jamesliu23/simpsons · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 7 697
Bart, that's so sweet. May I see the card?
Hey there ten-year old. I couldn't afford to get you a new drum...
"...so how about a nice pair of bongos?" Ewww.
C'mon, open it open it open it.
Uh, maybe a little later, Bart.
Aw Milhouse, just cuz your mom didn't let you have a party doesn't mean you can't get a present.
We had a lovely time on Saturday, Milhouse.
I liked the balloons.
I liked the party hats.
What are you girls talkin' about?
Nothing.
Twins. Open your present.
They're official Krusty the Clown walkie-talkies. I'll keep one and you keep one. Now whenever you want to talk to me, just call me on the phone and tell me to turn on my walkie-talkie.
Milhouse, I'd like to express my appreciation for Saturday. Jelly bean baskets, personalized noisemakers -- those little touches are what made it enduring.
What's he talkin' about?
Uh... hey, look at that dog. Isn't that somethin'?
Wow, brown!
Whoa, Springfield Elementary, last stop. Oh, and by the way, I'd like to say thanks, and 'applause, applause' to 'birthday boy' Milhouse for his totally bitchin' party on Saturday.
And uh, Milhouse, I think I left my pants on your roof.
You did have a party. You didn't invite me. And I thought we were best friends.
Sorry, Bart.
Bye little dudes. Don't learn anything I wouldn't learn.
Ah, Monday morning. Time to pay for your two days of debauchery, you hung-over drones.
T.G.I.M., Sir.
Yeah. so, what did you do this weekend, Smithers?
Well, I caught up on my laundry. And wrote a letter to mother. Oh, here's the kicker, I took Hercules out to be clipped.
Who the devil is Hercules?
He's my Yorkshire terrier, sir. He's kind of tiny, so... you know, it's a joke. Here's a picture of Herkie.
Well, Smithers, don't you know how to paint the town red.
May I ask how you spent your weekend?
Well, a bit overly familiar, but I'll allow it. I took in a movie. An appalling little piece of filth. Its leading lady was a blonde harlot who spent half the film strolling around naked as a jaybird.
Just give the great unwashed a pair of oversized breasts and a happy ending, and they'll 'oink' for more every time.
What a movie. And that blonde cutie. Does she have assets.
Sounds like my kind of flick.
And how.
Otto! Welcome!
Apu! Hey, got a ba-ad case of the munchies, man. Time for a Heat-lamp Dog.
Oh, Otto. Otto, did you know there's a small child inside your bus?
Ooo, good thing you warned me. I was on my way to Mexico.
Call me old-fashioned, but movies were sexier when the actors kept their clothes on. Vilma Banky could do more for me with one raised eyebrow than an entire...
Warning. Problem in sector 7-G.
7-G? Good God, who's the safety inspector there?
Homer Simpson, sir.
Simpson, eh? Good man? Intelligent?
Actually sir, he was hired under "Project Bootstrap."
Thank you, President Ford.
Huh? Noise. Bad noise!
Five minutes before critical mass.
Critical wha...? Okay, okay, don't panic. Whosever problem this is, I'm sure they know how to handle it.
Huh? AHHH!! It's my problem! We're doomed!!!
Sector 7-G is now being isolated.
My best friend shafted me. I'll never get over this, Otto-man.
Aw, sure you will. You know, once my old lady ran off and married my brother. Well, it hurt, but here it is a month later and I'm sleeping on their couch.
Margarita, I want you.
Mr. Devereaux, I can't work under these conditions.
Have it your way baby. You're fired.
Oh, Avery.
Call me Mr. Devereaux, will you.
We interrupt Search for the Sun for this special news bulletin...
Meltdown crisis: The first couple of minutes.
K-B-B-L. Talk radio.
Forget the hair, just give me the blush. Oh, we're on.
This station has just learned that a serious crisis is in progress at the Springfield Nuclear Power Plant.
Oh my Lord!
On the line with us now is plant owner C. Montgomery Burns. Mr. Burns?
Oh hello, Kent. Right now, skilled nuclear energy technicians are calmly correcting a minor, piffling malfunction.
But, I can assure you and the public that there is absolutely no danger whatsoever --
-- things couldn't be more ship-shape.
Sir, where's my radiation suit?
How the hell should I know?
Uh, Mr. Burns, people are calling this a meltdown.
Oh, meltdown is one of those annoying buzzwords. I prefer to call it an unrequested fission surplus.
Homie, please be all right.
Gotta think! Gotta think! Okay, somewhere there's a thingee that tells you how to work this stuff. The um... the, uh... the manual! The manual! RIGHT.
Uh-huh. It's as fat as a phone book! "Congratulations on your purchase of a Fissionator 1952 Slow Fission Reactor. Get to the point, man! Ooh, what's this?
Who'd have thought a nuclear reactor would be so complicated!
Ninety seconds to core meltdown.
Sir, there may never be another time to say... I love you, sir.
Oh, hot dog. Thank you for making my last few moments on earth socially awkward.
Looks like this is the end.
That's all right. I couldn't have led a richer life.
After the meltdown we can expect roving bands of thieves to tie up traffic for ours.
I don't like this program.
Change the channel.
Wheel of Fortune!
I don't understand anything! When they look up stupid in the dictionary, there'll be a picture of me!
Dear Lord, if you spare this town from becoming a smoking hole in the ground, I'll try to be a better Christian. I don't know what I can do... Ummm, oooh, the next time there's a canned food drive I'll give the poor something they'd actually like instead of old lima beans and pumpkin mix.
One minute to core meltdown.
Shut up!
Simpson, it's all up to you. It's showtime!
Okay, okay, think back to your training...
Now Homer, this may very well save your life one day. This, Homer...
Please pay attention. This button here controls the emergency override circuit. In the event of a meltdown, push this button and only this button.
Ooh, a side.
Simpson?
Do you see which button I'm pushing?
Yeah, yeah, yeah, push the button, got it.
This is all your fault! Okay, gotta pick a button. Pick a button. Pick a button. Uh, one potato, two potato, three potato, four... No, wait! Bubble gum, bubble gum, in a dish, how many pieces do you wish? No, no!
Thirty seconds to core meltdown.
Oh, Smithers, I guess there's nothing left but to kiss my sorry butt good-bye!

