Chapitre 129: Who Shot Mr. Burns? (1)

Who Shot Mr. Burns? (Part One) Is there nothing so intoxicating as the school hallway at early morn? The school normally doesn't smell so rank. Washbasin fresh. That funk must be coming from one of the classrooms. Poor fellow. Crushed by his own water bottle. Willie, sometime over the holiday weekend, the beloved grade-four gerbil Superdude, lost his life. I need you to air out the classroom and give Superdude a proper burial. You're lucky you're getting a decent burial. Me own father got thrown in the bog. What in the name of Saint Ephesiocritus? What reeks? - Smells like one of van Houten's. - It does not. Miss Hoover, the floor is shaking. Ralph, remember the time you thought the? Now, before we adjourn, I have one last matter of utmost importance. I need to send this parcel with the profit projections to Pete Porter in Pasadena. And it absolutely, positively, has to be there overnight. - Pete Porter. Pass it on. - Pasadena. Promptly. Package parcel processing. Perk up. Package of plant profit projection for Pete Porter in Pasadena. - Priority? - Precisely. Here's your package, Mr. Burns. My name is the return address, you senseless dunderpate. Smithers, who is this nincompoop? I've worked here for 10 years and my boss doesn't even know my name. Well, that's gonna change right now. My name is Homer J. Simp son. - Sounded large when I ordered it. I can't make hide nor hair of these metric booby traps. My Lord. Such destruction. Superintendent Chalmers. How are you going? Why is it when I heard the word "school" and the word "exploded" I thought of the word "Skinner"?! Congratulations, gentlemen. Your custodian struck oil. You're standing on top of the richest elementary school in the state. We also found this. Thank you. Superdude. A nonprofit organization with oil? I won't allow it. An oil well doesn't belong in the hands of Betsy Bleeding-heart and Maynard G. Muskie-vote. Sir, have you had enough exercise for this morning? No. Let's do another 20 miles. Hello, Lenny, Carl, Guillermo. Hello Don't take it so hard, Homer. He's always screwing up people's names. At the picnic, he thought my son Reynaldo was Rolando. Can you believe it? Superintendent, we made the front page today. - What's that say under your hand there? - Oh, it's an unrelated article. It's an unrelated article. Within the banner headline. Yes. Now, to redirect our conversation I have ideas on spending this oil money. Well, we could give each student a full college scholarship. Oh, mercy. Before we draw up the budget the students and faculty have a few suggestions. I want a crystal bucket for my slop water. And a brand-new filthy blanket. The cafeteria staff is complaining about the mice in the kitchen. I wanna hire a new staff. I'd like to start a jazz program in the music department. We've got a great instructor lined up. - Tito Puente! - Tito Puente! He's ready to give up the professional mambo circuit and settle into a nice teaching job. Man, it would be my pleasure. Lisa has told me all your students are as bright and dedicated to jazz as she is. Let's go now, Mr. Puente. Chocolate microscopes. You know those guitars that are, like, double guitars, you know? More rubber stamps. Principal Skinner, this is your secretary. One last student to see you. That's odd. I don't have a secretary. Or an intercom. But send them in. Ahoy there, dean. I understand you're taking suggestions from students, eh? Well, me and my fourth-form chums think it would be quite corking if you'd sign over your oil well to the local energy concern. Mr. Burns It's naive of you to think I'd mistake this town's most prominent 104-year-old man for an elementary school student. I want that oil well. I've got a monopoly to maintain. I own the electric company, waterworks, plus the hotel on Baltic Avenue. That hotel's a dump and your monopoly's pathetic. The oil well is not for sale, particularly to a black-hearted scoundrel like yourself. I see. Then I'll just have to attack you. I must have that oil. Smithers. Smithers, help me subdue this beast. Sorry, sir. This was all I could find. Take that. And that. Please don't waste those. I'm happy for the school. Sounds like this money is gonna provide new opportunities. Big deal. They didn't approve my idea. Said it was unfeasible. It is unfeasible to resurrect the dead, Bart. And even