Life on the Fast Lane

Whoops. Whoops. Whoops.

This is gonna be the best birthday breakfast Mom ever had.

Hey, Lis. You think that’s enough for her?

Maybe one more.

I hope she likes the presents we got her.

She’ll like mine.

Who wouldn’t like a bottle of real French perfume all the way from gay Paree?

Four bucks, plus tax.

I think she’s going to like my handmade birthday card better.

Oh, big deal. Dry macaroni, spray paint and glue. Whoopie.

Dibs. First dibs. I get to lick the beaters.

Ow! Ow! Ow! Litha, my “ongue” is “uck” in the “eaters”. My “ongue”!

Happy birthday!

Huh? What?

Here’s your birthday breakfast.

Oh!

Isn’t this nice?

My birthday?

No!

It’s my birthday?

What did I get? I love birthdays.

No, Homer, it’s mine.

You don’t even know your own wife’s birthday?

Well, of course I know. Sure.

You really thought I forgot, didn’t you?

Oh, right. What did you get her, Dad?

What did you get?

Uh, well, a vey thoughtful gift.

But it’s a surprise.

You know, it’s such a beautiful morning, I think I’ll take a little stroll around the block.

I think he forgot, Mom.

Mm-hmm.

Oh, no. Come on. Come on. Open up!

Good morning, consumers.

The Springfield Mall is now open for your spending needs.

Hmm? Uh. no.

Too salty.

Um. nah.

Hmm? Nah, too corny.

Too exciting.

Patty, he’s out buying me something right now.

Oh, Marge. He never gets anything you want. He always gets something for himself.

The tackle box.

Remember when he got you the tackle box?

And Connie Chung.

And when he surprised you with the Connie Chung calendar?

I’m sure he doesn’t do it deliberately.

Hmm. Hmm!

Well, Homer and I had a lovely dining experience at Chez Pierre.

Or the Rusty Barnacle is nice.

No, no, no.

We wanna take you someplace fun– The Singing Sirloin.

The place where the waiters sing.

Homer?

Be right there.

Homer, we’re having dinner tonight at The Singing Sirloin.

That sounds delightful. Just you and me and the balladeers.

And the kids.

Fair enough.

And my sisters.

Doh!

How we danced on the night we were wed

Havin’ my baby

What a lovely way to say how much you love me

Nearer my God to thee

Nearer to thee

Oh, perfume!

Whoa! Hmm. Thank you, Bart.

You’re welcome, Mom.

34 years old.

Time enough to start over with a new man.

Someone who eats with his mouth shut.

What’s that, Patty?

Nothing. Finish your steak.

Look at him wolfdown that gristle.

Mm-hmm.

It’s an accident waiting to happen.

Do you know the Heimlich Maneuver?

No.

Good.

I think she likes my present better.

Does not. Does not. Does not.

Does too. Does too.

Then how come she’s not putting on any of your perfume?

Yeah. Hey, Mom. How come you’re not putting on any of my perfume?

Mm.

Well, I’m saving it for a special occasion.

What the hell are you talking about? There’s gallons of it!

Bart!

But this occasion is already so special.

If we made it any more special, we might end up making it less special.

Gotcha. Told ya she liked mine better.

Oh, brother!

Hold on. Hold on now.

Your mother hasn’t opened my present yet.

Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday to you

Happy 34th birthday, Mrs. Homer Simpson

Happy birthday to you

Oh. Don’t worry. This frosting will come right off.

Beauty, isn’t she?

It’s hard for me to judge since I’ve never bowled in my life!

Well, if you don’t want it, I know someone who does.

You always say we should talk.

I’m talking right now, as a matter of fact.

But I’m going to stop in a second, so please, say something back, Marge, please?

I’m gonna stop talking. Now.

You bought that bowling ball for you, not for me.

What? No.

The holes were drilled for your fingers.

I wanted to surprise you.

I couldn’t very well chop your hand off and bring it to the store.

You never intended for me to use that ball.

If that’s how you feel, I’ll take it back.

You can’t take it back. You had your name engraved on it!

So you’d know it was from me!

Homer, I’m keeping the ball for myself!

What? But you don’t know how to bowl. Oops.

I’m keeping it, and I’m going to use it.

Thank you for the present, Homer.

Well. You’re welcome.

Excuse me. Where do I throw this?

Over there.

Thank you.

You’re gonna need a lane.

No, thanks.

I’m here out of spite.

Can’t bowl without a lane.

Well, all right.

Here you go. You keep score on this.

What size shoes do you wear?

Never you mind.

You can’t wear street shoes on the lanes.

You gotta wear bowling shoes. What size, please?

13 double “A”.

13 double “A “?

This is the closest I’ve got.

