All language subtitles for The.Simpsons.S35E01.Homers.Crossing.1080p.HULU.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.H.264-NTb[eztv.re].mkv3

Finally, a galaxy
without trolls.

Huh?

Your reign of muscly heroism

ends here, Flexulon.

Soar high, my golden friend.

For today, we die another day.

Next stop,

the dank sticky jungles
of Bong-ulon Five.

Dude, you shouldn't have
let him eat

that whole pan of acid brownies.

In my defense,
I-I thought it'd be cool,

and I was right.

So, since Otto has disappeared
with our bus

and our brownie pans,

parents will have to drive
their own children to school.

Well, fewer of you
would have to drive

if you sat down and arranged
a carpool schedule.

I'll kill you!

Or your children could walk
to school

so none of you
have to do anything.

Walking it is.

However, we do need
one parent volunteer

to complete our team of

noble crossing guards.

Just, uh, one engaged parent
is all we need.

Hell yeah! You know I'm in.

I've been waiting for this
my whole life.

Homer Simpson. Wonderful.

Hmm? What'd he say?

I was watching the trailer for
the Revenge of the Nerds reboot.

John Cena is playing Booger.

Homer, you just volunteered.

Dear God.

No. Stop. Yield.

Well, he's got the lingo down.
This guy's a natural.

Now I got to wake up

at the butt-crack of dawn

to walk loser kids
across some loser street.

Never have children, Lenny.

You don't have to
worry about that.

See, I was born without...

What the...? We've got a code
blue in 7-G. Repeat, code blue.

Anyhoo,

you notice there's an apple
for sale in the vending machine?

I mean,
who would buy that?

- Double the coolant levels, now.
- I'm on it.

Backup pumps on standby.

Carlson, decrease
the steam valves by 60P.

Leonard, the control rods.

You, glasses,
pray for all our souls.

Now, switch generators
on my count.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

Implement.

- We did it!
- Boolah, boolah.

Um, fellas?

I'm the nuclear safety guy, right?

Shouldn't my console have been
doing all that beepy stuff?

- Yeah, um, uh...
- Uh, you see...

We kind of made it so that
just my console does that now.

We just figured
we'd lighten your load, buddy,

since you already do so much.

Like the March Madness brackets.

And you're the go-getter
who implemented

jean-short Wednesdays.

Are you guys saying

I've never kept anyone safe?

Oh, sure you have, Homer.
Just... by not doing anything.

My console isn't even
plugged in.

I opened it, and it's full
of cleaning supplies

and unsold Mr. Burns Funkos.

This whole time
I thought I mattered,

but I don't and I never did.

Well, you matter to me,

especially since
it's Wednesday night.

Oh. Right. Scheduled sex.

Okay, here we go...

Just give me a second here.
Come on, just...

Almost... [grunts] Um...

Uh, sweetie?

It seems like your light saber
doesn't want to go "shwoom."

Did you go "Han Solo"
earlier tonight?

I guess
I'm useless everywhere.

I'm just gonna
stay in bed tomorrow

and suck my nightstand
ketchup packets.

Actually, you have to
wake up at 6:00

to be a crossing guard.

D'oh!

What do you guys think
happened to Otto?

- Jail.
- Jail.

- Jail.
- Maybe he just got tired

of always running
from the darkness.

Oh, God, there's Dad.

Please don't let him
embarrass us.

Well, well,

time to help the baby brigade
cross the road.

Oh, no.

I deserve your respect,

you little jerks.

Stupid kids. Without me,

they'd be stuck
on one side of the street

for the rest of their lives.

Haw-haw!
Got your octagonal sign.

Hey, give me that!

I need it to tell cars
what to do. Stop!

No, you stop.

D'oh!

I'm a streetwalker.

Oh, no. I'm late
for my AA meeting.

Hey there, gorgeous.

Hmm?

Whoa.

My whole life just flashed
through my pants.

Way to go, Homer!

You just saved this
balding little scamp's life.

