Blood Feud

Ah, Chief Wiggum, Archbishop McGee, distinguished guests.

I am pleased to dedicate this emergency warning system.

In the uh, off chance of a nuclear disaster, this sign will tell you, the good citizens of Springfield, what to do.

Joke’s on them.

If the core explodes, there won’t be any power to light that sign.

And now, I would like to present the man who made this sign possible, by dropping the last of his obstructionist legal challenges Montgomery Burns.

Mr. Burns is never late.

Something must be terribly wrong.

Well, there better be. Nobody leaves Diamond Joe Quimby holding the bag!

Must… turn… over. Got to… greet… dignitaries!

Oh, no, Mr. Burns! We’ve got to get a doctor!

Absolutely not! No quack sawbones is going to apply his leeches to me! As long as there’s an ounce of strength left in me, I…

Mmmm. Mr. Burns is suffering from what we medical men call hypohemia. In layman’s terms it’s quite simply a lack of blood.

Damn it, doctor, I’m no idiot! I know what hypohemia is. What I want to know is what can we do about it?

Well, at this point, our only hope is a transfusion.

How long does it take to sterilize a needle?

A few seconds.

Well, skip it.

Just leave me enough to get home.

I’m afraid it’s not that simple. His blood type is Double O Negative. It’s quite rare.

But I’m B positive. Damn this common gutter blood in my veins!

Smithers, don’t feel so bad. After all, that kidney you donated to me really hit the spot.

Attention all employees. Our boss and inspiration, Mr. Burns… is at death… death’s door. If you have type Double-O-Negative blood, I implore you to report to the Bloodmobile outside. That is all.

I’d give him my blood, except for one thing.

What’s that?

I don’t wanna.

I can’t believe you guys. There’s a human being out there with millions of dollars who needs our help. And you don’t wanna cash in? That’s why you losers are stuck in this crummy, dead end job.

You know, Homer, I am your supervisor.

Sorry, sir.

Maggie, look. What’s that?

Lee-mur. Lee-mur.

Zee boo. Zee boo.

What are you doing, honey?

I’m trying to teach Maggie that nature doesn’t end with the barnyard. I want her to have all the advantages that I didn’t have.

Lisa, we did the best we could… What’s a zebu?

It’s like an ox, only it has a hump and a dewlap. Hump and dew-lap. Hump and dew-lap.

Marge! What’s my blood type?

A-Positive.

Aw, nuts! Extremely rare blood and I don’t have it.

You know his blood type, how romantic.

A mother knows everything about her family.

Oh, yeah? What’s my shoe size?

Four B.

How many teeth do I have?

Sixteen permanent, eight baby.

Earmuffs.

XL.

Ring.

I don’t want you wearing rings, it looks cheap, but three.

Allergies.

Butterscotch and imitation butterscotch.

And?

Glow in the dark monster make-up.

Hmp, impressive.

How many hairs on my head? Without looking!

Oh, Homie, you have lots of hair… Why did you want to know your blood type?

Aw, old man Burns is gonna kick off if he doesn’t get some Double-O-Negative blood, but nobody at the plant has it.

Bart does.

Woo! Yes! All right! Woo! Congratulations, boy! You’ve got a date with a needle!

Hey, wait a minute. I don’t have to give blood. I have rights, you know.

Yeah, you have the right to remain silent.

Bart, you have to help someone in need. It’s the only decent thing to do.

Bart, it’s not like I’m asking you to give blood for free. That would be crazy! You’re a little young to understand this, but when you save a rich man’s life, he showers you with riches. Don’t you know the story of Hercules and the Lion?

Is it a Bible story?

Yeah, probably. Anyway, once upon a time there was a big mean lion who got a thorn in his paw. And all the village people tried to pull it out, but nobody was strong enough. So they got Hercules, and Hercules used his mighty strength, and bingo. Anyway, the moral is, the lion was so happy, he gave Hercules this big thing of riches.

How did a lion get rich?

It was the olden days!

Oh.

Hey, let’s go! Emergency! Life-or-death here!

Just a sec, man!

Whoa, Otto-man! You work here?

