away with anything.

Help me, Jesus!

Pick a side.

Hey. Where'd everybody go?

Marge, this town is ready for a change.

Quimby has been mayor, like, forever.

You'd think he could lose that sash.

It's like, we know, okay?

All right now, listen.

The key to victory is micro-targeting.

Micro-targeting.

Think of the voters as a pie.

Yes, Homer, someone here said "pie."

I know, "Mmm, pie."

I'm sorry, go on.

Uh, we use data analysis
to divide the pie

into tiny little slivers

and tailor a message
to each micro-group.

You just tell them what they
want to hear until you get 51%.

Then you can govern
like a far-right nut-job.

♪ I'm Marge Simpson ♪

♪ And won't you vote for me? ♪

- ♪ Whatever your obsession is ♪
- _

♪ Is my priority. ♪

I stand with you against revenuers.

Oh, uh, durn revenuers!

Well, you's the new John Galt,
aren't you?

Hey, can you take a picture
with our Ayn Rand scarecrow?

- ♪ From widows to your lunch pail Joes ♪
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- ♪ To vets of foreign wars ♪
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- ♪ There's no single-issue voter ♪
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♪ My campaign will ignore. ♪

Marge, we really appreciate this.

You're the first politician
that's ever met with us weirdos.

What's the biggest issue
you exotic pet owners face?

Keeping our pets from eating each other.

Yes. As the owner of an impala, I...

- Hey, where'd it go?
- Oh, boy.

♪ From soccer moms to mafia dons ♪

♪ I'll give you what you need ♪

♪ I'm Marge Simpson ♪

♪ And won't you vote for me? Yeah! ♪

Why do people assume all I can do

is feed spaghetti to dogs
that want to make out?

What do you want to do?

Carve a little wooden boy
and make him come to life.

Oh.

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Now, for our third and fourth
party candidates,

I regret to say you are just shy
of the polling results required,

so you're excluded from the debate.

Bye-bye.

Mrs. Simpson, you've targeted
small constituencies.

Do you have any proposals
that would appeal

to every Springfielder?

Well, Kent, I am a mom.

And as a mom, I want to help
this town eat its vegetables.

Vegetables, Marge?

As moderator, it's my duty to fact check

that many of them are yucky.

It's a metaphor.

Stinkin' metaphors!

I only trust similes.

I enjoy metaphors.

They're raindrops on the flower
that is the ear.

You put in a "like" or an "as,"

or so help me you are going down.

She's completely cooked.

Unlike the chicken
she brought to the potluck.

Oh, Helen is as bitter as the lemonade

she brought to the potluck.

What a terrible potluck that was.

Why wasn't this a town hall event?

I like to see them
balance on the stools.

You know, my entire life,

that stupid tire fire has been burning.

And it's ruined our town.

I promise, if you elect me,

I'll put that fire out.

No tire fire?

Ooh, just like Zurich.

- Mm.
- Mm.

Mm-hmm!

Is that enough?

And with the last senior citizen
gently reminded

that they cannot vote at IHOP,
the results are now final.

History is made.

Marge Simpson is our new mayor.

The first woman and the second
to pee sitting down.

Marge! Marge! Marge!

Thank you.

Homie, you want to make out
with the mayor?

What? No! Ew!

Oh, you mean you.

Okay.

Now I really wish I'd voted.

Whee! Whee!

Look at me! I'm a public servant!

Woo-hoo!

And so our new mayor
is doing what was unthinkable

in the Quimby Regime: something.

Roll the 'dozers!

Well, sorry,

but I-I can't let you
put me out of business.

You'd ruin the air for the whole
town just to sell knickknacks?

Knickknacks?

They-they may be to you,

but, uh, they put my son
through med school.

He named, um, uh, a-a stammer after me.

You know.

I failed.

I failed on my one promise.

- Oh.
- _

And so, Marge Simpson
is already a failure.

The fastest fall from grace
since Mamie Eisenhower

destroyed a piano store
on inauguration day.

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Hey, Mom, want to get some lunch?

I'd love a lunch break,

but I've got to get
that tire fire out first.

Already neglecting your family,
Madam Mayor?

Why you little!
Don't embarrass your mother!

Guys, guys, stop!

I'm the mayor.

Everything you do reflects on me.

Of course, honey.

It's just hard to restrain yourself

when you're above the law.

We're not above the law.

Oh, yeah, yeah, I get it.

Hmm?
_

I want you to promise me.

Can you both behave like Lisa,
just for a little bit?

"I'm Lisa. I'm Lisa."

"I like music."

"My boyfriend is broccoli."

Hey!

We're here to buy your stand.