- All right, Homer.
- You did it, Dad!

How about one
for the paper, Mr. S.

I saved someone's life.

You hear that, world?

Homer Simpson matters!

Oh, right.
How about one of these?

- Whoo.
- Whee!

The last two endangered pandas

on Earth died today

in what zoo investigators are
calling a grisly murder-suicide.

Adios, pandas. We'll see you
at the crossroads.

We wrap up tonight's
nightly reading of horrors

with a new optimistic segment
I like to call

"Chicken Soup for the News."

The small-town crossing guard.

A job most Americans consider
as charming as it is pointless.

Until last week,

when local hero Homer Simpson
risked his life

to save one pumpkin-headed
little boy.

And now,
Simpson has become something

of a curbside celebrity.

What can Springfield do to show
its love and appreciation

for local crossing guards?

I don't know. I guess we could
use some new equipment.

These lawn chairs
aren't very comfy

and these old sashes don't
exactly "lift and support."

But you know what, Kent?

Keeping kids safe
is its own reward.

God bless that
saintly doughball.

That's it, I'm giving
Springfield's crossing guards

an actual budget.

Not for self-serving
political reasons,

but because I'm a man
of principle

who wants to do good
in the world.

Joseph, your turn
on the sex chess board.

We can't very well play
without our king.

Though the bishop may try.

Wow, look at all
this orange swag.

And that's just the beginning.

Now you'll be getting
a full-time salary.

Ah, sweet cellophane Sally.

First, I get paid
to be the timer

at a chess-themed sex orgy,
and now this.

Homer, as the fella
whose heroism got us here,

I nominate you
as crossing guard captain.

Ooh.

Look at my handsome man
in uniform.

I don't know, Homer.

The only people that wear badges
are power-hungry chumps

who want to keep
the little guy down.

Are you talking about
that security guard

at the supermarket?

I wasn't trying to break
the gumball machine.

I was just trying
to shake out a purple.

Well, I'm proud of you, Dad.

Volunteering to serve
the community

is the highest calling there is.

You know what's even better?

Volunteering for money.
We're getting paid now.

I even got a budget
for ten more guards.

And I'm only gonna hire
the best and the brightest.

All right, rookies.

Not all of you are going to
make it through training.

Look to your left,
now look to your right.

That's how you know
if a car is coming.

That concludes your training.

Heya, Homer.
I-I can't thank you enough

for saving my Ralphy's life.

Of course, Chief.
Just doing my job.

If you ever need
a parking ticket thrown out

or someone else's DNA left
somewhere, you just let me know.

Yarr, Captain.

He didn't seek your permission
to cross the seven stripes.

Crossing Guard Stu

thinks he's undermining you.

Where's the fire, buddy?

Do you know how jay you were
walking there, sir?

I-I-I don't know
what that means.

All right, wise guy,
I'm gonna have to ask you

to step out of the curb.

And keep your feet
where I can see them.

I can't even see them.

Sir, calm down.

Look, I can let you off
with a warning this time,

but just so you know,
I run these streets.

I-- What? No, you don't, I do.

Well, I run all the parts
between the curbs. Got it?

Ooh, these are nice.

I'm gonna hold onto them,

unless you have
a problem with that?

Yeah, no, no problem at all,
um, uh, "cross-ifer."

Just have-have a nice day.

Stupid crossing guards,

think they're so tough
with their cool orange vests.

Another curb kept safe

by Captain
Homer J. Simpson. Boys?

H-Here's that pitcher
you asked for, Squeaky Voice.

That's Mr. Teen to you, rookie.

These new guys got no respect.

It ain't like when we started
three weeks ago.

Homer, I've been
trying to reach you.

Whoa, there, Skinner. This bar
is crossing guards only now.

I don't even let Lenny and Carl
in here no more.

Yeah, but did you read
my urgent memo?

Tomorrow is the science fair,
bake sale, and picture day.

Morning drop-off
will be very challenging.

Now, uh, I'm not telling you
how to do your job...

