jamesliu23/simpsons · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 7 697
Lousy Skinner.
You are late for work.
Of course I'm late for work. How can I be on time when Principal Skinner keeps me after school?
This guy Skinner causing you trouble?
He sure is, Patrone.
Hm... perhaps we should go to meet and greet this individual. Come on, boys.
Some large men to see you, sir.
I don't have an appointment with any large men --
You Skinner?
I'm PRINCIPAL Skinner, yes. And how, may I ask, did you get past the hall monitors?
Children, I don't know how to break this to you, but Principal Skinner is... ... MISSING!
I thought I found him but it was only a cat.
Now please... Please, please, I can assure you we'll be using the most advanced, scientific techniques in the field of... body finding.
I see wedding bells for Vanna White and Teddy Kennedy....
Please, Princess Opal, if we could just stick to Principal Skinner.
Chief Wiggum, I am merely a conduit for the spirits. Willie Nelson will astound his fans by swimming the English Channel.
Really? Willie Nelson?
He loved fire drills.
Will ya get a hold of yourself, Lass, for the wee bairns!
Hey look at me! I'm Skinner's body!
That is not funny, Lewis.
Well, I heard Skinner's buried under his parking spot.
I heard he was ground up into hamburger and served to us at lunch.
I heard Bart had Skinner killed by gangsters.
That's not true! It's just a rumor! You're engaged in speculation. I know the law. You can't prove anything.
You killed me Bart.
You killed me, Bart!
You k-killed me, Bart!
Reverend Lovejoy! You've... you've come to comfort me?
Yes, Bart. ... There there... there there...
Kill my boy! Kill my boy!
You're eight hours early for work. I like that.
Did you kill my principal?
Uh... Chinese guy with a mustache?
No! My principal!
That Skinner guy? Naw, we didn't kill him.
Nobody move! You're all under arrest for the murder of Seymour Skinner.
What's a murder?
Don't play dumb with me. Cuff 'em, boys.
Oh, Bart. Why couldn't you have gotten a paper route like other boys.
Wait till I get you home, boy.
What's that guy doing here?
Lionel Hutz, court-appointed attorney. I'll be defending you on the charge of -- Murder one?! Wow, even if I lose I'll be famous!
That Simpson boy is looking at a hundred and eighty years.
Yeah, you're right.
Thank God we live in a country so hysterical over crime that a ten-year-old child can be tried as an adult.
I didn't order this Skinner guy killed.
But aren't you the head of this gang?
No, I just stop by the club occasionally to read the complimentary newspaper.
Then who is the Kingpin... the Capo de tuti Capi?
That's the guy.
Forgive me, Don Bartholomew.
We tried to stop the kid, but he wouldn't quit. It was like he went crazy.
Prostitution, loan sharking, numbers. The kid liked to wet his beak in everything.
Mr. Simpson, you've been the boy's father for ten years. Do you really think he could be the leader of a murderous criminal syndicate?
Well, not the leader... I mean... Oh, it's true, it's true! All the pieces fit.
In light of the damning testimony from your fellow gangsters, your father, your teachers and a seemingly endless parade of emotionally shattered baby-sitters, this court has no choice but to...
Principal Skinner!
I thought he was dead.
I suppose you're all wondering where I've been. It all started a week ago. I was at my desk, revising and updating the school dress codes, when...
I was suddenly confronted by a gang of toughs acting on behalf of one Bart Simpson. Or so they said.
We really think there's promise in the boy.
Get out!
Okay, okay, you don't have to yell.
To get my mind off that ugly confrontation I went home and began bundling my old newspapers. But suddenly the pile fell. I was trapped. Let this be a lesson to recycle frequently.
Eww, lemon... ugh, cherry... hmm, custard... mmm, purple.
For the next week I stayed alive by eating my mother's delicious preserves and maintained my sanity by dribbling a nearby basketball with my one free hand. I made a game of it, seeing how many times I could bounce the ball in a day, then trying to break that record. Occasionally the police arrived to search my home.
Find anything this time, boys?
Nah... no sign of him, chief.
Princess Opal?
I see nothing here but I'm afraid it's splitsville for Delta Burke and Major Dad.
But they seemed so happy.
I shouted until I was hoarse, but they couldn't hear me.
I'M IN HERE!!!
Well, let's go.
Okay, Chief.
Finally I realized if I was ever going to get out of there, I would have to do it myself.
I formed a crude rocket from a discarded cigar tube. And remembering an experiment from my days as a fourth grade science teacher, I concocted a fuel from baking soda and the juice of discarded lemon wedges.
The rocket took off with a mighty blast of carbon dioxide, dragging behind it the end of a vacuum cleaner cord.
I grabbed on to the vacuum cleaner, pushed the cord retractor button and was on my way to freedom.
And that's my courageous story.
Your Honor, the prosecution moves that Principal Skinner's testimony be stricken from the record.
Denied. Case dismissed.
Your Honor, do I still get paid?
Hey Bart! I hope there are no hard feelings.
Get bent.
I deserved that. Look, I know we let you down, but me and the boys, we still think you've got a big future in racketeering and extortion.
Sorry Fat Tony. I used to think your gang was cool, but now I learned that crime doesn't pay.
Blood on the Blackboard: The Bart Simpson Story. Starring Richard Chamberlain as Principal Skinner, Joe Mantegna as Fat Tony, Jane Seymour as the woman he loved, and TV's Doogie Howser, Neil Patrick Harris as Bart Simpson.
Bart, I'm scared. Let's get outta here.
Shaddup!
Where do you want it, Skinner?
Not smart.
Hey, when do we get the check for this?
Well, they said they changed it just enough so they don't have to pay us.
You know who the real crooks are? Those sleazy Hollywood Producers.
Here's good news. According to this eye-catching article, SAT scores are declining at a slower rate.
Dad, I think this paper is a flimsy hodgepodge of pie graphs, factoids and Larry King.
Hey, this is the only paper in America that's not afraid to tell the truth: that everything is just fine.
"To me bestest bud Milhouse, Happy Birthday, Bart."

