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Homer: Well, honey, what do you like? Tuba-ma-ba? Oba-ma-bo? That one? Saxa-ma-phone?

Burns: He’s a madman! I must reach Smithers! Now, how does this telephone machine work? I’ve seen others use it, let’s see S-M-I-T-H-E-R-S. By jove it worked! It’s ringing!
Moe: Moe’s tavern.
Burns: I’d like to speak to a Mr. Smithers. First name, Waylen.
Moe: Ohhhh. First name “Waylen” hey? Listen, you, if I ever get my hands on you, I’m gonna shove sausages down your throat and hungry dogs up your butt. Then I’ll use your tounge to paint my boat!
Burns: Wahh!

Mr. Burns: Smithers, I want you to arrange a party for two at my estate. Marge, me, and do you think you could dig up Al Jolston?
Smithers: Uh, do you remember we did that once before?
Mr. Burns: Ah, that’s right. He’s dead. And rather pungent. The rest of that night is something I’d like to forget.

Bart: The Flanders’ are a bunch of geeks, man.
Homer: The Flanderseses are not geeks! Okay, Rod and Tod are, and the wife has a thing for me, but she hides it behind a mask of low-key hostility.

Homer: It’s like a friggin country bear jambaroo around here.