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The-simpsons

Dr. Pryor: Here's your scientifically selected career.
Janey: Architect.
Kid: Insurance salesman,
Ralph: Salmon gutter?
Milhouse: Military strongman.
Martin: Systems analyst. Systems analyst.
Dr. Pryor: Systems analyst.
Martin: All right!
Lisa: Homemaker?
Dr. Pryor: Mm-hm. It's like a mommy.
Bart: Police officer? Well, I'll be jiggered.

Principal Skinner: Some sick individual has stolen every "Teacher's Edition!"
Teacher: What do we do?
Mrs. Krabappel: Declare a snow day!
Teacher #2: Does anyone know the multiplication table?

Miss Hoover: Now sprinkle your sparkles on your paste. Lisa, you're not sprinkling your sparkles.
Lisa: Shove it.

Lisa: Bart, why did you take the blame?
Bart: Because I didn't want you to wreck your life. You got the brains and the talent to go as far as you want. And when you do, I'll be right there to borrow money.

Well, I'm going to be a famous jazz musician. I've got it all figured out. I'll be unappreciated in my own country, but my gutsy blues stylings will electrify the French. I'll avoid the horrors of drug abuse, but I do plan to have several torrid love affairs, and I may or may not die young. I haven't decided.

Lisa

Marge: You know, your father wanted to be a policeman for a little while, but they said he was too heavy.
Homer: No, the Army said I was too heavy. The police said I was too dumb.

Hey, I don't need you to get me in the back of a police car.

Bart

Hoover: Lisa, what nineteenth-century figure was named 'Old Hickory'?
Lisa: I don't know. You?
Hoover: Lisa, if you'd bothered to do the assignment, you'd know the answer is... (flips to answers) The Battle of New Orleans. I mean, Andrew Jackson.
Lisa: Well, you're earning your eighteen grand a year.

Lisa: Dear Log: This will be my last entry. For you were a journal of my hopes and dreams, and now I have none.

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