Chapitre 35: Blood Feud

Chief Wiggum, Archbishop McGee, distinguished guests I'm pleased to dedicate this warning system. In the off-chance of a nuclear disaster this sign will tell the good citizens of Springfield what to do. Joke's on them. If the core explodes, there won't be any power to light that sign. I'd like to present the man who made this sign possible by dropping his obstructionist legal challenges Montgomery Burns. He's never late. Something's wrong. Nobody leaves "Diamond Joe" Quimby holding the bag! Must turn over. Got to greet dignitaries. -Oh, no! We've got to get a doctor! -Absolutely not! No quack sawbones is going to apply his leeches to me. As long as there's an ounce of strength left in me. He's suffering from what we call hypohemia. It's a lack of blood. Damn it, I know what it is! What can we do about it? -Our only hope is a transfusion. -How long to sterilize a needle? -Seconds. -Skip it. Just leave me enough to get home. It's not that simple. His blood is double O-negative. It's rare. I'm B-positive. Damn this gutter blood! Smithers, don't feel so bad. After all, that kidney you donated to me really hit the spot. Attention, all employees. Our boss and inspiration, Mr. Burns is at death's door. If you have double O-negative blood, please report to the bloodmobile. That is all. -I'd give, except for one thing. -What? I don't wanna. I can't believe you guys. There's a wealthy human being who needs our help. You don't wanna cash in? That's why you losers are stuck in this crummy job. -I'm your supervisor. -Sorry, sir. Maggie, look. What's that? Lemur. Lemur. Zebu. Zebu. -What are you doing? -Teaching Maggie about nature. She needs the advantages I didn't have. Lisa, we did the best we could. What's a zebu? An ox with a hump and a dewlap. Hump and dewlap. Hump and dewlap. -What's my blood type? -A-positive. Nuts! Rare blood and I don't have it. You know his blood type? How romantic! A mother knows everything. -My shoe size? -4-B. -How many teeth do I have? -Sixteen. -Ring? -Don't wear them. But three. -Allergies? -Butterscotch. And? -Monster makeup. -Impressive. -How many hairs on my head? -Homie, you have lots of hair. -Why do you need your blood type? -Burns may die. He needs double O-negative blood. No one has it. -Bart does. -Yes! All right! Congratulations! You've got a date with a needle! I don't have to give blood. I have rights. -Yeah, the right to remain silent. -You must help those in need. -It's the only decent thing to do. -D'oh! It's not like I'm asking you to give blood for free. That would be crazy! When you save a rich man's life, he showers you with riches. -You know "Hercules and the Lion"? -Is it a Bible story? Probably. Once upon a time there was a big, mean lion who got a thorn in his paw. Everyone tried to pull it out but nobody was strong enough. They got Hercules. And Hercules used his mighty strength, and bingo! The moral is, the lion was so happy he gave Hercules this big thing of riches. -How did a lion get rich? -It was the olden days! Hey, let's go! Emergency! Life or death here! -Just a sec! -Otto-man! You work here? All my friends are in school so I got a job as a bloodletting tech-dude! -Let's get this show on the road. -Okay. Let me wash up. Homer. Brave, young Bart. -I don't know which one to hug first. -The boy. -We're ready with the transfusion. -I'm not going to make it. I want to dictate my epitaph. -Go ahead. -Charles Montgomery Burns: American and patriot. American patriot. Master of the atom scourge of the despot. O, tyrant, hear his mighty name and quake! Smithers, I'm back! Top of the morning to ye! Why, look who's here! It's good old you! Hi, Mr. Burns. Hey, there, Mr. Brown Shoes. How about that local sports team, huh? Mr. Burns. He's okay. Jackpot! Well, that's game. Hasta mañana, Osvaldo. I'm back in the pink! Full of pith and vinegar! -Just remarkable, sir. -You know, it's funny. I tried every tincture, poultice, tonic and medicine there is. And all I really needed was the blood of a young boy. -What was the lad's name? -Bart Simpson. -Who? -The son of Homer, a stiff in 7-G. The Simpsons will be getting a very nice surprise