Are you telling me
how to do my job?

No, I specifically said I'm not
telling you how to do your job.

That's enough,
Principal What's-ya-face.

No pedestrians allowed.

But, Homer,

if we don't get this right,

it could be pandemonium.

Pandemonium.

It's pandemonium, folks.
This is Arnie Pye,

reporting live high above
an elementary school traffic jam

turned all-out
scholastic fracas.

Surely this town's
handsomely paid crossing guards

can bring order to this
Monday morning mayhem.

Oh, oh.

Guys, stop it!

The punching
is making things worse.

Don't make me blow
my whistle at you.

Captain Simpson,
the shaking of my car

is dangerously close to mixing

the hydrogen peroxide, yeast,
and dish soap within.

- So?
- Those ingredients create

a fascinating yet volatile substance

known as...

...elephant toothpaste.

This was the most expensive, destructive,

and disgusting riot since
the Isotopes won the pennant.

Go Topes.

Crossing Guard Captain
Homer Simpson,

what do you have
to say for yourself?

Um... um...

Ooh! What can I do?
Who can I blame? Coastal elites?

Avocado socialists? The boy?
I've got it.

Mr. Mayor, the blame falls
squarely on the shoulders

of the crossing guards...'s
inadequate budget.

We need more money!

More money?

More money for training,
for equipment, for overtime,

so that your children
can cross the street safely

at 3:00 a.m. if they want to.

Throwing money
at a deeply flawed institution

is bound to work.

Um, have you all been huffing
evidence powder?

Homer Simpson
and his chair-jockeys

royally screwed the pooch
on this one.

And now you want
to give him more money?

That makes absolutely no sense.

Listen up, wokester.

Guys like me
are the last line of defense

between your school kids
and guys like me

who text when they drive.

And if you don't like it,

you can jaywalk your ass
back to Portland.

Wha...?

All in favor of me

pulling a political 180
on this issue

and giving the crossing guards
a blank check, say "Aye."

- Aye.
- Nay.

Somebody get
my enormous checkbook.

It worked.

Maybe I should've asked them
for more, just in case.

And, uh, here's some more,
just in case.

Ooh, these beanbag bazookas

can shatter
a minivan windshield.

And it comes
with a beanbag bandolier.

Look at you
and your huge budget.

My big, strong leader
in the streets

and in the sheets--
the bedsheets.

I like that we kept
our sunglasses on last night.

I couldn't see a thing.

Wow, look at all
this cool stuff.

You are an all-powerful
crossing god.

I thought you said
badges were lame?

Hey, like everyone
who comes into a ton of cash,

I've flip-flopped
to the side of authority.

Oh, you're charging me,
Francine?

Even though I keep your kids
safe every morning?

Aiden? Charlotte?

Nearsighted Nicholas?

Oh, I'm sorry.
It's on the house.

Thank you
for your service, hero.

I don't even have kids,
but this guy scares me.

Um, Dad,

I worry that this massive
increase in money and power

is subtly corrupting you.

Oh, honey, relax.

There's nothing subtle about it.

♪ Hey! ♪

Move, move, move!

Nice job, Squeaks.

Moleman, you got a couple
of SJWs-- suspected jaywalkers--

at three o'clock.
Engage with extreme hostility.

Copy. Gun safety

and body cam off.

Mm... Simpson
and his orange shirts

are harassing citizens
with complete disregard

for their civil rights.

I'm up to my eyeballs
in angry emails

and nine-figure lawsuits.

Well, you could always, uh...

decrease their budget a bit.

Defund us?!

My department does not have
too much money.

How did you know
what we were talking about?

Uh, surveillance satellite.

Aw, geez, we wanted
one of those.

Uh, Captain Simpson,

your crossing guards now take up

the vast majority
of this town's budget.

We have no choice
but to trim your budget by...

1.5 percent.

One point...

Sir, you're about to learn

the crossing guards
are uncrossable.

Where's the nice man
who helps us cross?

