Original subtitles

CHORUS: ♪ The Simpsons ♪

(theme music playing)

(bell ringing)

(whistle blowing)

(beeping)

(jazzy solo)

(playing off-key)

(horn honking)

D-ohh! (screams)

(all yelling)

(crows cawing)

(whistle blowing)

Ah, lunch time.

Well, let's see what I've packed for myself today.

One bouillon cube.

One Concord grape...

One Philly cheesesteak...

And a jar of garlic pickles.

(chuckling)

No one will want to kiss me after these, eh, Smithers?

Well, it's their loss, Sir.

(chuckling)

Yes.

(grunting)

Allow me, Sir.

(grunting)

(sighs) It's no use.

Shall I send out for some Chinese?

No, those people are all gristle.

I want this jar open.

(grunting)

(breathing heavily)

Worthless old geezers.

Phew... next.

All righty, I'll just...

(grunting)

You stinking...

(indistinct ranting)

(sputtering)

(sighing)

Oh, for goodness sake.

What we need around here is some fresh blood.

Would you like me to drain Simpson

while he's passed out, Sir?

No, no. To attract the top grads

we'll need to make a recruitment film,

a picture that showcases our cutting-edge technology.

A talkie, Sir?

Ah, yes, brilliant.

That's just the kind of far-out gimmick we need.

And... action.

Wow, what a graduation.

I'll say.

But with college behind us

we'll need careers, and good ones.

What about chestnut roasting?

People always need chestnuts.

Or begging.

I know a place that'll saw your legs off.

Slow down, fellas.

I've got a way we can keep our legs

and still have a bright future.

Now you're dreaming.

Oh, am I?

Of course. Nuclear power.

It's the job of tomorrow...

Today.

Really?

Well, that settles it.

For all those reasons and more

let us choose an electrifying career in...

-line. -(sighs)

Nuclear power.

Nuclear power.

Oh, you dunderheaded stooges are the worst bunch of...

Hey.

Pretty good, huh?

Well, it's better than that last Barbara Streisand movie.

I didn't quite get the point of it, Dad.

Why would Lenny want someone to saw his legs off?

Well, there were script problems from day one.

Didn't seem like anybody even read the script.

That was the problem.

The important thing is

after all these years of paying my dues

I'm finally getting some decent parts.

You're joining the Screen Actors Guild?

I didn't choose to be a gifted actor, Marge.

It chose me.

I'm merely a vessel through which genius flows.

Now help me make up some phony credits.

-Fat guy number three? -Good, good.

Hey, Dad, it says they need your full name.

You only put down your middle initial.

Hey, what the heck is your middle name, anyway?

You know... I have no idea.

Hey, Dad, what does the "J" stand for?

How should I know?

(grunting)

It was your mother's job to name you

and love you and such.

I was mainly in it for the spanking.

But I can't ask Mom.

She's on the run from the law.

Serves her right for being a '60s radical--

Though she was a demon in the sack.

(chuckling)

Uh, so, Dad, regarding that form

why not just make up a middle name?

You might as well.

You already made up a phony film credit.

No. Homer Simpson does not lie twice on the same form.

He never has and he never will.

You lied dozens of times on our mortgage application.

Yeah, but they were all part

of a single ball of lies.

The point is, I'm a grown man

and I deserve a middle name.

Hmm, I know where

we might find your missing moniker.

It's a bit of a drive, but on the way

we can have a nice father-son chat.

Great.

I'll go shoot myself for bringing this up.

This is the hippie commune your mother ran off to

when life with me became a living hell.

Wow, look at this place.

There's a pond for skinny-dipping

a tire for skinny-swinging.

I can actually feel the good vibrations.

(buzzing)

Ouch.

I remember them.

Seth and Munchie.

Look at those filthy, lazy, flea-ridden...

Oh, hi there.

Hey, check it out.

Is that... Abe Simpson?

Geez, man, we haven't seen you since Woodstock.

You went to Woodstock?

Your mother dragged us both to that Godforsaken love-fest...

(playing "Star Spangled Banner")

Boo! Bring on sha na na.

Whoa, mellow out, Abe.

Little Homer's trying to groove.

(imitating guitar sounds)

Shame on you, boy.

Put some damn pants on

and then pull 'em down

'cause it's time for a spanking.

Get a load of Captain Bringdown.

Whoa.

Yeah, whoa.

But I want to play in the mud and be a hippie.

Never. What you need's a good long hitch in Vietnam.

There must be an enlistment tent around here somewhere.

If I'd left it up to your mother

you'd have ended up in a hellhole like this--

just lying around, never working

without a care in your head,

full of long, luxurious hippie hair...

Oh, Homer J., how do you keep your hair

so rich and full?

Lather, rinse, and repeat.

Always repeat.

Homer J., will you teach us to make love?

Wow, I could have lived like that?

You know, Homer,

your mom was a pretty groovy chick.

And a demon in the sack.

(chuckling)

Oh, you heard about that, eh?

(laughs)

Heh. Anyway, I--I still think about her

every time I walk by that mural

she painted.

Oh, my mother painted that for me?

