_
Homer, the results of your physical are very concerning.
- You're 80 pounds overweight. - I wore my socks on the scale.
And your cholesterol is sky-high.
Go big or go home.
Oh, and your testosterone is just a little bit low.
Testosterone?
That's what fuels my punching and yelling.
And my undeserved confidence.
Now I'll never be
an NFL quarterback/international superspy.
Don't worry, low T is very common amongst men your age.
It can be treated with a prescription drug
called Vicodude.
- Pill me up. - But before I give you the drug,
I just need you to watch this short informational video.
There's an ad first?
If I had more testosterone, I'd kill you.
A single truck can't possibly be best in its class
in torque, towing and payload.
Think again, Professor Killjoy.
Man up with the Road Monster
Triple-XL 550.
The Triple-XL 550 delivers ultimate tow,
ultimate payload
and ultimate torque.
- _ - The Triple-XL 550.
It's what a man drives.
Dr. Hibbert, you're a genius.
That truck is exactly what I need.
No, what you need is medication.
Wrong again, Professor Killjoy.
See you next year.
Not if this chart is right.
Ooh.
Peonies are such interesting flowers.
They need less water, but...
Look what the doctor made me get.
You know it, baby.
The engine growls just like that.
And don't worry, it has maximum torque for its class
and the highest possible ranking from J.D. Power.
What about his associates?
Oh, you know they're on board.
Look at me. I'm a payload.
This truck is an offense to everything I hold dear, and...
Oh, but it comes with a family subscription to Slapify,
the music streaming service.
I don't know what that is, but I'm great for having it.
Whoa, and check out the picture on the back-up cam.
It even has infrared.
Okay, Slapify, let's see if your algorithm
can predict my taste.
Good luck.
Age: eight. Gender: female.
How did you hear about our service: truck.
Oh, it already has suggestions.
Meh. A little trendy, not for me.
Okay, but still pretty mainstream.
Good taste is a curse,
but I'm sure a great song is just a click away.
Mm-mm. Hmm. Uh...
"If you hate everything, you might like this."
Quilloughby? Never heard of him.
"Quilloughby and his British bandmates, the Snuffs,
"dominated the '80s indie scene
with their brand of literate, sardonic..."
Ooh, sardonic.
"...music that focused on Quilloughby's obsessions,
especially his militant vegetarianism."
* The flesh that you cover with cheese *
* Is proof of your moral disease *
* It's death for no reason *
* And death for no reason *
* Is hamburger homicide. *
_
Oh! Yes.
Quilloughby's music is so smart and dour and jangly
and no one has seen him in 30 years, he's a famous recluse.
And his commitment to animal rights is so inspiring.
I just had the most amazing idea.
Lisa doesn't like it when other people talk.
Attention, Elementarians.
Inspired by my new favorite musician,
whom I'm sure you've never heard of,
today is the first Mushroom Monday.
So dig in to these all-vegan mushroom tacos.
Mushrooms? Those are chairs for toads.
Don't you see? The flesh that you cover with cheese
is proof of your moral disease.
Gah?
Just give them a chance.
So delicious.
Three kinds of ground mushrooms: portobello, shiitake...
Don't forget the yummy little pieces of bacon.
Ew, ew, ew.
You said these were vegan.
But they are. Vegetables plus bacon.
"Vegon." Am I wrong?
I ate meat.
Haw-haw! This taco had a mom.
Mmm...
Everyone at my school is a jerk.
Why are they so mean? Why?
Is the problem me?
The problem is never you.
It's those sour-breathed know-nothing sheep
who graze the blighted meadows of your so-called school.
Gah?
Okay, it was probably just a bacon hallucination.
Quilloughby isn't actually in my room.
I'm traumatized by eating meat.
You must stop talking to yourself.
People will think you've gone mad.
You're not real the real Quilloughby. You're imaginary.
I've gone crazy.
* Master of the obvious *
* Ensconced in her dreadful red frock. *
I don't want to be crazy. Not this kind of crazy.
Just get out of here.
Hey, Lis, what you pointing at?
Some bacon you want to eat?
I've got a pig nose. Want to eat me?
Oh.
Mm-hmm.
Bart, slowly, almost imperceptibly,
your friends are growing tired of you.
What... what? I'm the drumstick of this chicken bucket.
They're not getting tired of me.
Of course we're not, Bart.
Wait, what was that look?
What look?
You guys are not getting tired of me.
No, no, I was just yawning
because I stayed up late, thinking about your pranks.
Still so fresh.
Quilloughby, you completely ruined my brother
with just one sentence.
Thank you.