I heard he lost his funding.

Let's just go by ourselves.

Welcome to
Mayor Quimby's Springfield,

population: two less kids.

Quimby and his fat-cop cronies

want to flood the streets
with door-dashers,

rolling stoppers,

and yellow-light speeder-uppers.

Joe Quimby. Bad for Springfield.

Worse for America.

A smear ad?

It's not even an election year.

Is it?

Homer Simpson
can bully this town,

its citizens,
and their young children,

but he cannot bully me.

Clancy, shut him down.

With pleasure.

My Anti-Quimby ad
got a million likes

on my "Thin Orange Line"
Facebook page.

Look at all these
supportive comments.

"Murder Quimby,"

"Dismember Quimby,"

"Go Back in Time
and Kill Baby Quimby."

Ah, the Internet,

the marketplace of ideas.

You're endangering the lives
of public officials.

Oh, come on, I'm just slinging
a little mud.

What's the worst
that could happen?

Dear God...

That chair was my best friend
on the force.

Who would dare do this?

Me would dare.

When you mess with the pig,
you get the snout.

This is a chair too far, Wiggum.

My crossing guards and your cops

need to settle this
once and for all,

at the most dangerous place
in town.

What, that Brunchausen
by Loxy place

that's been poisoning everyone
for attention?

No. The six-way intersection.

Well, well,

I thought cops only showed up
after something bad happens.

We are sick
of you crossing guards

and your unaccountable,
super-macho,

hyper-sensitive,
crazily militarized malarkey.

That's our thing, damn it.

No, that's our thing.

Who the hell are you?

We're ICE.
Keeping this country safe

from cleaning ladies
and college-age Dreamers.

We're America's heroes.

You wish, kid-cagers.
It's the TSA.

We keep this country safe,

one confiscated shampoo bottle
at a time.

Think again, shoe sniffers.

The only force
holding society together

is America's meter maids.

And meter butlers.

No, it's us, overzealous
neighborhood watch guys

in right-to-carry states.

Whoop. Sorry, Clem.

You all think
you keep America safe?

How?

By hassling grandmas
and wrecking quinceañeras?

By grazing my junk
with your wand?

Or arresting bank robbers

who rob banks?

Unlike all of you,

I've earned the right
to feel godlike.

I've actually saved a life.

Um, we save lives
every day, bruh.

Shut up, lifeguards.
This is a land argument.

But if the rest of you
want to get nuts,

then come on, let's get nuts.

But mark my words,

before you cross
the crossing guards,

you'd better look
both way--

Hey, everybody. I'm back. I...

Uh-oh.

Am I gonna go to jail now?

I wouldn't dream of it.

Well, I hope you learned
a valuable lesson, Dad.

Absolute power...

Is the best kind
of power there is?

Is a warm beanbag bazooka?

Does bad things to society

and does strange things to me.

No. Once you militarized
the crossing guards,

they became an army
in search of an enemy.

And if the only tool
you have is a hammer,

then everything starts
to look like a nail.

Perhaps, but on
the other hand...

Ugh.

- Mom!
- Gotcha!

Bart, say "Excuse me."

I don't care if he says
excuse me, I want him

not to burp in my face.

Lighten up, Lis.

Must hammer nails.

♪ If I had a hammer ♪

♪ I'd hammer in the morning ♪

♪ I'd hammer
in the evening... ♪

♪ I got a hammer,
and I've got a bell ♪

♪ And I've got a song to sing ♪

♪ All over this land ♪

♪ It's a hammer of justice ♪

♪ It's a bell of freedom ♪

♪ It's a song about love ♪

♪ Between my brothers
and my sisters ♪

♪ All over this land ♪

♪ It's a hammer of justice ♪

♪ It's a bell of freedom ♪

♪ It's a song about love ♪

♪ Between my brothers
and my sisters ♪

♪ All over this land. ♪

Captioning sponsored by
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and FOX BROADCASTING COMPANY

and TOYOTA.

Shh!

Captioned by
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