jamesliu23/simpsons · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 7 697
Well, it's hard to say, my friend. Once you go in, you may never come out.
Wow! One please.
Where do you think you're going?
To the game.
No, no, no! I don't want you to see me sitting on my butt.
We've seen it, dad.
Mattingly, for the last time, get rid of those sideburns!
Look, Mr. Burns. I don't know what you think sideburns are, but...
Don't argue with me! Just get rid of them.
Smithers, it's almost game time. Where the devil are my ringers?
Sir, Mike Socioscia may not live through the night. Steve Sax is looking at six consecutive life sentences. And Ozzie Smith seems to have vanished off the face of the earth.
What about Conseco?
The dryer goes on the right.
Yes ma'am.
What about Clemens?
Sir... he's in no condition to play.
Brock, bock, bock, bock. Brock, bock, bock, bock.
That damn hypnotist!
You, look what you've done! My starting pitcher thinks he's a chicken! Make no mistake, I'm going to report this to the American Hypnotical Association.
But I did a good job... a gooood job.
Oh well, I guess it's not your fault... you did a good job.
Mattingly, I thought I told you to trim those sideburns. Go home! You're off the team! For good!
Fine. I still like him better than Steinbrenner.
All right, you rag-tag bunch of misfits. You hate me, and I hate you even more. But without my beloved ringers, you're all I've got. So I want you to remember some inspiring things that someone else may have told you in the course of your lives, and go out there and win!
Not so fast, Simpson.
The man who plays your position is still here. Hit the pine.
You stink Strawberry. We want Home-run Homer!
Dar-ryl, Dar-ryl.
Dar-ryl, Dar-ryl.
Children, that's not very nice.
Mom, they're professional athletes. They're used to this sort of thing. It rolls right off their backs.
All right, Monty, it's up to you managerial skills. What to do. Smithers, massage my brain.
Yes, sir.
You! Strawberry, hit a home run.
Okay, Skip!
I told him to do that.
Brilliant strategy, sir.
Oh, dear.
Children, tell me when your father stops scratching himself. Kids?
We'll tell ya, mom.
All right, tie game. Bottom of the ninth, two outs, bases loaded, Strawberry coming up...
They're gonna win the championship, no thanks to me.
Wait! You! Strawberry! Good effort today. Take a lap and hit the showers. I'm putting in a right-handed batter to hit for you.
You're pinch-hitting for me?
Yes. You see, you're a left-hander. And so is the pitcher. If I send up a right-handed batter, it's called playing the percentages. It's what smart managers do to win ballgames.
But I've got nine home runs today.
You should be very proud of yourself. Sit down! Simpson! You're batting for Strawberry.
I am? Whoo-hoo!
Atta boy, Homer.
You can do it.
Brock, bock, bock, bock, bock!
All right, Simpson, let's go over the signals.
If I tug the bill of my cap like so...
...it means the signal is a fake.
However, I can take that off by dusting my hands thusly.
Got it.
If I want you to bunt, I will touch my belt buckle not once, not twice, but thrice...
Got that Simpson?
Yes, sir!
Now batting for Darryl Strawberry, Homer Simpson.
Oh, dear.
No mom, it counts as a hit. Dad just won the game.
Ohh, well, I guess he'll be happy when he comes to.
We won! We won! All right!
Lurleen.
WELL MR. BURNS HAD DONE IT / THE POWER PLANT HAD WON IT / WITH ROGER CLEMENS CLUCKING ALL THE WHILE / MIKE SOCIOSCIA'S TRAGIC ILLNESS MADE US SMILE / WHILE WADE BOGGS LAY UNCONSCIOUS ON THE BARROOM TILE / WE'RE TALKIN' SOFTBALL / FROM MAINE TO SAN DIEGO / TALKIN' SOFTBALL / MATTINGLY AND CONSECO / KEN GRIFFEY'S GROTESQUELY SWOLLEN JAW / STEVE SAX AND HIS RUN IN WITH THE LAW / WE'RE TALKIN' HO-MER / OZZIE AND THE STRAW / WE'RE TALKIN' SOFTBALL / FROM MAINE TO SAN DIEGO / TALKIN' SOFTBALL / MATTINGLY AND CONSECO / KEN GRIFFEY'S GROTESQUELY SWOLLEN JAW / STEVE SAX AND HIS RUN IN WITH THE LAW / WE'RE TALKIN' HO-MER / OZZIE AND THE STRAW.....
Wait till next year. If I'm still alive.
Good one, Lenny.
Magnificent, simply magnificent.
You from outta town?
Have you been to the Museum of Barnyard Oddities yet?
No! Where is it?
Oh, here, gimme the map. I'll show you.
Like this, Skip?
Oh, you're a manager's dream, Strawberry.
Smithers, it's almost game time. Where the devil are my ringers?
Sir, Mike Scioscia may not live through the night. Steve Sax is looking at six consecutive life sentences. And Ozzie Smith seems to have vanished off the face of the earth.
Now, class, I promised you a surprise today...
I knew it.
...And here it is. We're going to take a test.
We're going to take a test.
All right! A test!
It's called the Career Aptitude Normalizing Test, or "CANT".
Some of you may discover a wonderful vocation you never even imagined. Others may find out life isn't fair. In spite of your Masters from Bryn-mawr, you might end up a glorified baby-sitter to a bunch of dead-eyed fourth graders while your husband runs naked on a beach with your marriage counselor.
First question: "If I could be any animal, I would be A) A Carpenter Ant; B) A Nurse Shark; or C) A Lawyer Bird."
Question sixty: I prefer the smell of A) Gasoline; B) French Fries; or C) Bank Customers."
Well, that was a waste of time.
Janey, school is never a waste of time.
Since we have fifteen minutes until recess, please put down your pencils and stare at the front of the room.
Here for the tests.
C'mon Emma.
Here's your scientifically selected career --
Architect.
Mm, hm.
Insurance salesman.
Mm, hm.
Salmon gutter?
Military strongman.
Systems analyst systems analyst systems analyst...
Systems analyst.

