jamesliu23/simpsons · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 7 697
We got money!
Now just a darn...
This is Bill Pie your pie in the sky saying goodbye.
Well, Maggie, it's just you and me again.
This is K-B-B-L. K-Babble. All talk, twenty-four hours a day. If you'd like to share your embarrassing problem with our listening audience, we invite you to call our therapist of the airwaves, Dr. Marvin Monroe. Our number is 555-PAIN.
Don't be afraid! Call now!
Hello, I'd like to talk to Dr. Monroe.
First name, age, problem.
I'm Marge, thirty-four, and my problem is my husband. He doesn't listen to me. He doesn't appreciate me. I don't know how much more of this I can --
Hey, lady! Save your whining for when you're on the air, okay?
Marge. She's thirty-four, and trapped in a loveless sham of a marriage.
Hey, turn it up. I love hearing those whack-os.
Tell me about your husband, Marge.
Well. When we were dating he was sweeter, and more romantic, and forty pounds thinner, and he had hair, and he ate with utensils.
What was that last thing you said?
Hey, isn't that your wife, Homer?
Don't be ridiculous. My wife worships the ground I walk on.
Marge, I-it's what I call harsh reality time.
Your husband sees you as nothing.
Oh. Okay, well thank you.
No, no, don't hang up! The pig has made you into his mother. You are not the hot love object you deserve to be.
Really?
I'm as sure of it as I'm sure my voice is annoying. Marge, tonight, the second he comes through that front door, you've got to tell him you're fed up. And if he doesn't start loving, you'll be leaving.
Leave Homer?
Please. Don't use his real name.
Leave Pedro?
Can you be that honest, Marge?
You'll tell him right when he comes home from work?
Say it like you mean it.
Atta girl!
Oh, come on, Bart, not again.
Aw, where's your sense of humor?
Moe's Tavern.
Hello, is Al there?
Phone call for Al. Al Koholic. Is there an Al Koholic here?
Wait a minute... Listen, you little yellow-belly rat jackass, if I ever find out who you are, I'll kill ya!
I hope you do find that punk someday, Moe. Fill 'er up.
Is everything okay, Homer? Usually you have a quick one, some peanuts, a hunka beef jerky, a couple pickled eggs and you're outta here.
Let's just say, I don't feel like goin' home tonight. Jar, please.
Hey, you can level with me. You got a domestic situation?
You might say that. My wife's gonna leave me 'cause she thinks I'm a pig.
Marge is right. You are a pig. You can ask anyone in this bar.
What? Hey, Barney, am I a pig?
You're no more of a pig than I am.
Oh, no.
See? You're a pig. Barney's a pig. Larry's a pig. We're all pigs. Except for one difference. Once in a while, we can crawl out of the slop, hose ourselves off, and act like human beings. Homer, buy your wife some flowers and take her out for a night on the town. Candles, tablecloth, the whole nine yards.
Gee, a romantic evening. Nah, she's too smart to fall for that.
I'm not done. After dinner, the two of you are going to check into the fanciest motel in town, and not check out until the next morning. If you get my drift.
I read you loud and clear.
Wow, a quarter past six. What's keeping Dad?
Yeah, who'd possibly be late on meat loaf night?
Uh... I'd like some flowers.
What kind of flowers?
Uh, you know, pretty ones. Like that.
Well, we have some beautiful long stemmed roses. They're fifty-five dollars a dozen.
One, please.
Hey, Mom.
How 'bout some grub?
Your husband sees you as nothing... as nothing... as nothing...
The pig has made you into his mother... made you into his mother... into his mother...
You are not the hot love object you deserve you deserve to be... you deserve to be... you deserve to be...
If he doesn't start loving, you're leaving... leaving... leaving...
Marge, I uh... love you. Marge, honey, I love you. Ohhh... Marge, I love you, baby. Hmm, Marge, sweetie, hooney, honey... Aah, this'll never work.
I love you, Marjorie.
Oh, Homer.
I love you, too.
A little pre-dinner entertainment...
Moe's Tavern.
Is Oliver there?
Oliver Klozoff.
Hold on, I'll check.
Oliver Klozoff! Call for Oliver Klozoff.
...and I've made reservations at the Chez Paree.
But, Homer, it's so expensive.
It matters not, mon frere. And after desserts, we'll adjourn to our second-floor room at the Off Ramp Inn.
Oh, oh, Homer. I feel giddy. Wait, what about a babysitter?
Not to worry.
Listen, you lousy bum, if I ever get hold of you, I swear, I'll cut your belly open!
Goodness, must be a crossed wire.
Rubber Baby Buggy Bumper Babysitting Service.
This is Marge Simpson. I'd like a babysitter for the evening.
Wait a minute... The Simpsons?
Lady, you gotta be kidding.
Rubber Baby Buggy Bumper Babysitting Service.
Hello, this is Mr... Sampson.
Did your wife just call a second ago?
No. I said Sampson, not Simpson.
Thank God. Those Simpsons. What a bunch of savages. Especially that big ape father.
Actually, the Simpsons are neighbors of ours, and we've found them to be a quite misunderstood and underrated family.
Mom, you look so glamorous.
Well, tonight is a very special night. Your father is taking me out for dinner and dancing.
Dad dances?
Like an angel.
BA, BA / BA, BA, BA, BA BA, BA, BA, BA, BA, BA / BA, BA BA!
BA, BA / BA BA, BA, BA BA, BA, BA BA, BA, BA...
Work that body, Homer.
You know, one day you'll learn to move like your old man.
Not if I can help it.
Son, there's not a woman alive who can resist a man who knows how to mambo.
You don't have a clue, do you, Dad?

