jamesliu23/simpsons · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 7 697
Maybe it's for the best.
For starters, Mr. Simpson, won't you take this complimentary copy of "Fatherhood" by Bill Cosby.
Ho, ho... if he's as smart as he is funny, I'm sold.
Mr. Simpson, if you want to be a good father, you have to spend time with your son.
Well, that's easy for you to say, you preachy egg-headed institute guy. How much do you see your son?
Why don't you ask him yourself?
Homer, meet Dave Jr.
How's your research coming, son?
I think we're near a breakthrough.
Good work.
Thanks, Dad.
Oh, how I envy you!
Homer, that easy back and forth that you just witnessed didn't happen over night. It took years of effort.
I've never been afraid of a little hard work.
Aw, that's the spirit, Mr. Simpson. Now step one is to find an activity the two of you can share. Does the boy have any interests?
What boy?
Your son. Find something he likes to do and share in it.
Well, he is building a soapbox derby racer.
Aw, that would be perfect.
Dear God! Not again.
Bart!... I'm gonna help you build that racer.
Thanks, but I'm almost done. Why don't you get back on the couch and watch TV?
Okay. No, I'm gonna do it.
Sorry dad, but three time Soap Box Derby champion Ronnie Beck never needed his dad's help.
But you can use me. I'm good. I've built a lot of things around the house... The spice rack... The birdfeeder... The gymboree.
What was that? Ah, who cares. Son, please let me help you.
Come on Dad, it'd be weird.
Oh this isn't working at all. It's hopeless... Wait a second.
Hmm... "Cosby's first law of intergenerational perversity: No matter what you tell your child to do, he will always do the opposite." Huh?
Oh, that sounds too complicated.
All right, I will! Son, I don't think you should let me help you.
Ah come on dad, if you really want to help, you can clean these paint brushes.
Thank you, Bill Cosby, you saved the Simpsons!
You know, Marge, that Bart of ours is a little miracle. His winning smile, his button nose, his fat little stomach, his face alight with wholesome mischief... He reminds me of me before the weight of the world crushed my spirit.
I like our chances, son.
Ugh. Your father is not supposed to help build your racer, but you should at least consult him about it.
You're in heat four. Whoa, where's your helmet, son?
Helmets are for wusses, Sir.
I don't think I can let you go without a safety helmet.
This is my son and if he doesn't want to wear one you can't make him!
Okay, fine. I want to get out of here sometime today.
Attention, everyone. I say to those who question the value of the space program... Behold!
Aye carumba!
Hey, you're not supposed to smoke in the pit area.
Hey, Simpson, where's your loser-mobile?
Loser-mobile... heh, heh ... wait a minute!
It's over there, Nelson.
Whoa, talk about your pieces of crap.
You know, Bart, I don't care who wins, as long as one of us beats that guy.
Careful, boys. It took me months to steal that bumper.
Help! Help!
What was that?
You didn't hear nothin'.
Are you nervous son?
Don't worry, Dad, as three time Soap Box derby champion Ronnie Beck says, "Gravity is my co-pilot."
Hey boss, just in case you need it.
Thanks guys.
Now get out of here.
Oh my. I didn't realize this hill was so high. Could I have another minute -- Aaah!
Deploy, damn you, deploy!
It hurts! It hurts! Owee-owee-owee-ow!
Young man, I'm afraid this stress fracture will require you to be in a cast for six weeks.
But that means I can't possibly race!
Son, you're lucky to be alive.
Save your palliative cliches for the next poor sap, Doctor.
Is it okay to visit?
Of course.
Hey man, cool crash. Way to cheat death.
Thanks, Bart.
You had the best stick out there, man. I wish I could build 'em like you.
That racer transformed me into the twisted creature you see before you. I'll never race again.
If you don't race, then Nelson'll win!
Even if I wanted to, I'm in no shape to do it. Unless... Bart, will you drive my car?
Oh, I don't know if I should do that. My dad and I built our car together and if I drove someone else's it'd kill him. On the other hand... I'll do it.
Okay Bart, we've got a lot of work to do on that car. So, I'm gonna pull you out of school for the next couple of weeks...
Dad... I don't know how to say this, but I don't want to drive your car. It's slow, it's ugly, it handles like a shopping cart...
Bart, the car had a few bugs in it, I admit that. But we're Team Simpson.
Dad, I love you, but you taught me to win.
When did I ever teach you that?
Well, I picked it up somewhere. And if I drive Martin's car I can win. I'm sorry, but...
Don't be, no. Go ahead, leave me. Go on, go on and win. No, go on and win without your dad.
I'll just sit here in "Li'l Lightnin'" -- which the Simpsons built -- and remember that for one brief shining moment, I had a son.
Dad, can you take me to Dr. Hibbert's office?
Why? What's wrong?
Oh, nothing. I just scheduled a tetanus booster. Maybe I'm being a little anal, but barefoot season's coming up and there's a world of rusty nails out there.
Oh, sure, I'll take you, wait with you, worry about you, and then you'll ride home with someone who has a faster car. This is how you get your kicks, isn't it, Lisa?
Martin, your bone is healing nicely.
Tell me something I don't know.
Dr. Hibbert, Lisa needs a. You! Homewrecker!
Figure of speech.
Mr. Simpson, you have every right to be angry. But rest assured, your son loves you...
You certainly gave that boy the heebie-jeebies.
Dad, aren't you coming?
Now, don't pout.
I'm not pouting, you are.
Dad, you gotta come. I just got your hat out of the fridge.
Don't you at least have something to say to Bart?
No. Can't think of a thing.
Homer! I've always said you were a good father. I've always defended you when people put you down.
That's for sure.

