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The-simpsons

Bart: Wow! Can I see your club?
Lou: It's called a baton, son.
Bart: Oh. What's it for?
Lou: We club people with it.

Since we have fifteen minute until recess, please put down your pencils and stare at the front of the room.

Miss Hoover

Question sixty. I prefer the smell of (a) gasoline, (b) French fries, or (c) bank customers.

Miss Hoover

Some of you may discover a wonderful vocation you'd never even imagined. Others may find out life isn't fair, in spite of your Masters from Bryn Mawr, you might end up a glorified babysitter to a bunch of dead-eyed fourth graders while your husband runs naked on a beach with your marriage counselor!

Edna

Edna: We're going to take a test.
Class: (sighs)
Hoover: We're going to take a test.
Lisa: All right, a test!

Cheif Wiggum: Looks like you bought yourself a lottery ticket...to jail!
Lou: He's unconscious, sir.
Chief Wiggum: Ah, they can still hear things.

Eddie: This is against every regulation but, will you cover us? (Hands Bart a gun.)
Bart: Cool!

Principal Skinner: Your punishment is 400 days detention.
Bart: I could easily do that on my head.
Principal Skinner: 500 days!
Bart: Oh, ho ho.
Principal Skinner: 600 days!
Bart: Maybe I should keep my big mouth shut.

Miss Hoover: Now put paste on your paper. Ralph, are you eating your paste?
Ralph Wiggum: (Gluestick poking out of his mouth) No, Miss. Hoover.

Marge: Bart's grades are up a little this term. But Lisa's are way down.
Homer: We always have one good kid and one lousy kid. Why can't both our kids be good?
Marge: We have three kids, Homer.
Homer: Marge, the dog doesn't count as a kid!
Marge: No, Maggie!

Displaying quotes 13 - 22 of 22 in total

The Simpsons Season 3 Episode 18 Quotes

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.

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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