A nine and a fifteen.

Thank you. Hmm.

A little warm and moist.

Ugh!

Hmm.

Hmm.

So, 120 pins later, I am the better man.

I don’t see what he’s doing that’s so different from what I’m doing.

Hmm.

Oh!

I’m– I’m awfully sorry.

Entirely my fault.

It is nice to meet you, Homer.

Oh, no, no. Homer’s my ball’s name.

I’m Marge.

Your fingers are so slender, so feminine.

They’re far too tapered for the ball you’re using.

You need something lighter. More delicate.

Here. Use my ball.

No. No, thank you, Mr., um, Brunswick.

Call me Jacques.

Jacques.

Marge.

I’ll just use my ball.

As you wish.

Many people have senseless attachments to heavy, clumsy things, such as this Homer of yours.

Hmm.

May I ask you a bold question?

Sure.

You’ve never bowled before.

Never. No.

No.

Then I will teach you.

I don’t wanna trouble you.

Not at all. I am a professional.

Roll the ball for me, Marge. Let me see your form.

All right. But I’m not vey good.

I can hit that one pin all right, but the rest of them don’t even wobble.

I can help you, Marge. Pick up the ball.

Pick up Homer. Pick him up.

Oh!

Now throw. Throw, damn you.

But–

You’re a very good teacher.

Yes, I am a very good teacher, and I can teach you everything.

I can tell you what the little arrows on the wood floor mean, which frame is the beer frame.

I bet you don’t know how to make a five-seven-ten split.

Do you, Marge?

No.

But first of all, you yell, “The eight-pin is a cop”.

Let it out, Marge. Laugh loud.

Laugh out loud. You’ll lose weight.

Oh, that’s very funny.

Feels good.

I didn’t realize there was so much to this game.

What do you charge for lessons?

Twenty-five dollars.

Twenty-five dollars!

It’s a $40 value.

Well, all right. When do we start?

We have already begun.

Now this is living, hey, kids?

Hot pizza– the food of kings.

Don’t be scared, Dad. It’s not so hard takin’ care of us.

Lisa, I’m not scared.

I think it’s a great chance to spend some time with you kids.

Your mother always gets to be alone with you, and now it’s my turn.

Does the time always drag like this?

First, you must get to know your lane.

Feel the slickness. Feel the satiny finish.

Caress it. Experience it.

Quite smooth, isn’t it, Marge?

Ooh, very smooth.

Smooth? Yes?

Yes, vey. Yes.

Yes. Smooth? Yes.

Smooth. Yes.

You could eat off of it. You hungry?

Yes.

Four onion rings!

Mmm. Delicioso!

My compliments to the delivery boy.

We’ve eaten and eaten well.

What else do we have to do? Let’s check the list your mom left us.

Eat. Mm-hmm. Oh, clean up.

Don’t worry, everybody. This will be a breeze if we all pitch in.

All right! We’re clean!

Now we’ll put Maggie to bed.

Lullaby and good night

Go to bed and sleep tight

Close your eyes Start to yawn

Pleasant dreams until the dawn

Homer. Homer?

Huh?

Oh, how was bowling?

It’s a very challenging hobby.

Sport, dear. It’s a sport, you silly thing.

Mm-hmm. But I think I’ll do much better tomorrow night.

You’re going back?

Sure. If you don’t mind taking care of the kids again.

Uh, no. I don’t mind.

Good night, Homer.

Good night.

It is for you.

Oh, Jacques, it fits.

You got it in my size, and it has my name on it.

It’s really for me.

Seventeen-fifty. Enjoy it, my darling.

Here we are.

You didn’t have to drop me off.

But I wanted to.

Marge, do you know how beautiful you look in the moonlight?

Oh, Jacques. I’m a married woman.

I know. I know.

My mind says,”Stop,” but my heart and my hips cy,” Proceed”.

Marge, darling, I want to see you tomorrow.

Not at Barney’s Bowlarama. Away from the thunderous folly of clattering pins.

Meet me tomorrow for brunch.

What’s brunch?

You’ll love it. It’s not quite breakfast, it’s not quite lunch, but it comes with a slice of cantaloupee at the end.

You don’t get completely what you would at breakfast, but you get a good meal.

I don’t think so.

Marge, darling, there are ten pins in my heart.

You’ve knocked over eight.

Won’t you please pick up that spare?

Mm. Mm. All right!

Marge?

What, Homer?

Nothing.

Uh-oh. Schoolbus.

Here you go, kids. Special lunches.

Lots of good things for growing bodies. and some treats just for fun.

Ay, caramba!

Are you going bowling again tonight, Mom?

Well, yes, I am, as a matter of fact.