Lousy Skinner.

You are late for work.

Of course I'm late for work. How can I be on time when Principal Skinner keeps me after school?

This guy Skinner causing you trouble?

He sure is, Patrone.

Hm... perhaps we should go to meet and greet this individual. Come on, boys.

Some large men to see you, sir.

I don't have an appointment with any large men --

You Skinner?

I'm PRINCIPAL Skinner, yes. And how, may I ask, did you get past the hall monitors?

Children, I don't know how to break this to you, but Principal Skinner is... ... MISSING!

I thought I found him but it was only a cat.

Now please... Please, please, I can assure you we'll be using the most advanced, scientific techniques in the field of... body finding.

I see wedding bells for Vanna White and Teddy Kennedy....

Please, Princess Opal, if we could just stick to Principal Skinner.

Chief Wiggum, I am merely a conduit for the spirits. Willie Nelson will astound his fans by swimming the English Channel.

Really? Willie Nelson?

He loved fire drills.

Will ya get a hold of yourself, Lass, for the wee bairns!

Hey look at me! I'm Skinner's body!

That is not funny, Lewis.

Well, I heard Skinner's buried under his parking spot.

I heard he was ground up into hamburger and served to us at lunch.

I heard Bart had Skinner killed by gangsters.

That's not true! It's just a rumor! You're engaged in speculation. I know the law. You can't prove anything.

You killed me Bart.

You killed me, Bart!

You k-killed me, Bart!

Reverend Lovejoy! You've... you've come to comfort me?

Yes, Bart. ... There there... there there...

Kill my boy! Kill my boy!

You're eight hours early for work. I like that.

Did you kill my principal?

Uh... Chinese guy with a mustache?

No! My principal!

That Skinner guy? Naw, we didn't kill him.

Nobody move! You're all under arrest for the murder of Seymour Skinner.

What's a murder?

Don't play dumb with me. Cuff 'em, boys.

Oh, Bart. Why couldn't you have gotten a paper route like other boys.

Wait till I get you home, boy.

