02x06 - Dead Putting Society

[bunniefuu]

Bust my hump all week. Stupid grass! Supposed to be the boy's job.

Now, Homer, Bart's working on his science project.

You heard the lady, Homer. So please mow quietly. Genius at work.

One o'clock. Still just a potato.

Hey, neighbor. The Lord's given us a beautiful day, huh?

Hi, Flanders.

Doing yard work?

Who told? Marge, beer me.

Say, Simpson, I've got some time-release granules... that'll get rid of that crabgrass in half a jiff.

Crabgrass? What are you talking about? Where?

There, there, and there's a big patch over there.

There's nothing wrong with crabgrass. It just has a bad name.

Everyone would love it if it was called "elfgrass."

You may be right.

Where's my Duff?

We're all out. Would you like fruit juice?

Don't toy with me, woman.

Couldn't help overhearing.

I've got suds in the rumpus room, if you'll join me.

Okay, what the heck. I've earned a little break.

Holy moly, it's beautiful!

This is your first visit to our homestead, eh?

We've only been neighbors for one, two, three, four-- Eight years.

There's my little popcorn ball. Kissy, kissy.

Hello, sponge cake. In case you're hungry, I made club sandwiches.

Ain't she wonderful?

Forgetting something?

Your beer. Is draft okay? Just put in the tap last week.

This is a tasty lager from Holland.

Beggars can't be choosey.

Dad, thanks for helping me with my science project.

Sure, study buddy.

I've got the best dad in the world.

Now you know how that embarrasses me.

I know. Toodley doodley.

Kids can be a trial sometimes.

Knock it off!

Knock what off?

You've rubbed it in the whole time. Your family is better than my family.

Your beer is from farther away. You and your son like each other.

Your wife's butt is higher than my wife's butt. You make me sick.

I'm afraid I'm gonna have to ask you to leave. I hope you understand.

I wouldn't stay on a bet!

One for the road.

Homie, quit tossing.

Sorry, Marge. I'm just steamed up about that jerk Flanders.

Lousy bragging know-it-all showoff.

What did he say?

Get this. He said that-- He said....

Well, it was how he said it.

How did he say it?

He....

Was he angry?

No.

Rude?

It wasn't how he said it either... but the message was loud and clear. Our family stinks.

I'm your best friend, but I've gotta say... he's always been a perfect neighbor.

He's perfect now, is he?

He's not perfect, but he is nice.

Don't backpedal. You were right.

He's perfect. Perfect in every way.

I'm just gonna walk around the block to calm down.

I'm not perfect, like Ned Flanders.

Neddie, you're tossing. What's the matter?

I feel awful. I forget that we have it better than the Simpsons.

I drag him over, he has a beer. Can't blame him for erupting.

Then I turn into a snarling beast. I flunked the turn-the-other-cheek test.

Maybe I'm not who you should talk to.

You're right.

Hello, Reverend Lovejoy?

This is Mrs. Lovejoy. Just a minute.

Honey, honey, wake up.

Ned Flanders is having a crisis.

Probably stepped on a worm.

Hello, Ned.

I'm sorry to bother you, but I threw a man out of my house today.

I feel like I've violated Matthew 19: 19.

Huh?

"Love thy neighbor."

Oh, Matthew 19: 19, yeah, right.

Ned, the Good Book says a gentle answer turneth away wrath.

That is a jim-dandy idea!

Bless you, Reverend.

"Dear Neighbor...."

Flanders!

I don't blame you for being upset.

I just wanted to give you this. I'll leave now.

"Dear Neighbor...."

"You are my brother. I love you.

And yet I feel a great sadness in my bosom."

"Bosom." Wait, wait, there's more.

That's awful. He opens his heart, and you laugh at him.

"Neighbors forever." Oh, no. "Ned Flanders."

What a sap.

Read the bosom part again, Dad.

Now, just a minute.

Bosom.

Bart!

I wish we were as close as the Flanders.

Okay, she's right. Let's do something together.