Well, it's hard to say, my friend. Once you go in, you may never come out.

Wow! One please.

Where do you think you're going?

To the game.

No, no, no! I don't want you to see me sitting on my butt.

We've seen it, dad.

Mattingly, for the last time, get rid of those sideburns!

Look, Mr. Burns. I don't know what you think sideburns are, but...

Don't argue with me! Just get rid of them.

Smithers, it's almost game time. Where the devil are my ringers?

Sir, Mike Socioscia may not live through the night. Steve Sax is looking at six consecutive life sentences. And Ozzie Smith seems to have vanished off the face of the earth.

What about Conseco?

The dryer goes on the right.

Yes ma'am.

What about Clemens?

Sir... he's in no condition to play.

Brock, bock, bock, bock. Brock, bock, bock, bock.

That damn hypnotist!

You, look what you've done! My starting pitcher thinks he's a chicken! Make no mistake, I'm going to report this to the American Hypnotical Association.

But I did a good job... a gooood job.

Oh well, I guess it's not your fault... you did a good job.

Mattingly, I thought I told you to trim those sideburns. Go home! You're off the team! For good!

Fine. I still like him better than Steinbrenner.

All right, you rag-tag bunch of misfits. You hate me, and I hate you even more. But without my beloved ringers, you're all I've got. So I want you to remember some inspiring things that someone else may have told you in the course of your lives, and go out there and win!

Not so fast, Simpson.

The man who plays your position is still here. Hit the pine.

You stink Strawberry. We want Home-run Homer!

Dar-ryl, Dar-ryl.

Children, that's not very nice.

Mom, they're professional athletes. They're used to this sort of thing. It rolls right off their backs.

All right, Monty, it's up to you managerial skills. What to do. Smithers, massage my brain.

Yes, sir.

You! Strawberry, hit a home run.

Okay, Skip!

I told him to do that.

Brilliant strategy, sir.

Oh, dear.

Children, tell me when your father stops scratching himself. Kids?