Bart, that's so sweet. May I see the card?

Hey there ten-year old. I couldn't afford to get you a new drum...

"...so how about a nice pair of bongos?" Ewww.

C'mon, open it open it open it.

Uh, maybe a little later, Bart.

Aw Milhouse, just cuz your mom didn't let you have a party doesn't mean you can't get a present.

We had a lovely time on Saturday, Milhouse.

I liked the balloons.

I liked the party hats.

What are you girls talkin' about?

Nothing.

Twins. Open your present.

They're official Krusty the Clown walkie-talkies. I'll keep one and you keep one. Now whenever you want to talk to me, just call me on the phone and tell me to turn on my walkie-talkie.

Milhouse, I'd like to express my appreciation for Saturday. Jelly bean baskets, personalized noisemakers -- those little touches are what made it enduring.

What's he talkin' about?

Uh... hey, look at that dog. Isn't that somethin'?

Wow, brown!

Whoa, Springfield Elementary, last stop. Oh, and by the way, I'd like to say thanks, and 'applause, applause' to 'birthday boy' Milhouse for his totally bitchin' party on Saturday.

And uh, Milhouse, I think I left my pants on your roof.

You did have a party. You didn't invite me. And I thought we were best friends.

Sorry, Bart.

Bye little dudes. Don't learn anything I wouldn't learn.

Ah, Monday morning. Time to pay for your two days of debauchery, you hung-over drones.

T.G.I.M., Sir.

Yeah. so, what did you do this weekend, Smithers?

Well, I caught up on my laundry. And wrote a letter to mother. Oh, here's the kicker, I took Hercules out to be clipped.

Who the devil is Hercules?

He's my Yorkshire terrier, sir. He's kind of tiny, so... you know, it's a joke. Here's a picture of Herkie.

Well, Smithers, don't you know how to paint the town red.

May I ask how you spent your weekend?

Well, a bit overly familiar, but I'll allow it. I took in a movie. An appalling little piece of filth. Its leading lady was a blonde harlot who spent half the film strolling around naked as a jaybird.

