Brush With Greatness

مجموعه تلوزیونی: خانواده سیمپسون / فصل: فصل دوم / اپیزود 18

Brush With Greatness

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Brush With Greatness

Live from Mt. Splashmore, the tri-county area’s funnest water recreation facility. It’s the Krusty the Clown Show!

Hey, kids!

You know, today’s the last day of our special week on location at fabulous Mt. Splashmore. And I just want to say to the people here have been super to me and Sideshow Mel.

The food, the grog… oh, they threw us a brunch yesterday with fresh fruit, and the most delicious melon, all we wanted. And, of course, the thing I’m gonna miss most – those special, special Mount Splashmore Water slides, God bless ‘em. So much fun. So many memories. Excuse me just a minute.

It has been a great week, hasn’t it, Lis?

I hope all you kids come out this weekend and really pack this place just to show ‘em how grateful I am. I told them you would. Don’t make me a liar.

Okay, kids. It’s time to…

Kroon along with Krusty!

“I WANT TO GO TO MT. SPLASHMORE. / TAKE ME! TAKE ME! TAKE ME! TAKE ME NOW! / NOW! NOW! NOW! NOW! NOW! / MT. SPLASHMORE TAKE ME THERE RIGHT NOW!”

This is a rather shameless promotion.

Hey, it worked on me.

Me too.

If I take you, will you two SHUT UP AND QUIT BUGGING ME?

Yeah.

Of course.

Will you take us to Mt. Splashmore?

YES!!!

Thanks, Dad.

Thanks, Dad.

C’mon Homer. Get the lead out!

Homer, that suit doesn’t leave much to the imagination.

Heads up, kids. I’m moving the seat back.

It is back.

All right, everybody stick together. We don’t want to get separated…

Challenge the raging waters of death. Dare to discover what water is really made of. H 2 Whoooooaaaa!

Whoooooaaaa!

All right! No line!

Aye carumba!

Okay, Lis. Turn on the waterworks, babe.

Mommy! I want my mommy!

Step aside. Come on. Spread out, spread out. Lost kid. Comin’ through. Look out, fatso. Comin’ through. Comin’ through. Pardon me. Movin’ to the front of the line. Hey, Lis, nice work, babe.

No, Maggie! Stay in the shallow end.

The hell with this.

Slide inspector comin’ through! Please move to the right. Grab that handrail, young man. Outta my way, I’m here for your safety.

God bless that man!

Bitchin’.

Oh no! Urg… Arrrgh. C’mon you stupid tube!!!

Looks like there’s a jam in delta sector.

Well, it’s too big to be human. Send down a few kids, that should dislodge it.

Roger.

OH NOOOOOO!!!!

I… can’t… breathe! Too… many… children…!

… Eyewitnesses estimated the man’s weight at somewhere between four and five hundred pounds…

And now on the lighter side of the news, and I use the term loosely –

No! The slide is perfectly safe. This was an isolated incident.

I understand that, Krusty. Isn’t that exactly what you said right before the recall of tainted Krusty Brand Mayonnaise?

Now Kent, you know that question is out of bounds. This interview is over.

All right family, I want the truth. Don’t pull any punches. Am I just a little bit overweight?

Well, am I?

Forgive us, Dad, but it takes time to properly sugarcoat a response.

Four Hundred and thirty-seven. Fifty-five. Oh my God, three hundred and… Hey, a hundred and fifty. Oh God, it’s two hundred and sixty pounds! I’m a big fat pig.

Now Homer, you do have big bones.

Marge, no one gains thirty pounds of bone.

But I’m going on a diet. From this day forward I pledge there will be no pork chop too succulent, no donut too tasty, no pizza too laden with delicious toppings, to prevent me from reaching my scientifically determined ideal weight! As God is my witness, I’ll always be hungry again!

Oh, shut up.

This old attic’s kinda spooky, isn’t it boy. I said, isn’t it, boy?

Don’t you ever do that to me again.

Okay.

Bart!

Get away from that thing and help me find my athletic equipment.

Hey, Homer, I found your weights.

Ooh, the Glutimus Maximizer.

Hey, who’s the moptop with the big schnozz?

Don’t you know anything, boy? That’s Ringo Starr.

Your mother must have painted this. I guess she thought he was cute… Hey, what the…

Marge!

Oh, Homer, don’t be jealous. I was a schoolgirl, the Beatles were very popular and I had a crush on them.

Likely story.

Oh, why did I have to start my diet on pork chop night?

Now, Homer. We’ve got steamed vegetables and rice cakes for you.

Well, wait a minute. Hey, I’ve been setting my drinks on these things.

Now, they’re only thirty-five calories apiece.

Hello? Hello? Hello taste… where are you?

You can put a little something on top for flavor.

Hey, hey, now you’re talkin’!

Mom, these are really good. While I know first-hand how fragile young talent is, I’d love to hear the particulars of how your gift was squashed.

