Bart Gets Hit by a Car
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Bart Gets Hit by a Car
I-uh. I think the boy’s hurt!
Oh, for crying out loud… Just give him a nickel and let’s get going.
I…a think we should call an ambulance, sir.
Hey, cool. I’m dead.
Please hold on to the handrail. Do not spit over the side. Por favor, aguantese en la baranda. No escupas en los lados.
Great Grandpa Simpson!
Please hold on to the handrail. Do not spit over the side.
We told you to hold onto the handrail. We asked you not to spit over the side.
I’m Bart Simpson. Who the hell are you?
Ah, please allow me to introduce myself. I’m the DEVIL! And you’ve earned eternal damnation for your lifetime of evil deeds, Bart. Spitting off the escalator just clinched it.
Hey, I’m innocent, man!
Innocent. Everybody’s innocent. Okay, let’s just pull up your file here.
Okay… Hmmm. Seems to be a mistake. According to this, you’re not due to arrive here until the next time the Yankees win the pennant, that’s nearly a century from now. Ha, ha. Boy is my face red.
Um… say… is there anything I can do to avoid coming back here?
Oh sure, yeah; but eh, you wouldn’t like it.
Oh, okay. See you later then.
Goodbye Bart! Remember: Lie, cheat, steal and listen to heavy metal music!
Oh, Bart! We thought for a minute you’d gone away from us.
I did go away, Mom! I was miles and miles and miles away, writhing in agony in the pits of Hell. And you were there! And you! And you! And you! You I’ve never seen before.
Hey, yeah! Who are you? I saw you chasing Bart’s ambulance…
Hutz’s the name, Mr. Simpson. Lionel Hutz, Attorney-At-Law. Here’s my card.
It turns into a sponge when you put it in water.
I’d like to talk to you about bringing legal action against the fiend who did this to your boy.
Well, the fiend who did this to my boy is my boss. And besides, the doctor says it’s just a bump on the head and a broken toe. Nothing serious.
Doctors! Doctors are idiots! There’s no telling what kind of permanent injuries he might have. You might have to wait on him hand and foot for the rest of his natural life!
That’s the downside. Now here’s the good part. You can ching-ching-ching cash in on this tragedy.
Excuse me, Mr. Hutz. Are you a shyster?
How does a nice little girl like you know a big word like that?
Mr. Hutz, this is hardly the time or place to discuss this.
You’re right, you’re right. When you feel up to it, come over to my office and we’ll talk about it.
Lionel Hutz, Attorney-At-Law. What’s that, a broken neck? Great!
Hello, Dr. Hibbert.
Hello, Lisa. Well, we’ve got a nasty bump on our head, haven’t we?
Ow! Quit it!
And a little tiny broken toe.
Ow! Quit it!
Is he well enough for me to start mothering him unbearably, doctor?
Hmm. Better let him rest up awhile first.
Hey, Simpson, I heard Mr. Burns crushed your boy.
Yeah. If I wasn’t so spineless, I’d march into Mr. Burns’ office right now and…
Mr. Burns wants you to march into his office right now.
Ah, Simpson! At last we meet.
Nice to meet you too, sir.
Yes. My attorneys have advised me to pay you for running over your child. So I’m cutting you a check.
… One… Hundred… Dollars! Of course you’ll have to sign a waiver, relinquishing your right to sue and so forth… merely a formality…
A hundred bucks?
W-well… It’s a v-very generous offer, sir. But… his medical bills alone…
Oh, so extortion is the name of your little game, is it Simpson? Very well. Then you get nothing. I have the finest lawyers in Springfield, Simpson. Tangle with me and I’ll crush you like a paper cup.
Throw him out, Smithers.
You don’t have to do that, Mr. Burns. I can throw myself out.
Hey! Lionel Hutz…
Right in here, Mr. Simpson. Any calls, Della?
Oh, calls! Yes… uh… The Supreme Court called again. They need your help on some “freedom” thing.
Tell them to sit tight. I’ll get back to them. This way, Mr. Simpson.
You sure have got some education, Mr. Hutz.
Yes… Harvard, Yale, MIT, Oxford, The Sorbonne, The Louvre…
Oh… oh well. Mr. Simpson, the State Bar forbids me from promising you a big cash settlement. But, just between you and me, I promise you, a big cash settlement. My fee is fifty percent.
You’ll be getting more than just a lawyer, Mr. Simpson. You’ll also be getting this exquisite faux pearl necklace – a $99 value – as our gift to you.
Well… I dunno… You and I might have different ideas about just how big a big cash settlement is.
A million dollars.
Whoo ooo! I stand corrected. A million bucks is A-okay!
Now, we’ll get a real doctor’s opinion!
Your son is a very sick boy. Just look at the X-rays!
You see that dark spot there? Whiplash.
