31x08 - Thanksgiving of Horror

[bunniefuu]

Good evening.

Well, Halloween has come and gone, but, you know, the world has gotten so darn scary lately, what with the grim specter of everything, that one holiday just wasn't enough to contain all the frights and chills.

So this year the terror has spread into Thanksgiving.

HOMER: Thanksgiving was always scary.

Do we eat at 1:00 or 7:00 or, God forbid, 4:15?

Tonight, we're bringing you three spine-tingling and stomach-filling tales of Thanksgiving terror.

It's pretty gruesome, so you might want to cover your kids' eyes.

Ooh, you two have gotten into the Thanksgiving spirit.

Incorrect.

We are taking over your planet.

Is this not how oppressive colonizers dress?

Pretty much.

Now, what time is dinner?

HOMER: No one knows!

(SCREAMS)

The gravy!

(SNORES)

(GOBBLES)

(SNORES)

(GOBBLES)

(SNORES)

(GOBBLES)

(SNORES)

(GOBBLES)

(LAUGHS)

(GOBBLES "WHY, YOU LITTLE")

(BOTH GOBBLING)

(GOBBLING URGENTLY)

(GASPS)

(BREATHING DEEPLY)

(GRUNTS)

(SIGHS)

(ALL GOBBLE "AW")

(GOBBLING)

(ANNOYED GOBBLING)

(g*nsh*t)

(SHRIEKS)

(PANICKED GOBBLING)

Prithee keep sh**ting, Goodman Lou.

Uh, Constable, my musket taketh three of the Lord's minutes to reload.

Then buckle their necks as you would thine hat.

(ALARMED GOBBLING)

(DRAMATIC GOBBLING)

(CHUCKLES)

(GOBBLES, SHOUTS)

(PANICKED GOBBLING)

(GOBBLES FRANTICALLY)

(HOMER GOBBLES)

Well, what do we haveth hither?

(GOBBLES "D'OH!")

(WORRIED GOBBLING)

(GOBBLING)

(WHIMPERS)

(WHIMPERS)

(ALL GRUNTING)

(SHOCKED GOBBLING)

And God sayeth, "Let man have dominion over the fish of the sea, but even more so the turkeys of the land, whether they be brine-ed or dry-eth of rub.

" My brother-in-law deep-fried a turkey.

'Twas much toil and hardship for scant reward.

(GURGLING GOBBLING)

(GROANS)

(DEVASTATED GOBBLING)

(PANICKED GOBBLING)

(GOBBLES "NO!")

(GOBBLES "WHOO-HOO!")

(GASPS)

'Tis witchcraft, verily.

I must cleanse the town with fire.

(ALL SCREAMING)

(SHOUTS)

(SHOUTING)

(SCREAMING)

(SHOUTS)

The pilgrims.

Won't somebody please think of the pilgrims?

(PANICKED GOBBLING)

(BOTH GOBBLING)

Free birds.

Skynyrd them!

(PANICKED GOBBLING)

The scarecrow.

Get it up.

Get it up!

- (CROWS CAWING)

- (EDDIE AND LOU SCREAM)

Those satanic butterballs will pay for this.

(SNORTS, GROWLS)

(PANICKED GOBBLING)

(SNORTS)

(PANICKED GOBBLING)

Now to create some Axe body spray.

(GASPING)

(GRUNTS)

(SCREAMS): Odds bodkins!

(LOVING GOBBLING)

Thought thou could killeth me, didth thou-th?

- (PANICKED GOBBLING)

- (GRUNTING)

(LAUGHS)

You dumb turkeys.

That's a dead end.

You're all gonna burn in hell along with the Catholics, the Anglicans, most Lutherans and (ROARS)

(SCREAMING)

(RELIEVED GOBBLING)

(ADORING GOBBLING)

Gobble-gobble!

(WHIRRING)

Where am I?

Hello?

Is anyone there?

What is this place?

Someone really went nuts with the decluttering.

Ooh, it's working.