Oh yeah! During the day, all my friends are in school, so I got a job as a Certified Bloodletting Tech Dude.

Now let’s get the show on the road.

Okay. Let me wash up.

Homer, brave young Bart. I don’t know which one to hug first.

Eh… the boy.

We’re ready with the transfusion.

Smithers, I’m not going to make it. I want to dictate… my epitaph.

Go ahead.

“Charles… Montgomery… Burns”.

Um, hmm.

“American Patriot”

” American Patriot”.

“Master Of The Atom”.

“Scourge Of The Despot”.

“O Tyrant Hear His Mighty Name And QUAKE!!” Smithers, I’m back!

Oh, top o’ the mornin’ to ye! Why, look who’s here! It’s good old… you!

Hi, Mr. Burns.

Oh, hey, there, Mr… Brown Shoes! How about that local sports team? Hm?

Mr. Burns… he’s okay! Jackpot!

Aye, caramba!

Heh-heh-heh! Well, that’s game! Hasta manana, Osvaldo!

Smithers, I’m back in the pink! Full of pith and vinegar!

Just remarkable, sir.

You know, it’s funny, Smithers. I tried every tincture and poultice and tonic and patent medicine there is. And all I really needed was the blood of a young boy. By the way, what was the lad’s name?

Uh, Bart Simpson, sir.

Who?

He’s the son of Homer Simpson. One of your stiffs in Sector 7-G.

Well, the Simpsons will be getting a very nice surprise in the mail. Very nice, indeed.

Bill… Bill… Summons… Bill… Wait a minute. From C.M. Burns? Is this it? Yes, this is it! Woo-hoo! Woo!

Marge! Lisa! Maggie! Let’s do this out in the yard where the neighbors can see!

Lisa, dim the lights! No, turn on more lights! But do something!

Yes, Dad.

It’s a little thin, but that’s okay, could be a check.

All right, there’s no check, just a card. But don’t panic. I’m sure it tells us what we’re getting and where we can pick it up. “Dear Bart… Thank you kindly for the blood. Yours truly, Montgomery Burns”. It’s just a card!

This is some way to show your gratitude. No gold. No diamonds. No rubies. Not even a lousy card. Wait a minute, there was a card. That’s what got me so mad in the first place.

Homer, you don’t do things like that to be rewarded. You do them because a fellow human being needs a helping hand.

Marge, you’re my wife and I love you very much. But you’re living in a world of make-believe. With flowers and bells and leprechauns, and magic frogs with funny little hats…

Yeah, Mom. We got hosed!

Bart!

We got exactly what we wanted out of this: We gave an old man a second chance.

I promised my boy one simple thing: Lots of riches. And that man broke my promise. Well, I’ve had it! Bart, take a letter.

“Dear Mr. Burns. I’m so glaaad you enjoyed my son’s blood. And your caard was just great. In case you can’t tell, I’m being sarcastic. You stink!” Could you read that last part back to me?

“You stink”.

Good. “You are a senile, buck-toothed old mummy with bony girl arms… and you smell like”.

An elephant’s butt?

“An elephant’s butt”.

But he’s your boss. Do you have to mail it right this minute?

Yup!

You’re still angry, Homer. Why don’t you sleep on it?

Forget it, Marge!

Please, Homie? For me?

Oh, all right. You always do that hand thing! And it usually works.

Cheap son-of-a.

Homer… Breakfast is ready.

Hmmm…

Oh, Marge, you saved me from making a big mistake. Y’know, I finally understand the meaning of mmphm hnmph.

The meaning of what?

“Better half,” Marge. “Better half”.

Oh… thank you.

Where’s the letter?

Where is it?

Homer, I don’t think it’s in the cornstarch canister.

Well, it’s somewhere! It didn’t just get up and walk away!

Bart, have you seen the letter?

Yup.

All right, think very carefully. Where did you see it last?

The last place I saw it…

Uh huh… was in my hand…

Yeah…

…as I was shoving it into the mailbox.

Why did you do that?

Dad, there were things in the letter that had to be said. And I know you. You’re an emotional guy. Just because you were mad last night, is no guarantee you’d be mad in the morning. So I…

I’ll show you mad in the morning.

