Inspired by the most logical race in the galaxy, The Vulcans, breeding will be permitted once every seven years. For many of you, this will mean much less breeding. For me, much much more.— CBG
Homer: I did it! Second in line, and all I had to do was miss eight days of work.
Homer: Why am I such a loser? Why?
Bart: Well, your father was a loser, and his father, and his father... it's genetic, man. (realizing) D'oh!
Lisa: What's so special about this game anyway? It's just another chapter in the pointless rivalry between Springfield and Shelbyville. They built a mini-mall, so we built a bigger mini-mall. They made the world's largest pizza, so we burnt down their city hall.
Flanders: Oh, I guess it's time for me to duck again.
Homer: No! I want everyone to know that-- (yelling out window) this is Ned Flanders, my friend!
Lenny: What'd he say?
Carl: I dunno. Something about being gay.
Homer: They don't call me "Springfield Fats" just because I'm morbidly obese!
Lisa: Don't worry, Bart. It seems like every week something odd happens to the Simpsons. My advice is to ride it out, make the occasional smart-alec quip, and by next week we'll be back to where we started from, ready for another wacky adventure.
Bart: Aye caramba!
Lisa: That's the spirit.
Flanders: Bless the grocer for this wonderful meat, the middleman who jacked up the price, and let's not forget the humane but determined boys at the slaughterhouse.
Homer: I'd like to propose a toast to the coming together of the Simpsons and Flanders. If this were a more perfect world, we'd all be known as the Flimpsons.
Helen Lovejoy: Well. Ned Flanders is just jealous.
Moe: Aw, the guy's hepped up on goofballs.
Grampa: Let's sacrifice him to our god! Come on, we did it all the time in the thirties.