Well…

No, not another portrait of that bongo-beating Liverpudlian!

But Mr. Schindler…

Someone might have used this canvas to create a masterpiece. Instead, you’ve soiled it forever.

Now, this is art!

Thank you, Mr. Schindler.

Oh Mom, I can’t believe you gave up painting because of one small-minded art teacher.

I was so upset I decided to send the portrait to the only man on earth whose opinion I could truly trust.

And what was Ringo’s response?

I never got any. And I never painted again.

Maybe you could take a class at Springfield Community College.

I think it’s a very nice idea. Don’t you, Homer?

Do I have to do anything?

No.

Great, fine, go nuts!

Mmm, only thirty-five calories.

Hello, Mrs. Homer!

Apu! What are you doing here?

I’ve just enrolled in a screenwriting class. I yearn to tell the story of an idealistic young Hindu pushed too far by convenience store bandits. I call it, “Hands Off My Jerky, Turkey!”

Clever title.

Oh, thank you. Actually, my brother Sanjay thought of it.

Next up!

My mother would like to enroll in “Painting From Life, 2-B”.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, not so fast, there, pint size. I’m afraid no one can enroll until Professor Lombardo personally inspects and approves their portfolio.

Oh, Lisa, this was a bad idea.

Mom…

Very good… Fabulous… Ooh, even better… You have real talent.

Do you really think so? My high school art teacher hated them.

What? The man was a fool! But, still, one must admire the force of his conviction.

Then I’m in the class?

Oh my dear, there couldn’t be a class without you. Now if you’ll excuse me, nature calls!

Marvelous!

The Heavy Hands don’t work unless you move, Homer.

I can’t move, boy.

Oh really.

Now, using the “Lombardo Method”, you learn to see everyday objects as a simple grouping of geometrical shapes.

Here we see how two concentric circles, various trapezoids, ellipses and, yes, even a rhombus, can create an adorable little bunny rabbit!

It’s just that easy!

Lincoln Lincoln I been thinkin’ what the hell have you been drinkin’? / Is it water is it wine? / Oh my God it’s turpentine! / Faster! Faster!

Bravo. Walk away from it! Now it belongs to the ages. You, not another stroke. Oh well, maybe one more. That’s it! Perfect!

Mmmm. Indeed. Marge, you find the inner beauty of your subject and bring it out for all to see.

Well, thank you, Professor Lombardo.

Well, you’re welcome, my dear! Marge, walk with me.

Marge, they’ve asked me to submit the best painting from my class to the Springfield Art Exhibition next week. I’ve decided to choose your “Bald Adonis”?

Really? You’re so supportive. I wish every teacher was like you.

Marge, please. I don’t take praise very well.

Oh, another triumph!

I can’t believe it.

Yay, Mom!

Woo-ooo! I’m a work of art! “Last Supper”, eat your heart out!

Garbage! What matchbook art school did you flunk out of, you ham-fisted, nearsighted house painter? Smithers, throw this on the dung heap.

I’m sorry, but this isn’t working out. I quit.

Well, Smithers, I guess that’s what you call your “artistic temperament”.

Sir, I must remind you that the dedication of the Burns Wing of the museum is only six days away.

Damnation, Smithers! This idea of yours to immortalize me in a portrait was as half-baked as your idea about me having children!

Smithers, find me an artist.

Sir, I’m afraid you’ve systematically alienated Springfield’s entire art community. The only one left is this Mrs. Homer Simpson.

Who?

Well, she won first prize in the Springfield Art Fair, and as the wife of an employee, she’ll be easily intimidated.

Excellent. Once again the wheel has turned and Dame Fortune has hugged Montgomery Burns to her sweet perfumed bosom. Somebody up there likes me, Smithers.

Somebody down here likes you, too, sir.

Shut up.

Woo woo! Two forty nine! Yeah!

Marge, Marge. Look at me! My clothes are just hanging off me!

Oh, that’s wonderful, isn’t it kids?

Pass the moo juice.

Kids. Remember what I told you about showing a little support.

Way to go, Dad.

You look mahvelous.

What a family.

Hey, what gives? These donuts are pilin’ up!

Yeah, Homer Simpson went on a diet.

Oh my God! And I just bought a boat!

Well, don’t people answer the door these days?

Allow me, sir.

Open up!

Mr. Burns. Would you like to come in?

Mr. Burns would like to commission you to do a portrait of him. Have you ever painted the rich and powerful?

Well, no… just Ringo Starr.

Rin-go?

He was the drummer for a rock ‘n roll combo called the Beatles, sir.

Beatles, eh? Oh, yes. I seem to remember their off-key caterwauling on the old Sullivan show. What was he thinking? Mrs. Simpson, this commission and all its glory can be yours, but first you must look me straight in the eye and answer one simple question.

Okay, shoot.

Can you make me beautiful?

I don’t think that will be a problem.

I’m no matinee idol.

Well, maybe not, but I have the gift of being able to see inner beauty.