We'll tell ya, mom.

All right, tie game. Bottom of the ninth, two outs, bases loaded, Strawberry coming up...

They're gonna win the championship, no thanks to me.

Wait! You! Strawberry! Good effort today. Take a lap and hit the showers. I'm putting in a right-handed batter to hit for you.

You're pinch-hitting for me?

Yes. You see, you're a left-hander. And so is the pitcher. If I send up a right-handed batter, it's called playing the percentages. It's what smart managers do to win ballgames.

But I've got nine home runs today.

You should be very proud of yourself. Sit down! Simpson! You're batting for Strawberry.

I am? Whoo-hoo!

Atta boy, Homer.

You can do it.

Brock, bock, bock, bock, bock!

All right, Simpson, let's go over the signals.

If I tug the bill of my cap like so...

...it means the signal is a fake.

However, I can take that off by dusting my hands thusly.

Got it.

If I want you to bunt, I will touch my belt buckle not once, not twice, but thrice...

Got that Simpson?

Yes, sir!

Now batting for Darryl Strawberry, Homer Simpson.

Oh, dear.

No mom, it counts as a hit. Dad just won the game.

Ohh, well, I guess he'll be happy when he comes to.

We won! We won! All right!

Lurleen.

WELL MR. BURNS HAD DONE IT / THE POWER PLANT HAD WON IT / WITH ROGER CLEMENS CLUCKING ALL THE WHILE / MIKE SOCIOSCIA'S TRAGIC ILLNESS MADE US SMILE / WHILE WADE BOGGS LAY UNCONSCIOUS ON THE BARROOM TILE / WE'RE TALKIN' SOFTBALL / FROM MAINE TO SAN DIEGO / TALKIN' SOFTBALL / MATTINGLY AND CONSECO / KEN GRIFFEY'S GROTESQUELY SWOLLEN JAW / STEVE SAX AND HIS RUN IN WITH THE LAW / WE'RE TALKIN' HO-MER / OZZIE AND THE STRAW / WE'RE TALKIN' SOFTBALL / FROM MAINE TO SAN DIEGO / TALKIN' SOFTBALL / MATTINGLY AND CONSECO / KEN GRIFFEY'S GROTESQUELY SWOLLEN JAW / STEVE SAX AND HIS RUN IN WITH THE LAW / WE'RE TALKIN' HO-MER / OZZIE AND THE STRAW.....

Wait till next year. If I'm still alive.

Good one, Lenny.

Magnificent, simply magnificent.

You from outta town?

Have you been to the Museum of Barnyard Oddities yet?

No! Where is it?

Oh, here, gimme the map. I'll show you.

Like this, Skip?

Oh, you're a manager's dream, Strawberry.

Smithers, it's almost game time. Where the devil are my ringers?

Sir, Mike Scioscia may not live through the night. Steve Sax is looking at six consecutive life sentences. And Ozzie Smith seems to have vanished off the face of the earth.

Now, class, I promised you a surprise today...

I knew it.

...And here it is. We're going to take a test.

We're going to take a test.

All right! A test!

It's called the Career Aptitude Normalizing Test, or "CANT".

Some of you may discover a wonderful vocation you never even imagined. Others may find out life isn't fair. In spite of your Masters from Bryn-mawr, you might end up a glorified baby-sitter to a bunch of dead-eyed fourth graders while your husband runs naked on a beach with your marriage counselor.

First question: "If I could be any animal, I would be A) A Carpenter Ant; B) A Nurse Shark; or C) A Lawyer Bird."

Question sixty: I prefer the smell of A) Gasoline; B) French Fries; or C) Bank Customers."

Well, that was a waste of time.

Janey, school is never a waste of time.

Since we have fifteen minutes until recess, please put down your pencils and stare at the front of the room.

Here for the tests.

C'mon Emma.

Here's your scientifically selected career --

Architect.

Mm, hm.

Insurance salesman.

Mm, hm.

Salmon gutter?

Military strongman.

Systems analyst systems analyst systems analyst...

Systems analyst.