Looking at that tired old freak has made me realize I’m no spring chicken myself. I can feel death’s clammy hand on my shoulder... wait, that’s my hand.— Grampa
Homer: Two hundred and thirty nine pounds! I'm a whale! Why was I cursed with this weakness for snack treats?
Homer: Hey, what is this! The Spanish Exposition?
Bart: Will you swear not to let another living soul get a copy of this photo?
Bart: Cross you heart and hope to die? ... Stick a needle in your eye? ... Jab a dagger in your thigh? ... Eat a horse manure pie?
Apu: You look familiar, sir. Are you on the television or something?
Homer: Sorry buddy, you've got me confused with Fred Flintstone.
Homer: But where will I sleep?
Marge: My suggestion is you sleep in the filth you created!
Homer: Would a motel be okay?
Barney: If you get hungry in the middle of the night, there's a open beer in the fridge.
Homer: Look Barney, see the row of tiny lights up there? The middle one is my house. Someone must have left the porch light on.
Barney: Hey, that's rough pal. (picks up the phone) Hello, Marge? You left your damn porch light on! Homer isn't made of money you know!
Mr. Burns: Our research indicates that over fifty percent of our power is used by women.
Marge: Homer, you don't even know why you're apologizing.
Homer: Yes, I do. Because I'm hungry, my clothes are smelly, and I'm tired.
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