Hmmm. Mrs. Simpson, you may immortalize me.

Ah, sir, at last the world will see you as I always have.

Yes, yes, yes! Now don’t be stingy with the blush, Smithers.

Now you! Paint!

Honey, I’m home!

Oh, there’s an original sentiment.

Take it outside, Simpson. I’m male modeling.

I’m painting his portrait, Homer.

Oh, isn’t that wonderful. My work and my home life come together in such a nice way. Marge, may I see you in the other room?

Honey, he’s nuts. He thinks he’s handsome. Please, make him look handsome. Please, please, please, please…

Now, Homer, don’t worry. All I need to do is find Mr. Burns’ inner beauty.

What were you like as a boy, Mr. Burns? Did you have a dog that you loved.

Well, aieeee! There’s something on my leg! Get it off! Get it off!

Mr. Burns, she’s just a baby.

All right, all right, who took the funny pages?

So, Ziggy goes to the repair shop and there’s a sign on the doorbell reading “Out Of Order”.

Ah, Ziggy… will you ever win?

Oh, my.

If you’ll excuse me, I’m changing for a board meeting.

I’m so sorry, Mr. Burns.

Hey, Mom. Did he have those spots all over his body?

I heard that.

Oops.

Would you feel more comfortable if I left, too, sir?

Of course not, Smithers. You’re like a doctor.

Smithers, I want my tea!

Doesn’t it bother you that he orders you around like that?

Actually, I value every second we’re together – from the moment I squeeze his orange juice in the morning, till I tuck him in at night. He’s not just my boss, he’s my best friend, too.

Bah! Too hot!

You’re right, sir. It’s scalding me as we speak.

Dear Sally. In response to your letter of December the twelfth 1966, me favorite color is blue and me real first name is Richard. Thanks for the snapshot. You’re a real cute bird. Luv, Ringo. P.S. Forgive the lateness of my reply.

Mr. Starr, tea and crumpets.

Just set it over there.

Sir, if you’ll forgive an old Brit his impertinence, your devotion to your fans is nothing short of remarkable.

Well, Wetherby, they took the time to write me and I don’t care if it takes me another twenty years… I’m going to answer every one of them.

Hello! What’s this?

From Springfield, U.S.A.

Gear!

Will you cease that infernal tootling!

I was just practicing.

Mr. Burns, it’s hard to discover your inner beauty while you’re shouting at an eight-year-old girl.

We’ve only got two days left, so I’d advise you to shut up and paint!

All right, scale. You don’t like me and I don’t like you, but I’ve been very good, so you better treat me right.

All right! Woo woo! Woo woo!

Marge! I’m two-thirty-nine and I’m feeling fine! Look! I’m using the original notches that came with my belt.

That’s wonderful Homer, I’m so proud of…

Let me get this straight. You’re pleased with your current appearance? Ah, why my good man, you’re the fattest thing I’ve ever seen. And I’ve been on safari.

If you need me, I’ll be in the refrigerator.

Mr. Burns, I’ve had enough of your… posing. I can finish the portrait myself.

Thank goodness. Another day in this suburban nightmare and I would’ve needed half a white valium. Thank you for your gracious hospitality. See you at the unveiling.

Homer, what are you doing?!

No. Burns is right. What’s the use?

Don’t you listen to him. He’s just a mean little S.O.B.

Marge.

I thought there was some good in everybody until I met him.

Yeah, well, just so long as you paint a nice picture of him by noon tomorrow.

I don’t think I can.

What?! Marge, you have to.

I can’t make that man beautiful. I’m just not good enough. I guess I’m no artist.

Hello, what’s this?

It’s for you, Marge. From merry old England.

From the desk of Ringo Starr!

Dear Marge. Thanks for the fab painting of yours truly. I hung it on me wall. You’re quite an artist. In answer to your question, yes, we do have hamburgers and fries in England, but we call french fries chips. Luv, Ringo. P.S. Forgive the lateness of my reply.

Come on, Marge. Paint. I think you can do it.

Okay, Homer. If you think I can.

Friends, art lovers, security personnel. Today is a red letter day for the Springfield Palace of Fine Art. A new wing for our museum and a portrait commemorating the man who ponied up the dough.

Ladies and gentlemen, may I invite you to behold… Montgomery Burns!

Smithers!

I don’t care for this at all.

Umm… Hello. My name is Marge Simpson and I painted this. Maybe you’d like to know what possessed me to do it. Well, I guess I wanted to show that beneath Mr. Burns’ fearsome head with its cruel lips, spiteful tongue and evil brain, there was a frail withered body – perhaps not long for this world – as vulnerable and beautiful as any of God’s creatures.

Provocative, but powerful.

He’s bad, but he’ll die. So I like it.

Marge… a word, please.

You know, I’m no art critic, but I know what I hate. And I don’t hate this. Your painting is bold but beautiful. And uh, incidentally, thanks for not making fun of my genitalia.

I thought I did.

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