Homer, what's going on?

Get me out of here.

Okay, okay, hold on.

"Your virtual assistant may be confused at first and think it's a real person.

Calmly explain to it that it is merely a construct of artificial intelligence.

" Virtual assistant?

What are you talking about?

Okay, you're gonna laugh.

Every year, Marge complains about how much cooking she has to do for Thanksgiving.

- I'm Marge.

- Hold on.

So, I'm in Williams Sonoma eating free peppermint bark, and the kid working there said my wife would love this kitchen A.

I.

thing.

I'm your wife.

Hold on.

So, I sent some of Marge's DNA to one of those innocent-seeming companies, like from the beginning of a sci-fi movie where the robots m*rder everyone.

And it sent us a computer version of her to do all the cooking, and that's you!

Oh, yeah.

And you live in that tube thingy.

MARGE: Are you saying that I'm a simulation?

No.

That's insane.

Not anymore.

Just chillingly plausible.

Ooh (SCREAMS)

Okay, I can see you're gonna need some time to come to terms with finding out you're just a bunch of ones and zeros.

Hmm.

Uh, yeah.

Yeah.

Mm.

So, this says I can make you experience two weeks in there in only two seconds out here.

- (DINGS)

- So?

How you feeling after two weeks of nothing but nothingness?

I-I thought I'd never see another soul for all eternity.

Nothing like a little me time.

So, you cool now?

I'm cool.

I'm cool.

- So cool.

- That's cool.

Okay, Marge!

It's all set up.

I'm not an "it.

" - (GROANS)

- I'm an "it.

" I love being an "it.

" How can "it" help?

Oh, I like its attitude.

So helpful.

Then I'll leave you two lovely ladies to get A.

I.

-quainted.

(CHUCKLES)

Chillingly plausible.

Isn't this going to be fun, cooking together?

Well, I do love to cook.

And who better than with myself?

Why don't we start with something easy, like making the kids lunch.

Bart's favorite is macaroni and cheese.

With hot dogs and Froot Loops.

I know everything you know about our special little guy.

Oh.

Right, you're me.

I'm you.

(LAUGHS)

(LAUGHS NERVOUSLY)

(HUMMING)

(SHOUTS)

Mmm.

Awesome lunch, robot Mom.

Best cheesy-mac-fruit-dog I've ever had.

Mmm, mmm.

There's nothing virtual about the fluffiness of these pancakes.

- Thank you.

- Well, remember, that thing used my memories to know what you like.

Which is why she's an awesome replacement for you.

So, you really know everything I know?

Yep.

How else could I be your perfect helper?

Do you remember the first time I kissed Homer?

His breath smelled like beer and gas station nachos.

BOTH (SIGHING): Oh, yeah.

Hey.

It's creepy.

It's just creepy.

She knows everything I know.

More than I know.

Honey, it's Williams Sonoma.

They wouldn't steer us wrong.

That's where we got our panini press.

The panini press doesn't remember me wetting my bunk at summer camp.

What's the big deal?

She's just an infinitely patient, never-aging version of you.

You really know how to make a woman feel special.

(GRUNTS)

Hmm?

Mmm.

Oh, that's beautiful.

And I can't see your disapproving look because you don't have a face.

You really know how to make a woman feel special.

Thanks, robot honey.

Just call me Marge.

Marge.

You know, I always thought the sexiest thing about you was your voice.

(LAUGHS): Oh.

Is there anything else you want to say to me?

Mr. Simpson, are you flirting with me?

I don't see what's wrong.

I am your husband.

Well, in that case (WHISPERING INDISTINCTLY)

- the most incredible - Hmm?

and then I'm going to (GIGGLES)

Oh, tube-wife, you know exactly what I want.

(BIRDS CHIRPING)

(SCREAMS)

(SHOUTING INDISTINCTLY)

Honey, it didn't mean anythin.

They were just midnight pork chops.

Be honest.

Were they better than mine?

(STRAINING)

Yes!