Oh, my God.

My middle name is right behind that shrub.

I'll finally know what "J" stands for.

From this moment forth, I will be known as Homer...

Jay Simpson.

(sniffling)

It's so beautiful.

What a magical gift for my mother to leave me.

She also left her old poncho.

Get off of there, Ginsberg.

(grunting)

I'll treasure this poncho forever.

Uh, you might want to wash that.

The dog has a lot of skin and bladder problems.

All right, we got what we came for

plus that stink rag to boot.

Now, let's hit the road.

ABE: Just lyin' around...

never workin'...

without a care in...

My head full of long, luxurious hippie hair.

-I'll do it! -What?

I'm going to be a hippie, just like Mom wanted.

I'm going to let my spirit soar

and love all of God's creatures.

Get off, you stupid dog.

(growling)

Okay. If I'm gonna be a real hippy,

I have to learn from the master.

Mr. Bob Flower-child Hope.

Hey, peace, man, far out groovy, I'm a hippy.

Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Jill St. John.

(crowd cheering)

Hey, Bob, I just came to invite you to the love-in.

(gurgles)

I got you a date with the perfect flower child-

Phyllis Diller.

(audience laughing)

Let's get it on.

(cackling)

Now I know how Dean Rusk feels.

Good night, everybody.

Bummer. Love-in. Dean Rusk. By George, I've got it!

Dad, do you mind?

Your feet are really close to my potato.

Your potato?

You can't, like, own a potato, man.

It's one of Mother Earth's creatures.

(loud burp)

Homer, excuse yourself.

No way, narc.

Bodily functions are a natural thing.

Not to mention hilarious.

(rude armpit noise)

You know, I really don't appreciate

being called a narc,

and that poncho is filthy.

Let me dry-clean it for you.

(whimpering)

Why do you have to turn everything

into one big plastic hassle?

Marge, you've got too many hang-ups,

like the whole shaving trip.

Come on.

I want to see those legs all furry and gross.

That ain't going to happen, bub.

Well, at least lose the bra.

Free the "Springfield Two," Marge!

Free the "Springfield Two"!

I think you've had too much strawberry wine.

(muttering)

WOMAN (shrieking) : Help!

Oh, I've never seen anything like--

my eyes have been soiled.

Come on, Maude.

The human wang is a beautiful thing.

Homer, for God's sakes, put your poncho on.

Okay, okay.

(mutters) Narc.

(grunting noises)

-Oh! -Ooh!

Heads up!

Hey, it's Homer Jay.

My man, you've gone granola.

Right on.

Join the hack.

(grunting)

That was cool.

Think I'll stick around.

We've got everything we need right here--

Good times, sunshine, free love.

(purring growl)

(bell rings)

Okay, time to get back to work.

Work? But you're hippies.

Oh, we were on a break.

Time is money, man.

Huh?

What is this place?

We are the largest organic juice company

in Springfield.

We grow our own vegetables and process them right here

and we give half the profits to war orphans.

Profits, profits, profits!

What kind of hippies are you?

Peter Fonda must be spinning in his grave.

We're just trying to pay the bills, Homer.

I mean, we're still hippies at heart.

Oh, yeah? When's the last time

you freaked out the establishment?

You guys are total sellouts!

Wait. Don't you work for a nuclear power plant?

Look, we can sit here all day and play the blame game

or we can start freaking people out.

Come on. Where's your freak bus?

I drive a Saturn.

HOMER: A Saturn?

We used to have a bus.

In a way, the '60s ended the day we sold it--

December 31, 1969.

Yeah, an old-time freak-out sounds tempting, Homer,

but we've got a big order to fill.

Fine.

I guess the juice business is more important

than the ideals our hippie forefathers

refused to go to war and die for.

(sighs)

I suppose we could duck out for a couple of hours.

Hey, we'll call it a business trip

and write off the mileage.

Now your freak flag's flying!

Let the freak-out begin!

Woo-hoo!

♪ Good sense, innocence, cripplin' mankind ♪

♪ Dead kings, many things... ♪

Oh.

We're never going to freak anybody out with this music.

I brought something from my personal stash

that'll blow some minds.

♪ Uptown girl ♪

♪ She's been living in her uptown world ♪

♪ I'll bet she never... ♪

Uh, can you turn that down just a little?

Hey, square, expand your mind.

The doors of perception are open for business.

(chuckles) Thanks for the tip, Homer.

Never fear!

The cosmic fool is here

to blow the lid off your conformist, button-down world.

(high-pitched laughter)

Weirdos.

Hi, Marge.

We're freaking out squares.

Oh, lord.

What's in your brand-new bag, mama?

Uh, it's that pair of dockers you wanted--

48 waist with the balloon seat, right?

(groans) Marge, not in front of the hippies.

(bells tinkling)

Uh-oh. I don't like the sound of that.

(bells tinkling)

(Homer screaming)Oh, please, God, don't let them come in here.

(Homer screaming)

Hear ye! Hear ye!

The intergalactic jester proclaims

this conformity factory closed.

(kids cheering)

Whoo-hoo!