Homer, you encouraged him. You should be strangling yourself.

She’s right. Okay, think, Homer. Don’t panic. They don’t pick up the mail till noon. There’s still time!

Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.

Give it up, Homer. It’s locked up tight.

Locked, eh? Well, I just might have a little surprise up my sleeve for old Mr. Lock. Step aside, boy.

Hey, I’m with you, Homer. Fight the power!

Why the hose, Homer?

What does it look like? I’ll get our letter so wet, the ink will run and no one will be able to read it.

Yeah, but don’t other people have mail in there?

So a few people won’t get a few letters. Boo hoo. You know the kinda letters people write: “Dear Somebody You Never Heard Of… How is So-and-So? Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Yours truly, Some Bozo”. Big loss.

Now Bart, you keep an eye out for the mailman. Just give me some kind of signal.

Dad, the mailman is here.

That’s a good one. We’ll use that.

No, I mean the mailman’s here.

Dear God! Are you planning to water the mail?

Uh, uh I-I guess it wouldn’t do any good to run, ‘cause you’re our mail lady and you know my name and address and everything, huh?

That’s right.

Well, I’m still gonna run!

I want the whole world to hear the story of my harrowing struggle with hypohemia.

Well, sir, Mr. Roman is one of the finest ghostwriters in the business.

He’s written “Like Hell I Can’t!”… “Up From The Muck”… and “The Unsinkable Sadruddin Mahbaradad!”

Excellent.

All right, all right. First question? Have you slept with anyone famous?

Well, Countess Van Zeplin and I… What in blaze… Now you listen to me, you bargain basement Baudelaire. I’m not some dizzy starlet who can’t string two words together. I can write this thing myself. You’re fired.

Hello, my name is Mr. Burns. I believe you have a letter for me.

Okay, Mr. Burns. What’s your first name?

I don’t know.

Great plan, Bart.

Ooh, look, Maggie, what is that? Do-dec-ah-edron. Dodecahedron.

Lisa, I don’t know what you’re doing, but it’s very strange and your father is trying to worry.

“Chapter the Fifth… A Trip to the Infirmary, With Most Unexpected Results”.

Oops.

Twenty eight minutes till Burns comes. Time for operation Mail Take.

Can I help you?

Oh, don’t be frightened of this. It’s nothing but a letter opener. Who are you?

Don’t tell him. Give him a fake name.

Homer Simpson.

Simpson, eh? Simpson. Oh, why, there’s a letter here from you. I’ll just read it right now. “Dear Mr. Burns. I’m so glad you enjoyed my son’s blood. And your card was just great”. Why, Simpson. You’ve made my day. You’re a true gentleman.

Yeah, well I’ll be on my

Hello, there’s more. “In case you can’t tell, I’m being sarcastic”…

“… you stink, you are a senile, buck-toothed”…

“…old mummy… with bony girl arms and you smell like an elephant’s butt!”

Hey, c’mon, Joey! Do you have to twist my arm?

Homer, I don’t tell you how to do your job. Okay?

I could crush him like an ant, but it would be too easy. No, revenge is a dish best served cold. I’ll bide my time until… Oh, what the hell. I’ll just crush him like an ant.

“Senile,” eh? “Buck toothed,” am I? “Bony arms,” are they? “Liver spots,” did I? “Chinless,” will you?

His pink slip awaits your signature, sir.

Now, that’s odd. I’ve just robbed a man of his livelihood, and yet I feel strangely empty. Tell you what, Smithers. Have him beaten to a pulp.

But, sir

But what?

Nothing, sir.

Oh, I’ve never seen Mr. Burns this mad and he’s always kinda mad.

Me and my big… letter writing pen!

Honey, what’s done is done. No matter what happens, we’ll pull through. We always do.

Okay, here’s the plan. You can move in with your sisters and raise the kids. And I’ll… die in a gutter. It’s practical and within our means.

They always told me I was gonna destroy the family, but I never believed it.

That’s okay, Bart. Nobody really believed it. We were just trying to scare you.

You know Homer Simpson?