Oh, there's nothing more tiresome than gratitude.
I think I'm gonna like hallucinating you.
Here's a gift. Put this on your faded Army jacket.
Oh, my God.
You think I'm cool enough to wear a faded Army jacket.
Hmm. Keep in mind, I'm merely a product
of your fractured psyche.
Oh, shut up, don't ruin it.
Hey, Homer, ever so slowly,
your friends are growing tired of you.
With this much testosterone?
No way, baby.
Aw. Take me for a ride in your truck.
Trucks aren't for driving.
They're for doing kick-ass truck stuff.
Have you actually done any truck stuff?
Put it on.
But I don't want this.
You're welcome!
_
For an imaginary friend, you were really keen
to get out of the house.
Ugh, that small woman was such a bore.
Oh. Maggie's a baby, and she was sleeping.
Even she knows it.
This place reminds me of my own hometown.
It's dismal and nothing good will ever come from it.
Well, almost nothing.
Get out your tickers and tape,
here comes the prat parade.
Facial hair is not a substitute for personality.
Two times zero is still zero.
Bit early for the apricot brandy,
is it not, Vicar?
Quilloughby, is there anyone you do like?
Yeah, well, let me tell you something, Lisa.
* Every day I try to smile *
* But can't help but frown *
* Every day I draw my bath *
* And pray I will drown *
* I step out my door and I take a deep breath *
* Turn back inside and pray for my death *
* 'Cause everyone is horrid *
* Except me and possibly you *
* Possibly me *
* Oh, everyone is horrid *
* And my dear, I fear you are, too *
* Oh. *
_
Lisa Simpson.
Those measures were supposed to be pianissimo,
but instead they were sforzando and scherzando.
Well, would you care to share your private tee-hees
with the class?
I was just thinking, every day you wave that wand,
and yet nothing magical ever happens.
You're a smart-mouthed little sass pants.
And you're a sad little man whose best days never happened.
I'm not sad, I'm happy.
And 5'8" is a very nice height for a fella.
Very nice.
Lisa, I enjoyed that.
And I enjoy nothing.
Mr. and Mrs. Simpson, I called you in here
because Lisa's behavior has become wry, sardonic, and yes,
poetically world-weary.
I know what's going on.
Lisa's become infatuated
with this snobby, judgy, British crooner
- from the '80s. - Hmm.
Hmm...
Oh...
You're right to worry.
With the popularity of the Slapify streaming service,
I'm seeing more children becoming lost
in the music of the past.
* Oh, here she comes *
* Watch out, boy, she'll chew you up *
* Oh, here she comes *
* She's a man-eater! *
Well, we take this very seriously.
My husband and I are going to have
a heart-to-heart with our daughter tonight.
Isn't that right, Homer?
Oh.
You don't tow me! I tow you!
Stop resisting!
Surrender to my mighty torque!
Never!
What has gotten into you?
You used to be such a happy little girl.
When?
Okay, but never like this...
with the sour attitude,
and the black booties.
You've become a crab... no, a pill!
Lisa, darling, please silence the din.
That's it!
I'm cancelling your music subscription.
Jiggly... and bloop.
Shocking.
How can Mom take away the only place
I can hear your music?
Maybe not the only place.
Apparently, this is happening.
Hmm.
Oh, my God.
I can see you. I mean, the real you.
Well, you're in for a treat, my dear.
My live shows are, quote,
"like a three-hour dance party in a freshly-dug grave."
David Fricke, Rolling Stone magazine, 1987.
Oh, but Marge will never let me go.
And even if she would, I don't have enough money.
Those tickets cost, like, five Lego sets.
Look in your pocket, Lisa.
My dad's credit card.
Did you steal this? Did I?
A little of both. It's complicated.
Sometimes I identify as imaginary,
but sometimes I can do this.
Ow, the zipper!
Ow! Oh!
What? I'm a little stressed out.
Making sandwiches calms my nerves.
Ooh, sandwiches!
Lisa is sullen, dressing weird,
obsessed with English music...
Our eight-year-old has turned into a teenager.
Well, from now on, I'm going to pay very close attention to her.
Marge, little girls are a lot like all-wheel anti-lock brakes:
when road conditions are unpredictable...
We're talking about your daughter, not a vehicle.
Well, both do have maximum torque for their class.
Will you shut up about the damn truck?
But the truck is who I am.
It's a perfect fit for my manly, off-road lifestyle.
Oh, really?
You hate the outdoors.
You've never been camping.
You've never hauled or towed anything,
or shown any interest in hauling or towing.
And please, tell me the meaning of the word "torque."
The smoke hole where the truck's farts come out?