Here’s more treats. Your dad will take care of dinner.

Mmm, Wednesday. Hoagie night.

Good-bye, Lisa. My darling little Lisa.

Good-bye, Bart. My special little guy.

Mmm! Great lunches, eh, Lis?

Oh, Bart, don’t you see? This is what psychologists call overcompensation.

Mom is wracked with guilt because her marriage is failing.

Hey, don’t rock the boat, man.

Whatever it is, we’re making out like bandits.

Bart, I read about what happens to kids whose parents no longer love and cherish each other.

They go through eight separate stages.

Right now, I’m in stage three, fear.

You’re in stage two, denial.

No, I’m not.

Yes, you are.

No, I’m not.

Yes, you are.

I’m not. I’m not. Am not!

I stand corrected.

Mimosa?

I’m a married women. Don’t call me that.

No, no, no, no, no.

Mimosa is the name of the drink.

It’s orange juice and champagne.

You’re so wonderful that you thought it was something offensive.

Oh, well, thank you.

Marge? Marge Simpson.

You remember me, don’t you? I’m Helen Lovejoy, the gossipy wife of the minister.

Hello, Helen.

I had just finished eating and was about to leave. when I looked over this way and said to myself, “Isn’t that Marge Simpson having brunch with a man who isn’t her husband?”

And I just had to come over and say hello.

We’re, um–

Oh, don’t squirm on my account.

I am giving her a bowling lesson, thank you.

Now, Marge, the pins on the three-seven-ten split would be here.

We’ll make this little piece of food the ball.

The ball’s bigger. But for food, this is a good ball.

Oh, well, bye-bye.

See you in church on Sunday, Marge.

Good-bye, Helen.

Good-bye, Helen.

You have a lovely friend there.

Let’s hope something runs over her.

Your laughter is like music to me.

But if you laugh at what I say next, I will die, for I am about to say something very serious, perhaps shocking.

Marge, my darling, I want you to meet with me again,

That doesn’t shock me.

away from pying eyes, away from the Helens of the world, at my apartment– the Fiesta Terrace.

I’ve been waiting for you. Come in, my captivating one.

May I have this dance?

Sure.

Whoa!

You certainly have a lot of bowling trophies.

I like you so much.

They’re not for bowling, Marge.

You’re so naive. They are for lovemaking.

Really?

Yes.

Oh!

Champagne?

Please.

There, my darling.

Thank you.

What cosmic force brought us together, Marge?

Destiny?

Yes.

Some divine pinspotter. must have placed us side by side.

Like two fragile bowling pins–

Standing bravely–

Until inevitably–

We must topple.

Marge, speak to me.

Is Thursday okay?

It’s okay, indeed.

“For Marge”?

Hey, Dad. What do you say we toss the ol’ apple around?

Son, I don’t know if I can lift my head, let alone a ball.

Aw, come on, Dad. Get the lead out.

Simpson checks the runner on first. He’s cool, He’s fine.

Here’s the windup, and here’s the pitch.

Dad, you didn’t even say “ouch”.

Oh, sorry. Ouch.

Lisa. Lisa, I think you’re right about Dad.

Something’s very, very wrong here.

Frightened, Bart?

Welcome to stage three, fear.

We gotta do something, man.

Sorry, Bart. I’d love to help you, but I’m mired in stage five, self-pity.

Look, Dad. I don’t know what’s going on, but once you gave me some advice that might help.

I gave you advice? Get out of here.

Yeah, you did. You told me when something’s bothering you. and you’re too damn stupid to know what to do, just keep your fool mouth shut.

At least that way, you won’t make things worse.

Hmm. Good advice.

Marge, may I speak to you?

Sure.

You know, I’ve been thinking.

Everyone makes peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but usually the jelly drips out over the side. and the guy’s hands get all sticky.

But your jelly stays right in the middle where it’s supposed to.

I don’t know how you do it.

You just got a gift, I guess. I’ve always thought so.

I just never mentioned it, but it’s time you knew how I feel.

I don’t believe in keeping feelings bottled up.

Good-bye, my wife.

Good-bye, Homer.

To the most beautiful moment in life.

Better than the deed, better than the memory– the moment of anticipation.

Oh, Jacques, you handsome devil. Look at you.

You’re really going to strike out tonight!

Ain’t you hungry, Homer?

Starving.

Well, then why aren’t you eating your sandwich?

How can I eat it? She made it. It’s all I have left.

Domestic situation.

Uh, huh?

Marge! What a lovely surprise.

You’re here to see me, right?

Of course!

Hey, way to go, Homer. Way to go!

What will I tell the boss?

Tell him I’m going to the backseat of my car with the woman I love, and I won’t be back for ten minutes.