Treehouse of Horror
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Treehouse of Horror
Hello, everyone. You know, Halloween is a very strange holiday. Personally, I don’t understand it. Kids worshiping ghosts, pretending to be devils… things on T.V. that are completely inappropriate for younger viewers. Things like the following half hour. Nothing seems to bother my kids, but tonight’s show, which I totally wash my hands of, is really scary, so if you have sensitive children, maybe you should tuck them into bed early tonight, instead of writing us angry letters tomorrow. Thanks for your attention.
Oooo! What a haul this year. I love Halloween.
Wait a minute. Let’s see what the kids are up to.
… and the policeman on the other end of the phone said, “We have traced the call. It’s coming from the floor below you. Get out of the house!” But it was too late. End of story.
Yawn. I heard that when I was in the third grade. It’s not scary.
Fine. Then you tell one scarier.
Here’s a story that’s really scarifying.
I call it “Bad Dream House.”
That’s all of it. Sign here.
There you are, my man. And a dollar for yourself.
A buck! I’m glad there’s a curse on this place.
Huh? Well… it’s all ours!
I still can’t believe how inexpensive it was.
Motivated seller, Marge.
Well, he certainly must have been motivated. Prime location, eighteen bedrooms, moat… we shouldn’t be able to afford this.
So we got a good deal for once. Quit fighting it.
It just seems too good to be true.
Ow! Mom! Bart threw a book at me.
What on earth was that?
Probably just the house settling.
Hmmm. This kitchen certainly could use a woman’s touch.
Homer! What’s this thing in the corner?
I don’t know.
It looks like a vortex – a gateway into another dimension.
Ooh, a vortex.
Hey! Pretty slick!
“Quit throwing your garbage into our dimension.”
Mom! Dad! Help!
Okay boy, let’s see you talk yourself out of this one.
I can feel an evil presence in this house.
Quiet, Lisa. You’re scaring your mother.
Children, get your coats. We’re leaving this house right now.
Now wait a minute, Marge. It’s only natural there would be some things wrong with an old house like this. It’s a fixer-upper. What’s the problem? we get a bunch of priests in here…
I’m not going to live in a house of evil just to save a few dollars.
Don’t be so stubborn! We’re not talking about a few dollars! We’re talking about a few thousand dollars!
It’s got great high ceilings.
Tell you what – let’s sleep on it. Okay?
All right. But if anything happens…
What could happen?
They are all against you, Bart. You must kill them all. They all must die.
Are you my conscience?
I… yes, I am.
Liiii-saaa! Liii-saaa! The butcher knife, Lisa.
They are all against me! They all must die!
Marge! Oh, Marge!
I’m in the kitchen, Homer!
Die! Die! Everybody die!
What’s going on out here? Homer! Bart! Lisa! Maggie! Stop it!
Sorry… Sorry Bart. sorry, mom… sorry Maggie… sorry Lisa.
That does it. Children, get dressed. We’re leaving.
Aw, come on, Marge. You said you’d sleep on it.
I don’t care what I said. This family has had its differences, and we’ve squabbled, but we never had knife fights before… and I blame this house.
Mom! Dad! Look!
It’s an ancient Indian burial ground.
Man, this place has got everything!
An ancient Indian what…?
Mr. Ploot? Homer Simpson here. When you sold me this house you forgot to mention one little thing. You didn’t tell me it was built on an Indian burial ground. No you didn’t! Well, that’s not my recollection… Yeah! Well… all right, goodbye. He says he mentioned it five or six times.
Let’s go, children.
Aw, gee, Marge.
You will die, you will die slowly. Your stomach will swell, your intestines will writhe and boil, your eyes will burst; and some horrible stuff, possibly your brains, will start coming out through your nose…
Shush! Shut up! Quit trying to push us around. Stop saying those horrible things and show some manners.
Look at me. I’ve never been so angry. My hands are shaking.
Better than your eyes bursting. Ewww!
Do it again.
Make the walls bleed.
Hey, man. We own you. Let’s see some blood.
I don’t have to entertain you.
Come on man, do it! Do the blood thing! Come on, do it! Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it!
Why are you trying to scare us? Are you trying to keep us from getting close to you… maybe even loving you?
Leave me alone.
Don’t talk to her like that.
Hey, listen lady…
Oh, don’t call me lady. My name is Marge Simpson, this is my family and we’re not going anywhere. We’re all going to have to live together, so you better get used to it… please.
Can I have a minute to think about this?
Hmmm. Life with the Simpsons. What choice do I have.
It chose to destroy itself rather than live with us. You can’t help but feel a little rejected.
That wasn’t scary at all, Bart.
Oh, yeah? Well how about…this severed finger!
Eww, baby spit.
Heh… heh… heh.
Well that last story was just a warm-up for this macabre tale, which I call, “Hungry Are The Damned.”
Homer, all these flies.
Not to worry. I’ll just turn on the trusty bug zapper.
Oooo! That was a big mama. Heh, heh, heh.
That should just about do it. Man alive, there’s nothing better than a hamburger grilled to perfection…
The burgers are getting cold, guys. Holy moly.
Greetings Earthlings, I am Kang. Do not be frightened. We mean you no harm.
You… you speak English.
I am actually speaking Rigelian. By an astonishing coincidence, both of our languages are exactly the same.