Yeah, well, it's not for sale.

All I want to do is help this city,

and I can't because of this ding-dong.

How dare you insult me like that?

I was there!

What? What, what, what, what, what?

Clyde's a Vietnam vet,

a survivor of the Battle of Dhing Dhong.

Thank you.

Than Kyu was his best friend.

Stepped on a land mine in
the battle of One Pun Too Many.

This is not good, Marge. Not good.

Oh.

Marge's beehive of activity has become

a hornet's nest of trouble.

Also, our news broadcasts have
been reduced to two sentences.

Good night.

There's only one way out.

You're gonna have to do a live,

completely unscripted
heart-to-heart with the voters.

- Here's your script.
- I don't want a script.

Are you nuts?

Good evening.

I'm here to talk to you, one-on-one,

just an ordinary mom
sitting in her kitchen.

This is a disaster.

I've seen counterclockwise
knob turning before,

but not like this.

Marge, what time is dinner ready?

I'm in the middle of a speech.

So, 6:00?

You'll get it when you get it.

Wait a minute.
Something's turning them around.

Marge, can you cook
a Hot Pocket in the dryer?

Homer Simpson,

the only time you shut your
mouth is to keep food inside.

That's it.

She's turned a gaffe-making tubby

into a laugh-yielding hubby.

Does that work?

Let's see, the subter-hand is all right.

The math checks out.

I'll be the Kellyanne Conway
of this thing.

Kellyanne Conway?

I like how she always
looks like she just woke up.

I think it's inspiring how now
a woman can be Joseph Goebbels.

Marge, do we have any bread?

Check your chest.

Woo-hoo!

Oh, my God.

Those are the highest approval ratings

I've ever seen for an incumbent: 53%!

Marge, your numbers
are simply fantastic.

And all you had to do was throw
your husband under the bus.

Well, don't tell me you're sad

about throwing your husband
under the bus.

I'm happy if he can fit under a bus.

Zing!

Yeah. Zing.

Mr. Simpson, we're naming
a sandwich after you.

My lifelong dream has come true.

I've got this all planned.

Start with a full Reuben
with all the fixin's.

Put a club sandwich on top.

The bottom bun is, at first glance,

a chicken-fried steak.

But it's worth a closer look, because...

Sir, sir, sir. We've already made it.

The Open-Mouthed Turkey Goofball?

That is so not me.

But I'll take six.

We're honored to have
with us the mayor...

...and First Doofus Homer Simpson.

Homer's made Marge happy more
times than he can count: three!

And we're here for
a very, very serious charity:

Save the Whales.

All right, that's it!

No. That's really why we're here!

I am not a whale!

I am a man with blubber
and several harpoon scars!

What a day for this town.

We've made a deal
with the librarians' union.

Shh.

Homer would've been here,

but he backed out
when he heard the library

didn't have any pop-up books.

Great news, Marge.
You've tapped into something

women and men can agree on:
husbands are idiots.

Yeah, I guess.

While you're guessing,
I'm running with this.

Take a look at the balloon we've made

for the Thanksgiving parade.

I don't care what people say.

My Homie makes one sexy blimp.

I need to talk to somebody.

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Mayor Quimby?

No, just ordinary Diamond Joe.

Uh-oh, I know that look.

That's a mayor on the ropes
or a wife who wants a divorce.

I'm familiar with both.

Er, uh, indeed.

Joe, is it possible to have
a decent family life

and be a good political leader?

Marge, I don't want
to talk about that anymore,

but I'll tell you this:
retirement agrees with me.

The first night out of office,

I noticed a gorgeous woman
lying next to me,

and I said, "Holy crap,
I'm married to her."

Go long, boys.

Er, ah, er, ah, er, ah, er...

Marge, there's no "mayor" in marriage.

There almost is. It's really close.

But I'm afraid not.

Meet you in the boathouse later?

Oh, Marge, I want to thank you

for giving me back my Joseph.

Will you stay?

I just made a giant pitcher of gimlets,

but I can make a second one
if you're staying.

No, I have to get back.

We're christening a new
manhole cover on 4th Street.

So sad.

Can't you stay for a bit?

Uh, we need some help
serving coffee and cake.

I swear this is the last time.

There's more where that came from!

Thank you. I couldn't be here
without my husband.

He's a big supporter.

So big...

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So big, I wish all of you could

know the love in his heart.

Everyone, look inside yourself

and find your Homer Simpson.

Mwah!

It's so beautiful.

We make the magic happen, baby.

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Can we just skip that one?

I would, but you have to walk through it

to get to the cafeteria.

Oh. Okay.

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- Sync and corrections by ByDem -
- www.addic7ed.com -