if the Three Stooges were alive, I doubt they'd hang out with you. I guess they'd wanna be with their families or something, huh? Oh, I hate my job. What's the point when your boss doesn't even remember your name? - I have an idea. - What? What's your idea? When my father was trying to catch my mother's eye he sent her a box of candy with his photo. - After that, she never forgot him. - That's all well and good. But it's not really your idea, is it, now, Marge? That's it. Frimble about with your widgets and doobobs. It will all be a monument to futility when my plan comes to fruition. Sir. What I'm about to say violates every sycophantic urge in my body but I wish you'd reconsider. This isn't a rival company it's a school. They won't stand for it. - Pishposh. It will be like taking candy from a baby. Say, that sounds like a "larf. " Let's try it right now. There's candy right here. Why don't we eat this instead of stealing. Oh, very well. - Oh, look. There's a photo in here. - Oh, yes. That's little Maggie Simpson, the baby who found my teddy bear Bobo. And there's that Simpson mutt, my former guard dog. And that's Bart Simpson. He was my heir for a brief period, you know. Yes, sir. I remember. Anything left? Only the sour quince log, sir. Dispose of it. And send a thank-you note to Marge, Bart, Lisa and Maggie Simpson. Today, Springfield Elementary embarks on a new era of unbridled spending where petrodollars fuel our wildest educational fantasies. These young minds will enjoy every academic advantage till they enter Springfield High School, which has no oil well. - We got an air hockey table. - Fine. Now, to switch on our oil pump for the very first time, here's our top student, Lisa Simpson. Nerd! There's no pressure. - Someone else has tapped this well. - Ay caramba! Soon that mighty apparatus will burst forth with its precious fluid. Almost sexual, isn't it, Smithers? Oil ho! Huzzah! Holy Christmas! Your dog's condition has been upgraded from stable to frisky. He's free to go. His leg should be good as new in a few months. In the meantime, he'll have to use the wheel-about. I'll get even with whoever did this to you, boy. I swear it. I almost forgot. Wouldn't want you gnawing on those casts, eh, boy? We've got no legal recourse against Mr. Burns' slant-drilling operation. The oil belongs to whoever pumped it first. What about the expensive stuff we wanted? Can we still have it? No. Blast it! To pay for the construction, operation and demolition of the derrick we have to cut nonessential programs. Music - What?! - And maintenance. I'll kill that Mr. Burns! And wound that Mr. Smithers. Out of my way. Oh, no. That's awful, Mr. Puente. What? He owns the nuclear power plant. Yeah, I'd like to settle his hash too. Dad, how can you work for a man like Mr. Burns? He's not all bad. He did send me this nice thank-you card. "Marge, Bart, Lisa and Maggie. " Dad, this doesn't have your name on it. Kids, would you step outside for a second? Dear Lord. That's the loudest profanity I've ever heard. These fumes aren't as fun as beer. Sure, I'm all dizzy and nauseous but where's the inflated sense of self-esteem? Hey, if you guys are getting loaded off them fumes, I'll have to charge you. Man alive! There are men alive in here. I'm detecting over Everybody out. As long as Burns is pumping oil, this bar is closed. Damn Burns. Let me just get one thing. Me too. Now, there's the inflated sense of self-esteem. Earthquake! - Nurse! - Nurse! Nurse! Well, sir, you've vanquished all your enemies. The elementary school, local tavern, the old-age home. You must be proud. No, not while my greatest nemesis still provides our customers with free light, heat and energy. I call this enemy the sun. Since the beginning of time, man has yearned to destroy the sun. I will do the next best thing: Block it out. - Good God! - Imagine it, Smithers. Electrical lights and heaters running all day long. But, sir, every plant and tree will die. Owls will deafen us with incessant hooting. The sundial will be useless. I don't want any part of this project. It's unconscionably fiendish. I won't suffer your insubordination. There has been a shocking decline in the quality and quantity of your toadying. And you will fall into line. Now! No. No, Monty, I won't. Not until you step back from the brink of insanity. I'll do no such thing. You're fired. Take