Whiplash! Oh no!
And this smudge here that looks like my fingerprint? No. That’s trauma.
Am I gonna die?
No, of course you’re not going to die. Everything’s fine!
Will I ever play baseball again?
But I played baseball this morning!
That’s right, he did. Excuse me, but Dr. Hibbert has been our family physician for years, and he thought Bart was fine.
Oh, Dr. Hibbert from Johns Hopkins Medical School?
With all due respect, Mrs. Simpson, you are not a doctor, the boy’s not a doctor, I’m not a doctor. The only person in this room who even comes close is this man.
Stop, you’re embarrassing me.
Doctor, are you sure there isn’t a little soft tissue trauma in the facial area?
Oh yeah. Tons of it. Just say when.
A million dollars! Smithers! I want this Homer J. Simpson fired!
Uh, do you think that’s wise, Mr. Burns? I mean… think of the headlines.
What about the headlines?
The press might be critical of you for firing the crippled boy’s father so soon after the accident.
Well… all right, then. I don’t want to seem like an ogre. I’ll bide my time. Let him twist in the wind… slowly… slowly. And then… when the papers have found their new “flavor of the month”, he’ll find out this cat has claws!
Good thinking, sir.
Now, let’s pretend you’re on the witness stand… …How are you, Bart?
Oh, fine. Isn’t that nice? Bart says he’s fine. Wrong!!! You are not fine! You are in constant pain!
I am in constant pain.
Dad, may I please make an observation?
Oh, what? What is it?
I think this is all a charade to make Bart look more injured than he really is.
Well, maybe Lisa does have a point. I don’t mind you boys doing this in the living room, but in court doesn’t Bart have to tell the truth?
Yeah, but what is truth – if you follow me. Now, Bart, can you roll your eyes back in your head like this?
Ah, you mean like I’m dead? Yeah, sure.
The kids a pro.
Springfield Municipal Court is now in session. Judge Moulton presiding.
Your honor, my client has instructed me to remind the court how rich and important he is, and that he is not like other men.
I should be able to run over as many kids as I want!
Mr. Burns, I must warn you that if you continue to disrupt the court in this way, I will have to cite you for contempt.
You wouldn’t dare.
Well, no, I-I guess I wouldn’t.
Calling Bartholomew J. Simpson to the stand!
Hello, Bart. Now, you know the difference between telling the truth and telling a lie, don’t you, son?
Uh-huh. Well, you wouldn’t lie to the United States, would you, Bart?
Good. Proceed, Mr. Hutz.
Thank you, your honor. Now, Bart, I want you to tell the jury, in your own words, exactly what happened on the day of the accident.
Yes, sir. It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon. I was playing in my wholesome childlike way, little realizing that I was about to be struck down by the Luxury Car of Death.
Defenseless child at three o’clock!
Luckily, I was not killed that day. Although sometimes I wish I had been.
Now that’s believable testimony.
Now, Mr. Burns, would you please relate in your own words exactly what really happened on the day of the accident.
Certainly. Oh, it was a beautiful day. The sun was shining. I was driving to the orphanage to pass out toys.
Suddenly, that incorrigible Simpson boy, darted in front of me…
Oh, my goodness! Look what’s happened!
Oh, it’s not important, sir. Let’s drive on.
Why you despicable, cold-blooded monster. Regardless of what you think, we must summon help, and comfort the dear boy until an ambulance arrives.
Noooo! Take me, I’m old!
And that’s what happened.
What are you looking at me like that for? You believed his cock and bull story.
It’s looking good, Mr. Simpson. It’s looking very, very good.
They hate me? Well what trial were you watching?
Oh yeah, settlement? Fine! Hang your heads in shame, you over-priced, under-brained, glorified notary publics! Just get that big ape to my house tonight and we’ll buy him off with a banana or two.
…and that ugly customer was the last Indonesian Rhino on earth.
I didn’t know you liked animals.
Oh, I don’t like everything about them, just their heads. Well, would you care for some wine, old buddy?
Don’t mind if I do.
Bottoms up Simpson, there’s plenty more where that came from.
Mr. Burns, are you trying to get me drunk?
Yes. Now then, Homer, old chum, I’m sure you’ll agree with me that this trial is an affront to our collective dignity. What do you say, we settle this man to man?
You mean duke it out?
Oh, no, I mean I’m prepared to offer you a most generous cash settlement.
A princely sum…
Well, a handsome sum that can end this little embrolio once and for all.
Five hundred thousand dollars!
Up-up-up-up. Don’t answer me now. Relax, talk it over with the missus, soak in the opulence of your surroundings and dream of what might be. Smithers, let’s go powder my nose.
Well, Marge, what do you think?
I don’t know. Maybe we should take his money and put all this ugliness behind us.
The fish is in the pan.
What do you think, Homer?