We got money!

Now just a darn...

This is Bill Pie your pie in the sky saying goodbye.

Well, Maggie, it's just you and me again.

This is K-B-B-L. K-Babble. All talk, twenty-four hours a day. If you'd like to share your embarrassing problem with our listening audience, we invite you to call our therapist of the airwaves, Dr. Marvin Monroe. Our number is 555-PAIN.

Don't be afraid! Call now!

Hello, I'd like to talk to Dr. Monroe.

First name, age, problem.

I'm Marge, thirty-four, and my problem is my husband. He doesn't listen to me. He doesn't appreciate me. I don't know how much more of this I can --

Hey, lady! Save your whining for when you're on the air, okay?

Marge. She's thirty-four, and trapped in a loveless sham of a marriage.

Hey, turn it up. I love hearing those whack-os.

Tell me about your husband, Marge.

Well. When we were dating he was sweeter, and more romantic, and forty pounds thinner, and he had hair, and he ate with utensils.

What was that last thing you said?

Hey, isn't that your wife, Homer?

Don't be ridiculous. My wife worships the ground I walk on.

Marge, I-it's what I call harsh reality time.

Your husband sees you as nothing.

Oh. Okay, well thank you.

No, no, don't hang up! The pig has made you into his mother. You are not the hot love object you deserve to be.

Really?

I'm as sure of it as I'm sure my voice is annoying. Marge, tonight, the second he comes through that front door, you've got to tell him you're fed up. And if he doesn't start loving, you'll be leaving.

Leave Homer?

Please. Don't use his real name.

Leave Pedro?

Can you be that honest, Marge?

You'll tell him right when he comes home from work?

Say it like you mean it.

Atta girl!

Oh, come on, Bart, not again.

Aw, where's your sense of humor?

Moe's Tavern.

Hello, is Al there?

Phone call for Al. Al Koholic. Is there an Al Koholic here?

Wait a minute... Listen, you little yellow-belly rat jackass, if I ever find out who you are, I'll kill ya!

I hope you do find that punk someday, Moe. Fill 'er up.

Is everything okay, Homer? Usually you have a quick one, some peanuts, a hunka beef jerky, a couple pickled eggs and you're outta here.

Let's just say, I don't feel like goin' home tonight. Jar, please.

Hey, you can level with me. You got a domestic situation?

You might say that. My wife's gonna leave me 'cause she thinks I'm a pig.

Marge is right. You are a pig. You can ask anyone in this bar.

What? Hey, Barney, am I a pig?

You're no more of a pig than I am.

Oh, no.

See? You're a pig. Barney's a pig. Larry's a pig. We're all pigs. Except for one difference. Once in a while, we can crawl out of the slop, hose ourselves off, and act like human beings. Homer, buy your wife some flowers and take her out for a night on the town. Candles, tablecloth, the whole nine yards.

Gee, a romantic evening. Nah, she's too smart to fall for that.

I'm not done. After dinner, the two of you are going to check into the fanciest motel in town, and not check out until the next morning. If you get my drift.

I read you loud and clear.

Wow, a quarter past six. What's keeping Dad?

Yeah, who'd possibly be late on meat loaf night?

Uh... I'd like some flowers.

What kind of flowers?

Uh, you know, pretty ones. Like that.

Well, we have some beautiful long stemmed roses. They're fifty-five dollars a dozen.

One, please.

Hey, Mom.

How 'bout some grub?

Your husband sees you as nothing... as nothing... as nothing...

The pig has made you into his mother... made you into his mother... into his mother...

You are not the hot love object you deserve you deserve to be... you deserve to be... you deserve to be...

If he doesn't start loving, you're leaving... leaving... leaving...

Marge, I uh... love you. Marge, honey, I love you. Ohhh... Marge, I love you, baby. Hmm, Marge, sweetie, hooney, honey... Aah, this'll never work.

I love you, Marjorie.

Oh, Homer.

I love you, too.

A little pre-dinner entertainment...

Moe's Tavern.

Is Oliver there?

Oliver Klozoff.

Hold on, I'll check.

Oliver Klozoff! Call for Oliver Klozoff.

...and I've made reservations at the Chez Paree.

But, Homer, it's so expensive.

It matters not, mon frere. And after desserts, we'll adjourn to our second-floor room at the Off Ramp Inn.

Oh, oh, Homer. I feel giddy. Wait, what about a babysitter?

Not to worry.

Listen, you lousy bum, if I ever get hold of you, I swear, I'll cut your belly open!

Goodness, must be a crossed wire.

Rubber Baby Buggy Bumper Babysitting Service.

This is Marge Simpson. I'd like a babysitter for the evening.

Wait a minute... The Simpsons?

Lady, you gotta be kidding.

Rubber Baby Buggy Bumper Babysitting Service.

Hello, this is Mr... Sampson.

Did your wife just call a second ago?

No. I said Sampson, not Simpson.

Thank God. Those Simpsons. What a bunch of savages. Especially that big ape father.

Actually, the Simpsons are neighbors of ours, and we've found them to be a quite misunderstood and underrated family.

Mom, you look so glamorous.

Well, tonight is a very special night. Your father is taking me out for dinner and dancing.

Dad dances?

Like an angel.

BA, BA / BA, BA, BA, BA BA, BA, BA, BA, BA, BA / BA, BA BA!

BA, BA / BA BA, BA, BA BA, BA, BA BA, BA, BA...

Work that body, Homer.

You know, one day you'll learn to move like your old man.

Not if I can help it.

Son, there's not a woman alive who can resist a man who knows how to mambo.

You don't have a clue, do you, Dad?