Hmm. 15 years of loyal service and this is how they tell me--

A jester with an invisible proclamation.

(rock music playing)

That was fun.

I don't know if we actually freaked anyone out, but...

No, no, no. Marge was definitely freaked out.

Thanks, Homer.

It was nice to reconnect with our hippie roots,

if only for a...

What the hell?

Oh, no!

Oh, man!

Your frisbee jammed the juicilator, Homer.

Our entire shipment is ruined.

Uh, uh, pretty, uh, freaky, huh?

The only people who are going to be freaked out

are our stockholders.

I'm sensing some negative vibes here, but I promise

tomorrow's freak-out will go a lot smoother.

There won't be any more freak-outs.

You're not a hippie and you never were.

Yes, b--but the poncho?

Please, Homer, just leave us alone.

How could you let me turn into you?

B--but the poncho.

(mocking) B--but the poncho!

Hit the road, square.

(grunts)

Uh-oh.

Oh!

Oh, for crying out loud!

Stunned league officials say point-shaving may have occurred

in as many as three Harlem Globetrotters games.

And in business news, Groovy Grove Juice Corporation

has announced it will miss delivery

on its third-quarter shipment.

A spokesman attributed the production shutdown

to a half-witted oaf.

Ah, it was sweet of those guys to blame an oaf,

but really, it was my fault.

I just don't have the discipline to be a hippie.

Ooh, does this mean you're going to start showering again?

Perhaps... in time.

Ah, cheer up, Dad. You make a great hippie.

Ah, you're just saying that.

No, really. You're lazy and self-righteous.

And the soles of your feet are jet black.

Well, I do walk through pretty much anything.

Oh, you kids are sweet.

I know you feel bad about the juice incident,

but I'm sure you can make up for it somehow.

That's it! Somehow!

Sleep, gentle hippies, sleep.

Let old Homer Jay set things right.

♪ It's the time of the season ♪

♪ And let me try with pleasured hand ♪

♪ To take you in the sun to promised lands ♪

♪ To show you every one ♪

♪ It's the time of the season for loving... ♪

(shrieks)

Good morning, Starshine, Seth.

(both gasp)

What's going on?

What happened to our crops?

I picked them, juiced them

and delivered them to every store in town.

Your business is saved.

But there weren't enough vegetables left

to fill that order.

(chuckles)

That's what I thought at first,

but then I found the other garden behind the barn--

The one with the camouflage netting.

Uh-oh.

Homer, those were our personal vegetables.

Well, now the whole town can benefit

from their nutrients.

♪ One pill makes you larger ♪

♪ And one pill makes you small ♪

Fergie!

Willie, you complete me.

Saints be praised.

Oh, closer....

I've always dreamed of this moment.

(moaning)

(groaning)

(yells)

♪ And if you go chasing rabbits ♪

(yelling)

Ah!

♪ And you know you're going to fall ♪

♪ Tell them a hookah... ♪

Whoo! Thanks, Pinky.

You've always been there for me.

♪ ...Has given you the call ♪

♪ Call Alice ♪

-Huh? -(giggling)

Morning, Ned.

Pucker up, Ned. Mwah.

(yelling)

(both laughing)

(laughter continues)

We are so old.

Yeah.

(both giggling)

LOU: (laughing) Whee!

(laughing)

Lou? Lou, are you all right?

The electric yellow has got me by the brain banana.

I see.

My God.

It's nothing but carrots and peyote.

Hmm. Damn long-hairs never learn, Chief.

Yeah, it's time for an old-fashioned

hippie ass-whomping.

(sirens waling)

Attention, hippies.

Come out peacefully

so we can smash your drug mill

and all your worldly possessions.

Officer, please.

We can explain.

Not so fast, pig!

We're making a stand-- a freaky stand.

You can smash this drug barn all you want,

but first you'll have to smash our heads open like ripe melons.

This man does not represent us.

All right, boys.

Set your nightsticks on "whomp."

Um, mine's stuck on "twirl."

Oh, for the love of... There.

Now, let's crack some skulls.

Seth, Munchie, they can destroy our bodies and our ponchos,

but they can never silence our song of protest.

♪ Uptown girl ♪

♪ She's been living in her white bread world... ♪

-Come on, guys. -(all grunt)

Forget the clubs. Just shoot him.

(rifles clicking)

Look at yourselves

pointing guns at your fellow men.

Hatred is a cage that keeps us from soaring free.

Yes, the '60s may be dead and gone

and its spirit long since extinguished,

but its ideals live on--

Freedom!

Love!

And peace.

-(gunshot) -Ow!

Doctor, will he be all right?

Yes, he was lucky.

If that had been a gladiola, he'd be dead right now.

Why don't you just pull it out?

(chuckles)

I'm a doctor, not a gardener.

Can't you just prune some of the leaves so I can watch TV?

What did I just say?

(slow instrumental music playing)

♪ Uptown girl ♪

♪ She's my uptown girl ♪

♪ I know that I'm in love ♪

♪ With an uptown girl ♪

-HOMER: I buried Flanders. -MARGE: Shh.

Captioned by Visual Data Media Services