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The-simpsons

Burns: Somebody up there likes me, Smithers!
Smithers: Somebody down here likes you too, sir!
Burns: Shut up!

(Mr. Burns and Smithers watch security camera footage of Homer inviting the guys over for the big fight.)
Smithers: Um, he's Homer Simpson, sir. One of your drones from Sector 7-G.
Mr. Burns: Excellent. I'm so keen on seeing Watson vs. Tatum II, I'd even go to an employee's house. Oh, I can picture it now. The screen door rusting off it's filthy hinges, mangy dogs staggering about, looking vainly for a place to die.
Smithers: Permission to speak frankly, sir?
Mr. Burns: Permission granted.
Smithers: Well, you are quite wealthy--
Mr. Burns: Thank you, Smithers. Your candor is most refreshing.
Smithers: No, no, I mean, why don't you pay for the fight yourself?
Mr. Burns: Ah, Smithers, the big title fight is one of those rare occasions that I savor the sights, the sounds and (sniffs) ah, yes, the smells of men.
Smithers: You haven't lost the common touch, sir.

(Homer and Barney drive by Mr. Burns, who is sitting on a park bench.)
Homer: Hey, Burns, eat my shorts! (They drive off)
Mr. Burns: Who the Sam Hill was that?
Smithers: (Looking through binoculars.) Why, it's Homer Simpson, sir. One of the schmoes from Sector 7G.
Mr. Burns: Simpson, eh? I want him in my office at nine o'clock Monday morning. We'll see who eats whose shorts.

Lenny: Hey, Simpson, I heard Mr. Burns crushed your boy!
Homer: Yeah, if I wasn't so spineless, I'd march right into his office right now, and...
Smithers: Simpson! Mr. Burns wants you to march into his office right now
Homer: Uh-oh!

(Smithers checks on Bart after Mr. Burns hits him.)
Smithers: Uh-oh. I, uh-I think the boy's hurt.
Mr. Burns: Oh, for crying out loud! Just give him a nickel and let's get going.

(Mr. Burns greets the Simpson family on Nuclear Power Plant Family Night at Springfield Stadium.)
Smithers: (Whispering) It's the Simpsons, sir
Mr. Burns: Ah, well, if it isn't the Simps!
Homer: Uh, it-it's Simpsons, sir.
Mr. Burns: Huh?
(Smithers hands Mr. Burns an index card with the Simpson family information.)
Mr. Burns: Oh, uh, oh, yes. Homer and Marge Simpson. Oh, and these must be Bart, Lisa, and, uh, "Expecting."
Smithers: Uh, the card needs to be updated, sir.
(Mr. Burns stammers in frustration)
Homer: Well, uh, that's okay. Th-the baby's name isn't important. Let's go, Marge.

(After realizing he is going to lose the election, Mr. Burns starts smashing things in the Simpson home)
Mr. Burns: Smithers, tip over this table for me!
Smithers: Yes, sir.
(Smithers grunts as he turns over the table.)
Marge: Homer. Homer. Make them stop.
Homer: (Clears throat) Uh, Mr. Burns. Um, Mr. Burns?
Mr. Burns: Shut up and wreck something!
(Homer picks up a flower vase and drops it.)
Lisa: Mr. Burns, I hardly see what destroying our meager possessions is going to accomplish.
Mr. Burns: She's right. Take me home, Smithers. We'll destroy something tasteful.

(After dinner at the Simpsons goes badly and costs Mr.Burns the election, he and Smithers head home.)
Mr. Burns: Ironic, isn't it, Smithers? This anonymous clan of slack-jawed troglodytes has cost me the election. And yet, if I were to have them killed, I would be the one to go to jail. That's democracy for you.
Smithers: You are noble and poetic in defeat, sir.

(Mr. Burns and Smithers study security camera footage.)
Mr. Burns: Morons. Pathetic morons in my employ, stealing my precious money. This is hopeless. None of these cretins deserves a promotion.
Smithers: Well, it's in the union contract, sir. One token promotion from within per year.
Mr. Burns: Wait! Who is that young go-getter? (Points at a monitor with Homer on it.)
Smithers: Well, it sort of looks like (Chuckles) Homer Simpson, only more dynamic and resourceful.
Mr. Burns: Simpson, huh? Hmm. An unspoiled lump of clay to mold in my own image. Our new junior executive. Bring him to me!

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