Well, what are you gonna do with us, man?
Kodos and I are taking you to Rigel Four. A world of infinite delights to tantalize your senses and challenge your intellectual limitations…
Look, I know that to you we Simpsons are a lower order of life. We face that prejudice every day of our lives, but we are happy on our little planet. We throw ourselves on your mercy. Please return us to…
Hey! Get a load of that spread.
Here you go, earthlings. Take all you want. Eat all you take.
Well, thank you very much, Mr….?
To pronouce it correctly, I would have to pull out your tongue.
Smothered pork chops.
Look, Homer! Radish rosettes. These are hard to make. They are a very advanced race.
Come Earthlings, eat. Grow large with food.
There’s something not quite right about this.
The girl’s right. Let’s get some applesauce out here for these pork chops.
What are you lookin’ at, buddy?
Your wife is quite a… dish.
It’s our great pleasure to provide you with unlimited entertainment on your intergalactic journey. On this cable system we receive over one million channels from the furthest reaches of the galaxy.
Do you get HBO?
No, that would cost extra.
And over here is our crowning achievement in amusement technology. An electronic version of what you call table tennis. Your primitive paddles have been replaced by an electronic…
Hey, that’s just Pong!
Get with the times, man.
Marge and I played that old game before we were married.
Well, we did build this space ship, you know?
Anyone from a species that has mastered intergalactic travel, raise your hand.
All right, then.
Sorry. Your game is very nice.
Hey, how come we never see you guys eat?
Oh, we wouldn’t want to spoil our appetite for… the great feast when we land on Rigel Four.
Oooh, a feast.
Will we be invited?
Oh, you’ll be at the feast. I have a feeling you’ll be the guests of honor.
Tell us more about this feast.
No, no, eat now.
When we arrive, there will be plenty of time to chew the fat.
Very good, earth boy.
Excellent, Mr. Simpson. Excellent.
This will give the humans the perfect flavor.
Don’t you see what’s happening here? They’re fattening us up so they can eat us.
If you don’t believe me, look at this book I found.
Marge, she’s right.
Humans, you have stopped eating.
Listen, you big stupid space creature. Nobody, but nobody eats the Simpsons.
I beg your pardon.
Don’t play dumb with me. We found your book.
You mean this? It’s a harmless cookbook. It’s just a little dusty.
Wait a minute!
Wait, there’s still more space dust on here.
Let me get this straight. You thought…
They thought we were going to eat them.
Good God! Is this some kind of joke?
No, they’re serious…
Well, why were you trying to make us eat all the time?
Make you eat? We merely provided a sumptuous banquet and, frankly, you people made pigs of yourselves.
I slaved in the kitchen for days for you people and…
Well, if you wanted to make Serak the Preparer cry, mission accomplished.
You aren’t the only beings who have emotions you know.
We offered you paradise. You would have experienced emotions a hundred times greater than what you call love, and a thousand times greater than what you call fun. You would have been treated like gods and lived forever in beauty. But, now because of your distrustful nature, that can never be.
For a superior race, they really rub it in.
There were monsters on that ship. And truly we were them.
Lisa, see what we mean when we say you’re too smart for your own good?
Way to go, Lis.
Yeah, thanks Lisa.
Hello, something scary happening.
Hey, Poindexter. It’s Halloween, put the book away.
For your information, I’m about to read you a classic tale of terror by Edgar Allan Poe.
Wait a minute. That’s a schoolbook.
Don’t worry, Bart. You won’t learn anything.
It’s called, “The Raven.”
Once upon a midnight dreary,
while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore – While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
‘Tis some visitor,
– tapping at my chamber door – Only this and nothing more.
Are we scared yet?
Bart, he’s establishing mood.
Ah, distinctly I remember. It was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; – vainly I had sought to borrow from my books surcease of sorrow:
– sorrow for the lost Lenore –
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore – Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain thrilled me – filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating;
‘Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door – This it is and nothing more.
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer;
– said I –
– or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you.
Here I opened wide the door; –
This better be good.
Darkness there and nothing more.
You know what would have been scarier than nothing?
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping something louder than before.
– said I –
– surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore –
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he, But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door – Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door – Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou –
I said –
– art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore – Tell me… tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Quoth the Raven,
Eat my shorts!
Bart! Stop it. He says “nevermore”. That’s all he’ll ever say.
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed by some unseen censer,
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
I cried –
– thy God hath lent thee – by these angels he hath sent thee. Respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!
Quoth the Raven,
Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!
I shrieked of starting,
Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore! Oh, leave no black plume as a token of the lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! – quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
Quoth the Raven,
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
Quoth the Raven,
Why you little –!
Come back here now, Raven
Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore.
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting, On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor, Shall be lifted – nevermore!
Lisa, that wasn’t scary. Not even for a poem.
Well, it was written in 1845. Maybe people were easier to scare back then.
Well yeah, like when you look at “Friday The 13th, Part I,” it’s pretty tame by today’s standards.
I guess I’ll have no trouble gettin’ to sleep tonight.
Oh no, Marge. Come on, please.
Homer, I am not sleeping with the lights on. They’re just children’s stories. They can’t hurt you.
Oh… oh, I hate Halloween.