Original subtitles

Mmm, cookies.

They're not cookies, they're biscuits.

That's British for cookies.

And they're not for you or you or you.

Or you or you. Not you.

Not for you.

These treats are for my lady friends.

They're coming over to watch a very classy

historical British streaming show,

and none of you are invited.

Cor blimey.

Now here's a distraction for each of you.

I downloaded you a podcast about beers

that you don't hear much about anymore.

Ooh, there's a whole episode about I öwenbr äu.

If no one minds, I brought a few beverages

to lubricate the evening.

- Me, too. - Same. - Way ahead of you.

So what the hell are we waiting for?

Let's dial up the Netflix.

I've got Helen Lovejoy's password.

She came to live with us when she and the Reverend

were taking a break.

She swore me to secrecy about that, but whoops.

The Springfield ladies had

a marvelous time journeying back to an era

when England was filled with eligible young ladies in corsets

courted by hot, multiracial dudes

with rock-hard abs.

The writing on this show is amazing.

Oh-ho. Men can have muscles on their chests now?

The ad in the beer podcast

is an ad for beer.

That is so smart.

I've just swum back from Europe.

We've just won the Battle of Knicker-bulge.

Let us all doff our clothes in triumph.

¡Ay, caramba!

Bart, don't watch that.

Now go to bed.

Mmm, looks like the Earl of Sixpackingham

is showing the whole walking stick.

Ooh, I'll drink to that.

Honey, what's wrong?

You look like what I see in the mirror every morning.

Also, a strange blender is on your nightstand.

I think I drank just

a toonsie-teensy bit too much

with the girls last night.

Marge, you need to take a long look at yourself.

We can't be a two-hangover household. We just can't.

I'm sorry, sweetie, but I just don't think

I can go to church this morning.

Oh, my... Aw...

No church? Oh, no.

Well, I guess I'll have to find another way

to spend my Sunday.

Mmm, chest chips.

I meant you'll have to take the kids to church

- on your own. - D'oh!

Aw, it's not fair.

I always go to church hungover.

It's always the committed drinkers who get punished.

Boozehounds just can't catch a break.

You know, hymns like that

make God come off a little thirsty.

Now I'd like to invite our littlest angels

to head to Sunday school with Mrs. Lovejoy.

Try spending a weekend with her in the Wisconsin Dells.

This week's Junior Jesus Jamboree topic

is "Honor Thy Mother and Father."

- Who would like to go first? - Oh! Oh!

Sunday school presentations don't affect my grades

and won't help me get into college,

and I'm not even a practicing Christian,

but I still have a sick need to excel,

so pick me! Pick me! Pick me!

I think we'll start with... Hmm.

Bart Simpson. Oh, but I'm guessing

you forgot all about your presentation.

You know, Helen, for a woman of faith,

you have so little of it in me.

For this assignment, I was born ready.

Well,

it's not hard to honor my mother.

Marge is a class act all the way.

As for my father, well, with a dad

like Homer Simpson, how could I not honor him?

He's so hardworking and dignified.

And he carries himself with such class and panache.

Mascot, oh, goes for the kiss

and, oh, he goes into the proposal with the bouquet.

Tosses it away and he faints out of love,

and the big, fat guy is having none of it

and he's giving chase.

- The fat guy is on the field. - Come here, you.

And the Freak is running away,

and he's using the players as obstacles.

And now he's smashing his...

You know something, that's just not right.

Sweetie, do your thing.

Baby coming through. Crying now and pooping soon.

As you can see, wherever my dad goes,

people cheer.

Look, if you didn't want me to pee in a cup,

then the movie should have commercials.

Whiz break! Whiz break! Whiz break!

Get him out of here.

In conclusion, I honor my father

because he is not not not not a loser.

One, two, three, four.

That's an even number of nots.

He thinks I'm a loser.

How dare you show your peers a supercut of me at my worst?!

Haw-haw!

Haw-haw-haw!

I hate the Welsh, but I hate you even more!

My son has no respect for me. He shamed me

in front of the whole Sunday school.

Even Ralph. What about all the videos

of me not being a loser? Where were they?

Oh, boy. It's so sad

that kids just use cameras for shaming.

We've raised a generation that only loves fails.

My fails.

At least I have a lady to rub my face.

Bart's gonna spend the rest of his life lotioning himself.

Maybe Bart doesn't understand

how hard you work to provide for this family.

When I was a girl,

my father took me to work with him one day.

I felt so proud when I saw him playing pizza

in that antacid commercial.

That's what I should do.

Take Bart to work.

Then he'll be proud of me.

Pizza proud.

Seven, eight and nine.

Watch me work

and be proud, you jerk.

No.

I don't want to hear your friends

tell me how big I've gotten.

Oh. Well-played, big man.

Larry! Slap a guest badge on him!

Larry!

And this thing over here is if the core gets too hot.

I'm all over that.

And this dealie over here is if the core...

goes missing.

Has that ever happened?