What's that guy doing here?

Lionel Hutz, court-appointed attorney. I'll be defending you on the charge of -- Murder one?! Wow, even if I lose I'll be famous!

That Simpson boy is looking at a hundred and eighty years.

Yeah, you're right.

Thank God we live in a country so hysterical over crime that a ten-year-old child can be tried as an adult.

I didn't order this Skinner guy killed.

But aren't you the head of this gang?

No, I just stop by the club occasionally to read the complimentary newspaper.

Then who is the Kingpin... the Capo de tuti Capi?

That's the guy.

Forgive me, Don Bartholomew.

We tried to stop the kid, but he wouldn't quit. It was like he went crazy.

Prostitution, loan sharking, numbers. The kid liked to wet his beak in everything.

Mr. Simpson, you've been the boy's father for ten years. Do you really think he could be the leader of a murderous criminal syndicate?

Well, not the leader... I mean... Oh, it's true, it's true! All the pieces fit.

In light of the damning testimony from your fellow gangsters, your father, your teachers and a seemingly endless parade of emotionally shattered baby-sitters, this court has no choice but to...

Principal Skinner!

I thought he was dead.

I suppose you're all wondering where I've been. It all started a week ago. I was at my desk, revising and updating the school dress codes, when...

I was suddenly confronted by a gang of toughs acting on behalf of one Bart Simpson. Or so they said.

We really think there's promise in the boy.

Get out!

Okay, okay, you don't have to yell.

To get my mind off that ugly confrontation I went home and began bundling my old newspapers. But suddenly the pile fell. I was trapped. Let this be a lesson to recycle frequently.

Eww, lemon... ugh, cherry... hmm, custard... mmm, purple.

For the next week I stayed alive by eating my mother's delicious preserves and maintained my sanity by dribbling a nearby basketball with my one free hand. I made a game of it, seeing how many times I could bounce the ball in a day, then trying to break that record. Occasionally the police arrived to search my home.

Find anything this time, boys?

Nah... no sign of him, chief.

Princess Opal?

I see nothing here but I'm afraid it's splitsville for Delta Burke and Major Dad.

But they seemed so happy.

I shouted until I was hoarse, but they couldn't hear me.

I'M IN HERE!!!

Well, let's go.

Okay, Chief.

Finally I realized if I was ever going to get out of there, I would have to do it myself.

I formed a crude rocket from a discarded cigar tube. And remembering an experiment from my days as a fourth grade science teacher, I concocted a fuel from baking soda and the juice of discarded lemon wedges.

The rocket took off with a mighty blast of carbon dioxide, dragging behind it the end of a vacuum cleaner cord.

I grabbed on to the vacuum cleaner, pushed the cord retractor button and was on my way to freedom.

And that's my courageous story.

Your Honor, the prosecution moves that Principal Skinner's testimony be stricken from the record.

Denied. Case dismissed.

Your Honor, do I still get paid?

Hey Bart! I hope there are no hard feelings.

Get bent.

I deserved that. Look, I know we let you down, but me and the boys, we still think you've got a big future in racketeering and extortion.

Sorry Fat Tony. I used to think your gang was cool, but now I learned that crime doesn't pay.

Blood on the Blackboard: The Bart Simpson Story. Starring Richard Chamberlain as Principal Skinner, Joe Mantegna as Fat Tony, Jane Seymour as the woman he loved, and TV's Doogie Howser, Neil Patrick Harris as Bart Simpson.

Bart, I'm scared. Let's get outta here.

Shaddup!

Where do you want it, Skinner?

Not smart.

Hey, when do we get the check for this?

Well, they said they changed it just enough so they don't have to pay us.

You know who the real crooks are? Those sleazy Hollywood Producers.

Here's good news. According to this eye-catching article, SAT scores are declining at a slower rate.

Dad, I think this paper is a flimsy hodgepodge of pie graphs, factoids and Larry King.

Hey, this is the only paper in America that's not afraid to tell the truth: that everything is just fine.

"To me bestest bud Milhouse, Happy Birthday, Bart."