I’ll tell you what I think. I think he thinks I’m an idiot. The only reason he’s offering us this is because he knows he’s gonna lose the trial and have to pay us a cool million.
Oh, I feel faint..
“Five hundred thousand dollars.” I spit on his five hundred thousand dollars.
Homer, what’s happened to you? All this greediness and lying and shifty lawyers and phony doctors –
Phony doctors? Hel-lo.
Do you know what I’d settle for if it was up to me? Bart’s medical bills and an apology!
And you won’t even get that.
Sorry, offer’s expired. I guess we’ll just have to let the jury decide, twelve good men and true. Good day. Smithers, release the hounds.
Your honor, I would like to call to the stand Mrs. Homer J. Simpson.
Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you God?
Yes, I do.
She sounded like she was taking that awful seriously.
Oh, the truth!
Mrs. Simpson, does the name Julius Hibbert mean anything to you?
Yes, he’s been our family physician and trusted friend ever since the day I became a mother. He’s seen us through everything from colds to impetigo with competence and loving care.
But, wait a minute! I’m confused! This court heard “expert” testimony from one Dr. Nick Riviera. What is your opinion of him?
I’m sorry, but my mother always said, “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.”
Will that hold up in court?
No, I’ve tried it before.
Mrs. Simpson, what is your opinion of Dr. Riviera? And let me remind you that you’re under oath.
Well, to be honest, he seemed a lot more concerned about wrapping Bart in bandages than in making him feel better. And he mispronounced words that even I know, like abdomen. And his office was dirty. Now that I think about it, I’m not sure he’s even a doctor.
And Mrs. Simpson, could you describe for us in your own words Bart’s “intense mental anguish and suffering”?
Well, I don’t know how intense it was…
…but, well, I guess he did miss three days of school –
Oh, three days.
…although he doesn’t really like school all that much,
…so I guess that may not count as anguish.
No, it doesn’t.
It was a little hard on me having him around the house
…all that time.
Could you put a dollar amount on all these hardships?
Well, we pay Bart five dollars a week to take out the trash…
I suppose if he’d been able to do it that week, we might have given him the five dollars.
But your lawyer – assuming he is a lawyer – is asking for a million? Well, we can’t blame them for trying can we. Thank you very much, Mrs. Simpson.
I’m going to write a figure on this piece of paper. It’s not quite as large as the last one, but I think you’ll find it fair.
I think we should take it.
A million dollars. My wife cost me a million dollars.
Homer, would you like some more macaroni and cheese?
Yeah, a million dollars worth you treacherous snake woman. No, thank you.
Some string beans?
No I don’t want any string beans either you two-timing, back-stabbing. Uh oh I better answer. No, thank you.
Some celery with cream cheese on it?
No, thank you.
You know what would’ve really been cool? If we got that million bucks.
What? We could have bought tons of great stuff, Mom… maids, a pool, fancy sweaters… stop me if I’m wrong.
Marge, dear. Would it be all right if I went over to Moe’s for a drink?
I don’t know if I’ll ever come back here. Goodnight.
My woman’s intuition is telling me something… I wonder what… Oh my god.
Well, that’s it. I guess this is the class I’m gonna die in.
Eh, you’re better off. Rich people aren’t happy. From the day they’re born, to the day they die, they think they’re happy but, trust me… they ain’t.
Moe, I wish he’d shut up.
Look, a chick!
And it’s not even Ladies Night.
Hey, hey, guys. Knock it off. It’s just my wife.
My name is Marge.
Homer, I’d like you to forgive me for doing the right thing.
We’ve squabbled over money before – never this much – I mean, I know this is different than that time I washed your pants with the twenty in the pocket, but I–
No, no, no. You think this is about money? Well, it’s not. It’s worse, Marge. I’m afraid that from now on when I look at you, I’m not gonna see the wife by my side or the mother of my children. I’m just gonna see the dame who blew my one big chance.
What are you saying, Homer?
I’m saying… She’s been your wife for ten years, you’ve had three children together, it’s time to be honest with her. I’m not sure I love you anymore.
But don’t worry. I’ll never let on. I’ll still do all the bed stuff. Maybe it won’t be so bad.
Oh my Lord. Well, I don’t want to wait another minute to find out whether you love me anymore. I think that you should look me in the eyes and find out.
Homer, look at me.
Alright, alright, look at her if it’ll make her shut up. Start with the feet, still angry? Good, good Homer, good. This is tough, need refreshment. Ahh, good old trustworthy beer, my love for you will never die. Alright, alright, gotta look the wife straight in the eyes and tell her.
Oh, who am I kidding? I love you more than ever.
I love you too!
Sorry to scare you like that, babe.
Okay, everybody! For the next fifteen minutes, one third off on every pitcher…one per customer… domestic beer only… hey, no sharing!