Grampa: What's the matter, boy?
Homer: Nothing.
Grampa: You haven't said boo all night and usually I have to wrestle the bucket out of your greasy mitts.
Homer: Dad, I'm in love.
Grandpa: Uh-oh. Why don't you grab yourself a beer, boy.
Homer: But, Dad, I don't drink.
Grandpa: Cut the crap! (Imitating Homer) I just collect the cans, Daddy! (Normal) Now, grab yourself a beer and get me one, too.