Yeah, nice guy. Play poker with him once in a while.

Hmmm huh. We uh, need him beaten up.

You got it.

Wait!

What is it?

Ah, nothing.

Wait!

What?

Beat, but don’t kick.

Hold the kicks. Got it.

Wait!

What?

Uh, um, umm…

Hey, what did Homie do anyway?

He saved Mr. Burns’ life!

In closing, gentle reader, I’d like to thank you. What’s that you say? Me thanking you? No, it’s not a misprint. For you see, I enjoyed writing this book as much as you enjoyed reading it. The end.

Ah Smithers, how’d the beating go?

Sir, uh… there was no beating.

What? Well that’s a hell of a thing! Why?

Because… I… I called it off.

Judas!

I’m sorry, sir. But I just couldn’t hurt Homer Simpson. He saved your life.

I see.

I know you’re mad at me, but I think it’s only fair to warn you, I’m going to stand outside the gate until you forgive me.

No need, Smithers. As usual, you’ve been the sober “ying” to my raging “yang”. Put ‘er there, old pal.

Sir, while I wish this handshake would never end, I’m, I’m afraid we still have the Simpson matter to attend to.

We do indeed, old friend. We do indeed.

Moe’s Tavern. Where the elite meet to drink.

Eh, yeah, hello, is Mike there? Last name, Rotch.

Hold on, I’ll check. Mike Rotch. Mike Rotch. Hey, has anybody seen Mike Rotch, lately?

Listen you little puke. One of these days I’m gonna catch you, and I’m gonna carve my name on your back with an ice pick.

What’s the matter Homer? You’re not your normal effervescent self.

I got my problems, Moe. Give me another one.

Homer, hey, you should not drink to forget your problems.

Yeah, you should only drink to enhance your social skills.

We’ll get the Simpsons a present, an extravagant present! A mad, unthinkable, utterly impossible present! A frabulous, grabulous, zip-zoop-zabulous present!

Ooo, too practical.

Too cutesy-poo.

Too cornball.

A pool table? Are you mad? I’m not gonna turn his home into a saloon.

Eureka! We’ve found it!

B-but, sir… it’s thirty-two thousand dollars.

Don’t you dare sully this moment with your price taggery! It’s perfect!

Oh, woe is me.

Oh, my! It’s Mr. Burns.

Heave-ho! Heave-ho! Heave-ho! Heave-ho! Heave-ho!

Wait, Dad, he’s smiling.

Mr. Burns, you brought us a present.

Why, what did you think I was going to do – have you beaten to a bloody pulp?

To show there’s no hard feelings, please take an advance copy of my book, “Will There Ever Be A Rainbow?” And now, young fellow, I haven’t forgotten you. Here.

Wow! A crowbar!

It’s to open the crate, stupid.

What did I tell you? I’ll bet it’s filled with diamonds, rubies, sapphires, pearlshttps…

Wow! A big ugly head!

Actually, son, it’s a big, ugly Olmec Indian head. It was carved by Meso-American Indians over 3,000 years ago. This gruesome customer is Xt’tapalatakettle, the god of war.

Awesome!

No, Maggie. Not Az-tec. Ol-mec. Ol-mec.

Marge, what does it do?

It doesn’t do anything.

Marge! Really, what does it do?

Whatever it does, it’s doing it now.

Well, I’ll let you get acquainted with Señor Xt’tapalatakettle, Ta!

Did you see their faces, Smithers?

Sir, you’re my god of generosity.

Save a guy’s life, and whattaya get? Nothin’! Worse than nothin’! Just a big, scary rock.

Hey, man, don’t bad-mouth the head.

Homer, it’s the thought that counts. The moral of this story is, “A good deed is its own reward”.

Hey, we got a reward. The head is cool!

Well then, I guess the moral is, “No good deed goes unrewarded”.

Wait a minute. If I hadn’t written that nasty letter, we wouldn’t have gotten anything!

Well… then I guess the moral is, “The squeaky wheel gets the grease”.

Perhaps there is no moral to this story.

Exactly. It’s just a bunch of stuff that happened.

But it certainly was a memorable few days!

Amen to that!