(laughs)
Massive haul this year.
To candy!
(burps)
Who are you and why do you want our candy?
Your mother is the switch witch--
a sort of tooth fairy dealie.
I take your sugary sweets and I give you healthy items.
This is exactly why kids need a union.
(Bart and Lisa grumbling)
Our fighting men and women overseas.
It's our way of letting them know we're having fun back here.
No sneaking off and eating that candy yourself.
(tires screech)
♪ I've got candy, skip to my Lou ♪
♪ My insulin will spike, that's what it's gonna do ♪
(screams)
(grunting)
What the...?!
(grunting)
I need a helicopter rescue and some cold milk.
DISPATCHER: Copy that, sir.
We'll be there in 20 minutes.
The only sane thing to do is chew off my arm.
Ow! Ow!
I'm not gonna swallow, 'cause I want to save room for candy.
D'oh!
(chewing noisily)
Mm!
I'm really getting the hang of this.
All worth it for candy.
(gasps)
No...!
(scream echoes in distance)
(Bart and Lisa laugh)
HOMER (thinking): Okay, I'm on the floor.
I can't move.
So far, a normal Sunday morning.
Homie, you're paralyzed.
I can't speak!
(sobs) How did this happen?
Last thing I remember,
I was decorating the house for Halloween.
Squeeze, squeeze!
(laughs)
Squeeze, squeeze!
A real spider would get so mad if I did this.
I wonder if this thing has batteries.
(screams) It's alive?!
(hisses)
Hmm. Well, at least I still look good.
Okay, handsome, that's enough primping.
Oh, Marge.
This is the purest love there is: patient, supportive...
Ooh, cleavage.
(drooling sigh)
and still remembered among us..."
Oh, my God.
She's still on the first sentence!
Must make her stop.
How to express my...
(farts)
Ew! Dad!
(gasps) Wait a minute.
Can you pass gas at will?
Fart once for no, twice for yes.
(farts twice)
Oh, my God!
(chuckles)
I'll recite the alphabet, and you tell me when to stop.
-A, B, C, D... -(farts)
Okay, first letter: D.
Next letter. A, B, C, D, E...
LISA: "Dearest Marge, though my body
cannot move, my heart still beats and my brain still brains."
-(farts) -"I miss holding you in my arms
more than my butt can say."
that gets me through my darkest hours.
For further communication, I will require more beans.
I love you."
Oh, Homie.
-(quiet fart) -Shh-shh-shh.
Don't say a word.
And I've finally reached a state of serenity and...
(screams)
Another spider!
(giggling)
(alarm ringing)
(all grunt)
He's got the proportionate strength
of a paralyzed spider!
Forget paying for my kid's operation-- I'm out of here!
(farts)
Want to go home and celebrate?
(farts)
Whoo!
FLANDERS: Springfield, my hometown.
Pretty little place.
Although, even the Garden of Eden
could use a nice cleansing rain now and then.
Hey, whiskers. Want to party?
Spend less time on your back and more time on your knees.
Hmm?
Have I lost my back-alley beauty?
Well, those who can't do, teach.
FLANDERS: No more distractions.
I have work to do.
(Dexter theme music playing)
All these years, I thought murder was a sin.
Then I got new instructions from the good Lord Himself
in his favorite language-- English.
VOICE OF GOD: Slay Montgomery Burns and pee in his ashes!
(gasps)
Heavenly Father, I...
VOICE OF GOD: Quiet, you!
Your next divine whack job is a twofer.
I command you to kill Patty and Selma Bouvier.
Patty and Selma?
Now, on a non-murder- related note,
I want you to find out
what's making that funny noise in Homer Simpson's car.
Then it sounds perfect.
Yes, Lord!
Homer, have you noticed how many of your enemies
have died lately?
Mr. Burns, Sideshow Bob...
You forgot Patty and Selma.
(tires screech)
(descending whistle)
who gave Homer Simpson a cone that had a little air in it.
FLANDERS (sighs): Really?
Come on! God does crazy things!
-Check your Old Testament. -Hey, Dad.
Hey Bart... Uh, I mean, Jesus.
-Yeah! -Yeah!
-Homer Simpson! -(shrieks)
You made a killer out of me!
Yeah, and what are you gonna do about it?
-I'm going to kill you! -(shrieks)
Nothing matters anymore!
I'm goin' down and my hand-basket seats two!
(scoffs) Wake up, Flanders!
There is no Hell, and there is no God.
GOD: Why you little...
(choking)
(gasps)
What happened?!
Uh... Flanders killed Homer.
Get me a coffee!
Yes, sir.
Could this get any worse?
Honey, come back to bed.
-Oh, for cryin' out loud! -(Satan chuckles)
People, you are on the most
inhospitable planet in the galaxy.
Extreme temperatures...
vicious indigenous life forms...
You will now direct your attention to our C.E.O.,
Mr. Krusty the Clown.
We are here on this fakakta planet for one reason:
Hilarium.
Our spies will go planet-side, locate said Hilarium
and contact us so that we may begin extraction.
This is a delicate mission that requires utter loyalty.
I can think of no better candidate
than the resentful guy in the wheelchair who has just arrived.
All strapped in?
Yep.
Now prepare to take an incredible journey across the room!
(whooshing)
Whoa! Check out this bitchin' bod!
Oh, man, if I could just have
five minutes alone with my old bullies...
Hey, avaturd.
Are you guys gonna beat me up?
(grunting and groaning)
(skunk chittering)
(chuckling)
-(groaning) -(zapping)
Oh, maybe I'll just take a taxi.
Where you go? Where you go?
No meter, is cheaper, yeah?
No, thanks.
Suit yourself, you one-eyed bastard.
(grunts)
I am a female!
You don't have to yell!
I am not yelling! This is my seductive voice!
I am called Kamala.
Fool! Every part of this world is alive!
Apologize to sister rock!
Sorry, sister rock.
Now you've murdered our brothers, the flowers!
Thank the Almighty Fungus you are wiser
and cuter than your friend.
Hey, what gives, man?
And now let us touch testicles and mate for life.
So... was it okay?
It was serviceable!
Ah, man, back on Earth we don't have so many moons.
What do you mean, "back on Earth"?
But on Rigel Seven, lack of eye contact and too many details
indicate the telling of truth.
I love you, sugar-slime.
I can't believe I'm getting combat pay for this.
Well done, young man! Our daughter is with child.
Here.
Feel the wonder of one million fetuses!
How do those mountains float?
They don't. They are falling.
Now that Kamala has a slug in the oven,
we must make sure she gets her daily dose of Hilarium.
Halloween is over, which means, America,
it's time to start your Christmas shopping.
Infuse our stagnant economy with dollars you don't really have.
Knitting one sweater for someone costs 27 Americans their jobs.
And don't forget, Christmas is a wonderful time
to take up alcoholism.
When are we doing the Black Swan?
(moans)