How about some miniature golf, followed by frosty milkshakes?

All right!

I was going to wash my hair.

I'm studying for the math fair. If I win, I'll get a protractor.

Too bad we don't live on a farm. Let's go.

Fore!

But I got it in the middle.

D'oh! That was practice.

Play it where it lays.

There's Homer Simpson. What a perfect opportunity to follow up on my letter.

Give up, there's a six-stroke limit.

I can still make this for five.

Come on, baby, please, please go in. Please!

Hi, Simpson, having fun?

What are you doing here?

Mini-golfing with Todd-meister.

Hi, Bart!

Get bent.

Since we're friends, how about a foursome?

Okay.

Great....

Fun. You looked like you had some trouble.

Jack Nicholson couldn't make that sh*t.

It is difficult. The best strategy is to play conservatively.

Hug the rail. It won't go in, but you set up an easy deuce.

It went in.

Good sh*t.

Luck.

Final score: Bart, 41. Homer....

Six plus six, plus six, plus six, plus six--

Never mind.

Look!

"First prize, $50."

"Balloons for everyone who enters."

Bartley, thinking of entering?

He's entering, and he's gonna win. Aren't you, boy?

It's possible.

I like that confidence but don't pressure him. Todd's very good.

Yeah? The fruit of my loins can b*at the fruit of your loins any day.

Come on, boy.

Dad, I've never won anything in my life.

This is the only time I will ever say this. It is not okay to lose.

Stay, stay. Good dog.

Keep your head down. Not you, I'm talking to the boy.

Keep your head down. Follow through.

That didn't work, so move your head and don't follow through.

Hey! That putter is to you what a bat is to a baseball player... what a violin is to the guy-- The violin guy.

Now give your putter a name.

What?

Give it a name.

Mr. Putter.

Wanna try a little harder?

Give it a girl's name.

Mom.

It's Charlene.

Why?

It just is, that's why.

This is a picture of your enemy, Todd Flanders.

Every day spend 15 minutes staring at it... concentrating on how much you hate him... and how glorious it will be when you and Charlene destroy him.

Who?

I'll show you who she is.

Now start hating.

Hi, Bart.

I overheard you warping Bart's mind.

And?

Aren't you making too big a deal of this tournament?

But this is our chance to show up the Flanderses.

Sure, but why do we want that?

Sometimes the only way to feel good is to make someone feel bad... and I'm tired of making people feel good.

Hi. What are you doing?

Who are those guys in chess that don't matter?

A blockaded bishop is of little value, but I think you mean a pawn.

Right. I am a pawn.

It's times like this that I'm thankful... Dad has almost no interest in everything I do.

Bart, I think I can help you.

We begin at the library.

Hi, Lisa.

Hi, Mrs. Norton.

Hi, Lisa.

Hey, Ralph.

Hi, Lisa.

Hey, g*ng.

Bart, this is the card catalog. Let's see. "Golf."

"Anecdotes, "Eisenhower and," "Humor, "Japanese Obsession With"....

Here it is: Putting.

And the most important book of all, the Tao Te Ching by Lao-tzu.

We can't afford all this.

We're just borrowing them.

Oh. Gotcha.

Close the logical part of your mind.

Okay.

Embrace nothingness.

Sure.

Become like uncarved stone.

Done.

You're pretending to understand me.

True.

It's very frustrating.

I'll bet.

I have a riddle for you. What's the sound of one hand clapping?

Piece of cake.

It's a 3000-year-old riddle with no answer.

It's supposed to clear your mind.

No answer? Lisa, listen up.

Try another one. If a tree falls and no one's around, does it make a sound?

Absolutely.

But, Bart, how can sound exist if there's no one there to hear it?

It is time.

The basis of this game is simple geometry. Just hit the ball here.

You've actually found a practical use for geometry!

What is this?

Get down before the neighbors see--

Simpson!

I don't care how this looks. He's gonna mop up with your son's butt.

May the best man win.

"May the best man win." The loser's mating call.