Not on my watch. And the way you can be sure

is that everyone you know isn't dead.

Hey, Homer.

Monday morning doughnuts are here.

Take your pick.

Chocolate frosted? Maple bar?

Better hurry or you're gonna get plain.

Doughnuts. Do you have to pay for 'em?

Sure, technically.

It's an honor system.

A pop machine full of free pop.

A TV showing that jerk Dr. Phil.

A poster on how to choke a guy.

I think that's for after you choke him.

Simpson,

I need that updated spreadsheet

on the hard water degradation rate.

Watch this.

I told you interns

to spread-date the graduation on the hard lemonade.

So find out what I'm talking about

- and get it done! - Yes, Mr. Simpson.

And you get free markers? When I get back to school,

I'm gonna go Sistine Chapel on those toilet stalls.

Why wait?

Here you go, Simpson.

Best part of the job.

You know it, Linda.

Dad, is that your paycheck?

Sure is.

Can I see it?

I'll do you one better.

Give it to me in singles.

Minus the 8.5% check-cashing fee.

I didn't ask for your life story.

And here's what makes it all worthwhile.

You get all that every week?

Every two weeks.

Ah, the laugh of respect.

Oh, my God, is it picture day?

Lisa, quick, let me fix your hair.

Ow! It's not picture day,

and my hair's not pasta.

I am dressed this way to honor Dad.

I never thought about it, but Homer makes enough

to pay for this awesome crib, two cars,

with enough left over to fill the freezer

with three kinds of french fries:

Waffle, curly and steak-cut.

Dad, all these years

I thought you were just some uncool roommate

that I got stuck with.

Now I realize you're a winner.

And that's why I want to be a nuclear safety inspector.

Marge, he doesn't just respect me.

He wants to be me.

What a feeling.

Oh... this must be how LeBron feels about...

...Bronny.

Just like you, Dad, I can't wait

to live the American dream.

Well, actually...

- What? - Oh, nothing.

Pew, pew, pew!

I'm a superstar spaceman.

I'm a modern superhero. I can fly,

but I can't process my own trauma.

I'm a nuclear safety guy.

I get tons of money for not blowing the town up.

Well, the thing about that is...

- What? - Nothing.

Forget I said anything.

Hey, Dad, guess what.

I made a homemade ID badge, and Larry just waved me in.

Huh. Where is he?

Oh, man, what a gig.

Homer's got it made.

He sure does.

So, you're visiting your old man at work today?

I sure am. And this sweet job

will be mine someday.

Wha...?

Hate to burst your bubble, kid,

but the kind of job your dad has

- just doesn't exist anymore. - Why not?

Well, there's no simple answer to that.

- All right. See you later. - Bart, come with me

to a magical place far in the past:

America in the 20th century.

Uh, sure.

But you better not start singing.

The decline of unions, rampant corporate greed,

Wall Street malfeasance

and the rise of shortsighted politics

all contributed to increased economic inequality,

widespread real unemployment, wage stagnation,

and a lower standard of living for millions of Americans.

All right, thanks for the history lesson, nerds.

But what does any of this have to do with me?

You see, my dad's still working,

and I want to be just like him.

I'm sure you do.

But there's something else you need to learn,

and my friend here is happy to teach you.

Ugh, you.

For days, you've been dying to say something. Just spill it.

I'll probably just buy a PlayStation 6.

Okay, so, you're saying maybe I'll have a tough time

getting a job like my dad's.

No, no, I'm saying

you'll definitely never get a job like your dad's,

and you'll have a tough time

finding something significantly worse.

Thanks for the song and dance,

but I think I'm gonna be just fine.

No. Just... no.

Okay, great. So I have no options whatsoever.

Smell you later, dude.

Isn't it infuriating?

We'll never live as well as they did.

Why doesn't anyone do anything about this?

Well, there's an answer to that, but it's not one you'll like.

So, as you can see, Bart...

Bart?

Burn it.

"Burn it"? Burn what?

Well, that's up to you.

All I know is what a janitor knows.

I do enjoy destroying things.

And this tie looks flammable.

Wait, Bart, I meant the system.

Burn it down and then reform it.

It was a metaphor.

Eh. I never learned what that word means.

- Our education system is also terrible. - No!

Oh, my God.

Oh, so this is real?

Help!

I want to live to see the future,

even if it's gonna be incredibly crappy!

You saved me.

Thanks! By the way, how good's your pay?

Mom, Dad, I figured out what I'm gonna do.

I'm gonna be a fireman.

Well, it is true that fire isn't going anywhere.

- What the hell was that? - From what I can gather,

a singing janitor took Bart on a magical journey

through America's postwar economy.

Also, Lisa was a rapper.

I'm a little concerned that Bart set his tree house on fire.

It does seem like an escalation.

Maybe we can use this opportunity

to upgrade the backyard.

Yeah. We could get a gazebo.

That'd be nice.

I just read through our homeowners policy.

We're not covered for musical numbers.

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