My story begins back in nineteen-dickity-two. We had to say ‘dickity’ cause the kaiser had stolen our word ‘twenty’. I chased that rascal to get it back, but gave up after dickity-six miles.— Grampa
Homer: I did it! Second in line, and all I had to do was miss eight days of work.
Homer: Why am I such a loser? Why?
Bart: Well, your father was a loser, and his father, and his father... it's genetic, man. (realizing) D'oh!
Lisa: What's so special about this game anyway? It's just another chapter in the pointless rivalry between Springfield and Shelbyville. They built a mini-mall, so we built a bigger mini-mall. They made the world's largest pizza, so we burnt down their city hall.
Flanders: Oh, I guess it's time for me to duck again.
Homer: No! I want everyone to know that-- (yelling out window) this is Ned Flanders, my friend!
Lenny: What'd he say?
Carl: I dunno. Something about being gay.
Homer: They don't call me "Springfield Fats" just because I'm morbidly obese!
Lisa: Don't worry, Bart. It seems like every week something odd happens to the Simpsons. My advice is to ride it out, make the occasional smart-alec quip, and by next week we'll be back to where we started from, ready for another wacky adventure.
Bart: Aye caramba!
Lisa: That's the spirit.
Flanders: Bless the grocer for this wonderful meat, the middleman who jacked up the price, and let's not forget the humane but determined boys at the slaughterhouse.
Homer: I'd like to propose a toast to the coming together of the Simpsons and Flanders. If this were a more perfect world, we'd all be known as the Flimpsons.
Helen Lovejoy: Well. Ned Flanders is just jealous.
Moe: Aw, the guy's hepped up on goofballs.
Grampa: Let's sacrifice him to our god! Come on, we did it all the time in the thirties.