Just a minute. My son has a very good chance.

Yeah? Wanna bet?

I'm not a betting man.

I'm a chicken, am I?

Right.

How's this? A batch of your wife's delicious blueberry muffins... against one of my wife's homemade wind chimes.

Are you afraid to make a real bet?

No, I just--

Simpson, you're starting to annoy me.

How about this, Henny Penny?

If Bart wins tomorrow, you have to mow my lawn.

And if Todd wins, you have to mow my lawn! And do a decent job for once.

Better yet, you have to mow my lawn in your wife's Sunday dress!

You have yourself a bet, you jackaninny!

Read that back to me.

"The father of the loser--"

"Loser" is such a harsh word. How about "the boy who doesn't win"?

Oh, man. Fine.

"The father of the boy who doesn't win has to mow the lawn... in his wife's Sunday dress."

You both have to sign? I hope blood isn't necessary.

I'm game if you are, Flanders.

Good gravy, what did I do?

Straighten your arm. Rotate your shoulders.

Dad!

Son, all I'm asking is that you try.

I'll try.

Anybody can try. I want you to win!

Homer?

Marge, give me your honest opinion. This, or this?

Morning! By the way, the tournament is today. And you'd better win.

Dad!

See you downstairs, boy.

That crazy Marmaduke.

Eight hole?

Octopus, third tentacle.

Twelfth?

Off the grave.

Nirvana?

Bliss from oblivion of self.

Here you go. A lumberjack's meal for my golfer.

Mom, Bart is on a diet of complex carbohydrates.

Steak will make him logy.

What won't make him logy?

Oatmeal.

Oatmeal?

A racehorse eats oats before he or she wins the Kentucky Derby.

News flash, Lisa. Bart is not a horse. Eat your steak, boy.

Good afternoon. Welcome to the finale... of a stirring afternoon of miniature golf.

The cream has risen, the wheat has bid farewell... and we begin the final match with two warriors: The unknown Bart Simpson and Todd Flanders... one of the most skilled 10-year-olds to ever play.

Having never received encouragement, I'm not sure how it should sound.

But here goes. I believe in you.

Thanks, man.

Lord, we beseech thee--

It's no use praying.

I already prayed, and we can't both win.

Simpson, we were praying that no one gets hurt.

Flanders, it doesn't matter. Tomorrow you'll be in high heels.

No, you will.

Afraid not.

Afraid so, infinity plus one.

Young Flanders has the honor and will tee off first.

It's got a chance. Yes, sir.

Tree falling in the woods. Tree falling in the woods. Tree falling....

And the battle is well and truly joined.

Mercy's for the weak, Todd.

If one looked up "courage", one might find a photo of these two gladiators.

Near the Great Emancipator at the last hole, each has eight strokes.

The victor shall drink champagne while his opponent tastes bitter defeat.

It's okay, son. You can recover.

Remember what Vince Lombardi said! "Lose, and you're out of the family."

Neither in best form. This pressure can unhinge the steeliest competitor.

This is intense, isn't it?

My knees are shaking... I got butterflies in my stomach. But it builds character.

Who wants character? Let's quit.

Okay.

We decided we're equally good.

We want to call a draw, man.

Ladies and gentlemen, we have a draw.

Forgive this Brit for crying, but this is the most stirring display... of gallantry since Mountbatten gave lndia back to the Punjabs.

Put it there, man.

All right!

Homer, our kids showed us something today, huh?

By working together, we can both be winners... and neither of us has to do that wager.

Put it there.

You're welching on our bet?

What? Neither boy lost.

"The father of the boy who doesn't win... has to mow the lawn in his wife's Sunday dress."

But neither-- We-- You have to do it too.

Small price to see you humiliated.

My best dress.

One day I'll be telling this to a psychiatrist.

Listen to them laughing. This is so humiliating.

I'm never gonna live this down. Damn Flanders.

Simpson, I feel silly, but what the hay?

Reminds me of my old fraternity days.

Oh, my God. He's enjoying it!

Shh!