Just give the great unwashed a pair of oversized breasts and a happy ending, and they'll 'oink' for more every time.

What a movie. And that blonde cutie. Does she have assets.

Sounds like my kind of flick.

And how.

Otto! Welcome!

Apu! Hey, got a ba-ad case of the munchies, man. Time for a Heat-lamp Dog.

Oh, Otto. Otto, did you know there's a small child inside your bus?

Ooo, good thing you warned me. I was on my way to Mexico.

Call me old-fashioned, but movies were sexier when the actors kept their clothes on. Vilma Banky could do more for me with one raised eyebrow than an entire...

Warning. Problem in sector 7-G.

7-G? Good God, who's the safety inspector there?

Homer Simpson, sir.

Simpson, eh? Good man? Intelligent?

Actually sir, he was hired under "Project Bootstrap."

Thank you, President Ford.

Huh? Noise. Bad noise!

Five minutes before critical mass.

Critical wha...? Okay, okay, don't panic. Whosever problem this is, I'm sure they know how to handle it.

Huh? AHHH!! It's my problem! We're doomed!!!

Sector 7-G is now being isolated.

My best friend shafted me. I'll never get over this, Otto-man.

Aw, sure you will. You know, once my old lady ran off and married my brother. Well, it hurt, but here it is a month later and I'm sleeping on their couch.

Margarita, I want you.

Mr. Devereaux, I can't work under these conditions.

Have it your way baby. You're fired.

Oh, Avery.

Call me Mr. Devereaux, will you.

We interrupt Search for the Sun for this special news bulletin...

Meltdown crisis: The first couple of minutes.

K-B-B-L. Talk radio.

Forget the hair, just give me the blush. Oh, we're on.

This station has just learned that a serious crisis is in progress at the Springfield Nuclear Power Plant.

Oh my Lord!

On the line with us now is plant owner C. Montgomery Burns. Mr. Burns?

Oh hello, Kent. Right now, skilled nuclear energy technicians are calmly correcting a minor, piffling malfunction.

But, I can assure you and the public that there is absolutely no danger whatsoever --

-- things couldn't be more ship-shape.

Sir, where's my radiation suit?

How the hell should I know?

Uh, Mr. Burns, people are calling this a meltdown.

Oh, meltdown is one of those annoying buzzwords. I prefer to call it an unrequested fission surplus.

Homie, please be all right.

Gotta think! Gotta think! Okay, somewhere there's a thingee that tells you how to work this stuff. The um... the, uh... the manual! The manual! RIGHT.

Uh-huh. It's as fat as a phone book! "Congratulations on your purchase of a Fissionator 1952 Slow Fission Reactor. Get to the point, man! Ooh, what's this?

Who'd have thought a nuclear reactor would be so complicated!

Ninety seconds to core meltdown.

Sir, there may never be another time to say... I love you, sir.

Oh, hot dog. Thank you for making my last few moments on earth socially awkward.

Looks like this is the end.

That's all right. I couldn't have led a richer life.

After the meltdown we can expect roving bands of thieves to tie up traffic for ours.

I don't like this program.

Change the channel.

Wheel of Fortune!

I don't understand anything! When they look up stupid in the dictionary, there'll be a picture of me!

Dear Lord, if you spare this town from becoming a smoking hole in the ground, I'll try to be a better Christian. I don't know what I can do... Ummm, oooh, the next time there's a canned food drive I'll give the poor something they'd actually like instead of old lima beans and pumpkin mix.

One minute to core meltdown.

Shut up!

Simpson, it's all up to you. It's showtime!

Okay, okay, think back to your training...

Now Homer, this may very well save your life one day. This, Homer...

Please pay attention. This button here controls the emergency override circuit. In the event of a meltdown, push this button and only this button.

Ooh, a side.

Simpson?

Do you see which button I'm pushing?

Yeah, yeah, yeah, push the button, got it.

This is all your fault! Okay, gotta pick a button. Pick a button. Pick a button. Uh, one potato, two potato, three potato, four... No, wait! Bubble gum, bubble gum, in a dish, how many pieces do you wish? No, no!

Thirty seconds to core meltdown.

Oh, Smithers, I guess there's nothing left but to kiss my sorry butt good-bye!