Torque is the tendency of a force
to rotate the body to which it is applied. Like this!
Homer J. Simpson,
you are not a truck guy!
Now, I'm going to deal with an actual problem:
our daughter's pre-pre-teen rebellion.
Lisa's gone!
I'm going to my first music festival with my best friend!
Uh, best imaginary friend.
Right. I guess I didn't need to buy
two VIP passes, then.
Sorry, Dad!
Oh, the pain of laughter...
Our daughter is by herself
at an outdoor music whoop-de-doo!
And she's using my stolen credit card.
What?
Huh?
Hey... No...
Ugh, this combines my two least favorite things...
other people's music, and other people.
Yeah, but we're going to see the real you perform.
Ooh, do you think you'll play
"Labour Action at the Biscuit Factory"
or "Simon Has a Birthmark"?
How dreadfully predictable...
but the nippers must suckle.
Oh, these bands are all rubbish,
and this sun is too... sunny.
Quilloughby, this festival is our dream.
Stop being such a, such a...
Such a pill?
Oh. Sorry, Marge.
Hey, I'm just trying to have a fun day.
Oh, a "fun day."
Why don't we all just have fizzy drinks
and rainbow lollipops?
Oh, la-di-da-di-da.
Happy, happy, happy.
Vacuous animals waiting for the slaughter.
Well, it's a good thing Dad got this truck.
- Oh, my God. - You see, Marge?
- I never want to hear another word... - Bart gets it.
- ...about this truck. - The truck is awesome.
- It makes me so mad! - You don't get it
- and you never will! - Truck this, truck that.
- Truck, truck, truck, truck... - I wish I was married to Bart!
_
Ugh! You never stop whining!
The term is "whinging."
Conspicuous eye roll.
I used to think you just hated bad art
and cruelty to animals
and people who wear baseball hats,
but it turns out you hate everything!
But, Lisa, I thought that was our bond.
Coming now to the main stage...
performing for the first time
in over 30 years...
Quilloughby and the Snuffs.
This is it... the real you!
Oh, dear God, no!
I look like bloody Churchill!
Shut your gobs, you wankers!
Woo-hoo! Wankers!
Can't you see this show is just a cash grab?
I'm only here because I lost my fortune
suing people for saying things about me
that were completely true.
Is this what I turned into?
I'm greedy, I'm hateful,
and my face looks like a syphilitic moon.
Well, it's not your fault you got old.
Sting is old.
Old Sting's bloody gorgeous, and he knows it.
Oh, boo-hoo!
You can jeer while I enjoy this pastrami on rye.
But you're vegan!
I was,
until I found out veganism was invented by foreigners,
of whom there are far too many on this planet!
That's right, I hate the foreign!
Coming to this country and taking our jobs!
Sleeping with our men!
But you're a foreigner!
And you took the job of sad, washed-up rock star.
No! You turned your back on veganism.
And you're also a huge racist.
* Because everything is horrid except meat *
* So slag off to you! *
Lisa, dear, don't let him happen to you.
Try not to sneer at everything.
And listen to others, at least a bit.
Perhaps one out of five times,
but I can't tell you which times.
Thanks, Quilloughby.
You're the best imaginary friend
a complicated eight-year-old could ever ask for.
But I think we both know it's time for you to go.
I'm going to miss you,
you bloody wanker.
Okay, okay, okay,
I'm going to play a few songs off my new album.
It's entitled Refugees? Again?
Stupid millennial traffic.
a full-scale riot has broken out
at the Bummershoot Festival.
But Lisa's in there!
Who will save her?
Did someone call for a truck guy?
Misplaced anger!
Somebody save me!
Torque, don't fail me now.
Truck, truck, hooray!
Truck, truck, hooray...
Homer. Homer. Homer, wake up.
He fell asleep while driving?
No, we got stuck in traffic and ran out of gas,
so Dad ate a garbage bag
full of Mom's PB&Js and passed out.
Thanks for walking over and getting me.
Me and Trucky saved the day.
Sure you did, Homer.
Testosterone...
I don't know what came over me, Mom.
I was sullen, moody,
thought everybody except me was an idiot...
Wait, is that what being a teenager is like?
Well, sometimes, sweetie.
Were you ever like that?
Blue mascara is who I am, Mom!
You're just jealous because you can't pull off hot pants.
For your information, I was going
to break up with Homer.
But if you hate him, he must be great.
Honey, whatever phases you go through,
I'll always be waiting for you
on the other side of the slammed door.
- Mm. - Mm.
_
Shh.
- synced and corrected by sot26 - www.addic7ed.com