that, Bowl-a-rama. Take that, convenience mart. Take that, nuclear power pla Oh, fiddlesticks. I must say, Mr. Burns is being awfully inconsiderate. Selfish, even. Burns needs some serious "boostafazoo. " Right, Dad? Dad. Homer. Sorry, Grampa. It's just, for a second, it looked like Dad had melted. Well, get used to it, because I'm living here now. I ain't going back to the home until they fish my bed out of that sinkhole. Strained carrots for Maggie. Strained carrots for Grampa. I want a bib too. Smithers, who is that ignoramus? Smithers, who is that lollygagger? Who is that blubber-pot? Who is that bafflewit? Lummox. Puddinghead. Mooncalf. Limpnoodle. Goldbricker. Drizzlepuss - Stop it. Stop it. Stop it! - Look out! What? Just a minute. Who the devil are you? - Homer Simpson. - What? What are you talking about? - Homer Simpson. - Make sense, man. - I can't understand a word you're saying. - My name is Homer Simpson. Oh, you're a dead man, Burns. Oh, you're dead. You're dead, Burns! - Hey, the lamp's running away. - That's my dog, man. So long, lamp. Now, stop loafing and help your Grampa unpack. That's my old Smith & Wesson. If you're gonna play with it, be careful. It's loaded. Bart, put that down! Guns are dangerous. And I won't have them in this house. How can you have a house without a gun? What if a bear came through the door? I'm going to bury it in the yard where little hands can't get to it. You should've fired into the air. She would've run off. People, take it easy. We're all upset about Mr. Burns' plan to block out our sun. It is time for decisive action. I have here a polite but firm letter to Mr. Burns' underlings who, with some cajoling, will pass it along to him or at least give him the gist of it. Sir, a lot of people are stroking guns. It has been brought to my attention a number of you are stroking guns. Therefore I'll step aside and open up the floor. Mr. Burns was the closest thing I ever had to a friend. But he fired me. And now I spend my days drinking cheap Scotch and watching Comedy Central. - Oh, dear God. - It's not that bad. I mean I never miss Pardon My Zinger. Burns cost me my groundskeeping job at the school. And I'm too superstitious to take the one at the cemetery. Because of him, I lost my room my things and my buddy's collection of old sunbathing magazines. You bastard. - I lost my bar. - I lost his bar. He robbed the school of music. - He robbed it of financial security. - He robbed the school of Tito. - He can't remember my name! - He's causing us all to yell! Look what he did to my best friend. No, my dog. Those wheels are squeaking a bit. Perhaps I could sell him a little oil. You twisted old monster! I've decided to protect myself ever since I was attacked in my office by an unidentified assailant. Burns, your scurvy schemes will earn ye a one-way passage to the boneyard. I'd like to hear from Sideshow Mel. I'll see that Mr. Burns suffers the infernal machinations of hell's grim tyrant. - Yeah. - Oh, you all talk big. But who here has the guts to stop me? Very well. One last question. Have you ever seen the sun set at 3 p. M? Once, when I was sailing around the Arctic Shut up, you. Take one last look at the sun, Springfield. Hey, hey! I've been in Reno for six weeks. Did I miss anything? What the? Eternal darkness. Well, that's just great. Listen, someone's got to get that Mr. Burns. Where's a gun-toting lowlife when you need one? Sorry, I was in the can. Perpetual twilight. Bathed in the glow of Burns brand electricity. Hello, lamppost. What you knowing? I've come to watch your power flowing. That's odd. Mr. Smithers left his jacket behind. That's odd. Principal Skinner left his mother behind. That's odd. Where's Homer? And Bart? And Lisa? And Grampa? After all these years, things are finally starting to go my way. I feel like celebrating. Oh, it's you. What are you so happy about? I see. I think you'd better drop it. I said, drop it! Get your hands off. Where is everybody? Hey, man. Are you okay? Won't dignify that with a response. Mr. Burns has been shot. Just a minute. This isn't Mr. Burns at all. It's a mask. Oh, wait, it is Burns. His wrinkly skin looks like a mask. I don't think we'll ever know who did this. Everyone in town's a suspect. Well, I couldn't possibly solve this mystery. Can you? Yeah, I'll give it a shot. I mean, you know, it's my job, right?