Maybe it's for the best.

For starters, Mr. Simpson, won't you take this complimentary copy of "Fatherhood" by Bill Cosby.

Ho, ho... if he's as smart as he is funny, I'm sold.

Mr. Simpson, if you want to be a good father, you have to spend time with your son.

Well, that's easy for you to say, you preachy egg-headed institute guy. How much do you see your son?

Why don't you ask him yourself?

Homer, meet Dave Jr.

How's your research coming, son?

I think we're near a breakthrough.

Good work.

Thanks, Dad.

Oh, how I envy you!

Homer, that easy back and forth that you just witnessed didn't happen over night. It took years of effort.

I've never been afraid of a little hard work.

Aw, that's the spirit, Mr. Simpson. Now step one is to find an activity the two of you can share. Does the boy have any interests?

What boy?

Your son. Find something he likes to do and share in it.

Well, he is building a soapbox derby racer.

Aw, that would be perfect.

Dear God! Not again.

Bart!... I'm gonna help you build that racer.

Thanks, but I'm almost done. Why don't you get back on the couch and watch TV?

Okay. No, I'm gonna do it.

Sorry dad, but three time Soap Box Derby champion Ronnie Beck never needed his dad's help.

But you can use me. I'm good. I've built a lot of things around the house... The spice rack... The birdfeeder... The gymboree.

What was that? Ah, who cares. Son, please let me help you.

Come on Dad, it'd be weird.

Oh this isn't working at all. It's hopeless... Wait a second.

Hmm... "Cosby's first law of intergenerational perversity: No matter what you tell your child to do, he will always do the opposite." Huh?

Oh, that sounds too complicated.

All right, I will! Son, I don't think you should let me help you.

Ah come on dad, if you really want to help, you can clean these paint brushes.

Thank you, Bill Cosby, you saved the Simpsons!

You know, Marge, that Bart of ours is a little miracle. His winning smile, his button nose, his fat little stomach, his face alight with wholesome mischief... He reminds me of me before the weight of the world crushed my spirit.

I like our chances, son.

Ugh. Your father is not supposed to help build your racer, but you should at least consult him about it.

You're in heat four. Whoa, where's your helmet, son?

Helmets are for wusses, Sir.

I don't think I can let you go without a safety helmet.

This is my son and if he doesn't want to wear one you can't make him!

Okay, fine. I want to get out of here sometime today.

Attention, everyone. I say to those who question the value of the space program... Behold!

Aye carumba!

Hey, you're not supposed to smoke in the pit area.

Hey, Simpson, where's your loser-mobile?

Loser-mobile... heh, heh ... wait a minute!

It's over there, Nelson.

Whoa, talk about your pieces of crap.

You know, Bart, I don't care who wins, as long as one of us beats that guy.

Careful, boys. It took me months to steal that bumper.

Help! Help!

What was that?

You didn't hear nothin'.

Are you nervous son?

Don't worry, Dad, as three time Soap Box derby champion Ronnie Beck says, "Gravity is my co-pilot."

Hey boss, just in case you need it.

Thanks guys.

Now get out of here.

Oh my. I didn't realize this hill was so high. Could I have another minute -- Aaah!

Deploy, damn you, deploy!

It hurts! It hurts! Owee-owee-owee-ow!

Young man, I'm afraid this stress fracture will require you to be in a cast for six weeks.

But that means I can't possibly race!

Son, you're lucky to be alive.

Save your palliative cliches for the next poor sap, Doctor.

Is it okay to visit?

Of course.

Hey man, cool crash. Way to cheat death.

Thanks, Bart.

You had the best stick out there, man. I wish I could build 'em like you.

That racer transformed me into the twisted creature you see before you. I'll never race again.

If you don't race, then Nelson'll win!

Even if I wanted to, I'm in no shape to do it. Unless... Bart, will you drive my car?

Oh, I don't know if I should do that. My dad and I built our car together and if I drove someone else's it'd kill him. On the other hand... I'll do it.

Okay Bart, we've got a lot of work to do on that car. So, I'm gonna pull you out of school for the next couple of weeks...

Dad... I don't know how to say this, but I don't want to drive your car. It's slow, it's ugly, it handles like a shopping cart...

Bart, the car had a few bugs in it, I admit that. But we're Team Simpson.

Dad, I love you, but you taught me to win.

When did I ever teach you that?

Well, I picked it up somewhere. And if I drive Martin's car I can win. I'm sorry, but...

Don't be, no. Go ahead, leave me. Go on, go on and win. No, go on and win without your dad.

I'll just sit here in "Li'l Lightnin'" -- which the Simpsons built -- and remember that for one brief shining moment, I had a son.

Dad, can you take me to Dr. Hibbert's office?

Why? What's wrong?

Oh, nothing. I just scheduled a tetanus booster. Maybe I'm being a little anal, but barefoot season's coming up and there's a world of rusty nails out there.

Oh, sure, I'll take you, wait with you, worry about you, and then you'll ride home with someone who has a faster car. This is how you get your kicks, isn't it, Lisa?

Martin, your bone is healing nicely.

Tell me something I don't know.

Dr. Hibbert, Lisa needs a. You! Homewrecker!

Figure of speech.

Mr. Simpson, you have every right to be angry. But rest assured, your son loves you...

You certainly gave that boy the heebie-jeebies.

Dad, aren't you coming?

Now, don't pout.

I'm not pouting, you are.

Dad, you gotta come. I just got your hat out of the fridge.

Don't you at least have something to say to Bart?

No. Can't think of a thing.

Homer! I've always said you were a good father. I've always defended you when people put you down.

That's for sure.