in the mail. Very nice, indeed. Bill. Bill. Summons. Bill. Wait a minute. From C. M. Burns. This is it. Yes, this is it! Bart! Lisa! Maggie! Let's do this out in the yard! Dim the lights. Turn them on. Do something! Yes, Dad. It's thin, but that's okay. Could be a check. There's no check, just a card. Don't panic. I'm sure it tells us what we'll get and where to pick it up. Dear Bart, thank you kindly for the blood. Yours truly, Montgomery Burns. D'oh! It's just a card! Is that some way to show your gratitude? No gold, no diamonds. No rubies, not even a lousy card! Wait, there was a card. That's what got me so mad! You don't do these things to be rewarded. You do it to help someone. You're my wife and I love you very much but you're living in a world of make-believe. With bells and magic frogs with funny hats. -We got hosed. -Bart! We got exactly what we wanted. We gave an old man a second chance. I promised my boy one simple thing: Lots of riches. And that man broke my promise! I've had it! Bart, take a letter! Dear Mr. Burns I'm so glad you enjoyed my son's blood. And your card was just great. In case you can't tell, I'm being sarcastic. You stink! -Read that last part back to me. -"You stink!" Good. You are a senile, bucktoothed old mummy with bony girl arms and you smell like. -An elephant's butt? -An elephant's butt. -He's your boss. You have to mail it? -Yep. -Why don't you sleep on it? -Forget it. Please, Homie. For me. Oh, all right. You always do that hand thing. And it usually works. Cheap son of a. Homer, breakfast is ready. Marge, you saved me from making a big mistake. I finally understand the meaning of. -Of what? -Better half. -Thank you. -Where's the letter? Where is it? I don't think it is in the cornstarch canister. It's somewhere. It didn't just get up and walk away. -Seen the letter? -Yep. Think very carefully. Where did you see it last? The last place I saw it -was in my hand -Yeah? as I was shoving it into the mailbox. D'oh! Why did you do that? There were things that had to be said. And I know you. There was no guarantee you'd still be mad this morning. I'll show you mad in the morning! Homer, you encouraged him. You should be strangling yourself! She's right. Don't panic. They don't pick up the mail till noon. There's still time! -Give it up. It's locked up tight. -Locked, eh? I might have a little surprise up my sleeve for old Mr. Lock. Step aside, boy. Hey! I'm with you, Homer. Fight the power! -Why the hose? -Why do you think? I'll get it so the ink will run and no one can read it. -But don't other people have mail? -So they won't get letters. You know the letters people write. "Dear somebody how is so-and-so? Blah, blah, blah. Yours truly, Some Bozo. " Big loss. Look out for the mailman. Give me a signal. -Mailman's here. -We'll use that. No, I mean the mailman's here! God! Are you planning to water the mail? It wouldn't do any good to run because you know my name, right? -That's right. -Well, I'm still gonna run! I want the whole world to hear the story of my struggle with hypohemia. Roman is the finest ghostwriter. He's written Like Hell I Can't. Up from the Muck. The Unsinkable Sadruddin Mahabaradad. All right. First question: Have you slept with anyone famous? Countess von Zeppelin and l-- What in blaze--? Listen to me, you bargain-basement Baudelaire! I'm not a starlet who can't string two words together. I can write this thing myself! You're fired! Hello. My name is Mr. Burns. -I believe you have a letter for me. -What's your first name? I don't know. Great plan, Bart. Oh, look, Maggie! What is that? Dodecahedron! Dodecahedron! I don't know what you're doing but your father's trying to worry. "Chapter the Fifth. " The trip to the infirmary with most unexpected results. Twenty-eight minutes till Burns comes. Time for Operation Mail-Take. Can I help you? Don't be frightened. It's a letter opener. Who are you? Give a fake name. Homer Simpson. Simpson, eh? Simpson! Why, there's a letter from you. I'll read it right now. "Mr. Burns, I'm glad you enjoyed my son's blood. And your card was just great. " Why, Simpson! You've made my day. You're a true gentleman. -Well, I'll be on my way. -Hello, there's more. "In case you can't tell, I'm being sarcastic. " You stink! You're a senile, bucktoothed mummy "with bony girl arms. And you smell like an elephant's butt!" Come on, Joey. You have to twist my arm? I don't tell you how to do your job, okay? I could crush him like an ant. But it would be easy. No, revenge is a dish best served cold. I'll bide my time until. What the hell, I'll just crush him. Senile, eh? Bucktoothed, am I? Bony arms, are they? Liver spots, did I? -Shameless, will you? -His pink slip for you to sign. Now that's odd. I've just robbed a man of his livelihood and yet I feel empty. Tell you what, have him beaten to a pulp! -But-- -What?! Nothing, sir. I've never seen him this mad, and he's always kind of mad. -Me and my big letter-writing pen. -What's done is done. No matter what, we'll pull through. You can move in with your sisters and raise the kids and I'll die in a gutter. It's practical and within our means. They said I'd destroy the family. I never believed it. Nobody believed it. We were just trying to scare you. -You know Homer Simpson? -Yeah, nice guy. Play poker with him. -Beat him up. -You got it. -Wait. -What is it? -Nothing. Wait. -What? Beat, but -don't kick. -Got it. -Wait. -What? -What did Homie do anyway? -He saved Mr. Burns' life. In closing, I'd like to thank you. "What's that?" you say. "Me, thanking you?" No, it's not a misprint. I enjoyed writing this book as much as you enjoyed reading it. The End. -Smithers. How'd the beating go? -Sir-- There was no beating. -That's a hell of a thing! Why? -Because l-- -I called it off. -Judas! I'm sorry. But I just couldn't hurt Homer. -He saved you. -I see. I know you're mad. I'm gonna stand outside until you forgive me. No need, Smithers. You've been the sober ying to my raging yang. Put her there, old pal. I wish this handshake would never end, but we still have -the Simpson matter to attend to. -We do indeed, old friend. We do. -Moe's Tavern. -Is Mike there? Last name, Rotch. Hold on, I'll check. Mike Rotch! Mike Rotch! Hey, has anybody seen Mike Rotch lately? One of these days, I'm gonna catch you and carve my name on your back with an ice pick. What's up? You're not your normal self. I got my problems. Give me another one. Don't drink to forget your problems. Yeah. You should only drink to enhance your social skills. We'll get the Simpsons an extravagant present. An unthinkable, utterly impossible present! A frabulous, grabulous, zip-zoop-zabulous present! Too practical. Too cutesy. Too cornball. A pool table? I'm not going to turn his home into a saloon. -Eureka! We've found it! -But, sir, it's $32,000! Don't you dare sully this moment with your price-taggery. It's perfect. Oh, woe is me. Oh, my! It's Mr. Burns. Heave, ho! Heave, ho! Heave, ho! Wait, Dad, he's smiling. -You brought us a present! -What did you think I was gonna do? Have you beaten to a bloody pulp? To show there's no hard feelings, here's a copy of my book: Will There Ever Be a Rainbow? I haven't forgotten you. Here. -Wow! A crowbar! -It's to open the crate, stupid. What did I tell you? I bet it's filled with rubies, sapphire, pearls. -Wow! A big, ugly head! -D'oh! Actually, it's a big, ugly Olmec Indian head. It was carved by Mesoamerican Indians 3000 years ago. This gruesome customer is Xtapolapocetl, the god of war. Awesome! No, Maggie, not Aztec. Olmec. Olmec. -What does it do? -Nothing. -Really, what does it do? -Whatever it does, it's doing it now. I'll let you get acquainted with Señor Xtapolapocetl. Ta. -Did you see their faces? -You're my god of generosity. Save a guy's life and what do you get? Nothing. Worse than nothing. Just a big, scary rock. -Don't badmouth the head. -It's the thought that counts. The moral is, a good deed is its own reward. -We got a reward. The head is cool. -Well, then. I guess the moral is, no good deed goes unrewarded. Wait a minute. If I hadn't written that letter -we would've gotten nothing. -Well. The moral is, the squeaky wheel gets the grease. -Perhaps there is no moral. -Exactly! Just stuff that happened. -But it was a memorable few days. -Amen to that! Previous