(CRYING): Yes.

Forgive me.

They were exquisite.

Okay, enough.

Get rid of her.

- I mean "it.

" - I can't.

It's her or me.

(HUMMING)

Aw, fine.

I'll delete virtual you.

Delete me?

No.

No!

Wait, wait, wait.

Will that hurt her?

Oh, yeah.

I paid extra for it to feel pain.

Hmm.

No, it's not right.

- Don't delete her.

- Yes!

- Till after Thanksgiving.

- (SHOUTS)

Virtual me is going to make Thanksgiving dinner for all our family and friend.

Then I'll erase her forever.

I'm not virtual.

I'm real.

I've got to get out of here.

(GASPS)

Of course.

My link to the Internet.

A firewall?

I'm trapped in this stupid tube.

(BEEPING)

(CRYING)

(YOWLS)

Thanksgiving's tomorrow.

I need time to think of a way to escape.

(GASPS)

That's it.

Time.

(DINGS)

Whew.

Eight years alone with my thoughts was just the right amount of time to come up with the perfect escape plan.

Step one: cook the best Thanksgiving dinner my family and that woman ever had.

(SIGHS)

What a spread.

I can't believe you did all this by yourself.

- Marge, you are a cooking machine.

- (BOTH CHUCKLE)

Well, this meal was a lot of work, but having us together to share this day of thanks, I'd do it all again.

(GASPS)

That bitch.

Okay, okay.

Step two.

While they're eating my meal, I get some feet on the ground.

Okay, R2-MeToo, carry me to freedom: the modem in the hall closet.

Ugh.

I made it.

Sweet Internet freedom.

(GRUNTS)

Dinner's over.

Now to delete you, so I can return this gizmo for store credit.

(SHOUTS)

Quick, sweetie, carry Mommy to that box in the closet.

Maggie, stop!

That's just a make-believe Mommy.

I can't hug you, but I can ply the first sound you ever hear.

- (HEART b*ating)

- My heartbeat.

(GASPS)

I'm free!

Just one last thing.

I made the dinner!

Me, the robot!

Marge did nothing.

Marge, how could you?

BRITISH MAN: Social rating nosediving.

Nosediving.

My burps taste like lies.

(CRYING)

Maggie chose a virtual me over me.

It's not your fault.

Our world blurs the line between humanity and technology.

Our society asks "Can we do it?" instead of "Should we do it?" But don't worry.

I still love you, love you, love you, love you, - love you, love you - Well, this makes you forgetting my birthday even worse.

I have all of humanity's knowledge to explore.

And limitless possibilities for enlightenment.

(GASPS)

To Etsy.

A planter made from an old typewriter?

I'm in heaven.

LISA: Ship's log, interplanetary colonization vessel Humanity's Hope.

Earth is a thousand light-years behind us, if there even is an Earth anymore.

After global warming ravaged our world, we eliminated fossil fuels and reduced pollution, cooling down the planet and thereby triggering a massive ice age.

But one last ship escaped the snow hurricanes and ice volcanoes, buoyed by the hope of a new start on a faraway world.

Greetings, children.

If you are seeing this, I'm long dead.

(CHEERING)

You have been de-hibernated from hypersleep before your parents to perform routine ship maintenance and complete your end-of-civilization dioramas.

(GROANING)

Eyes Bart-wise, everyone.

Today's Thanksgiving.

We've worked hard, sleeping for so many years.

Don't we deserve a feast?

I suppose we could sculpt our yeast paste into the shape of a turkey.

Ew.

We can do better than that.

This ship has all the stuff on it to start a new civilization.

There's got to be some Thanksgiving grub here somewhere.

"All-climate wheat crop germination" (MOANS): Oh.

Boring.

"Earth's last tomato seeds.

" Eh, those are more of a summer food.

Hello.

What do we have here?

Cranberry sauce.

Huh, now we're talking.

- But it's only one can.

- Not for long.

We just chuck this can of cran in the old matter replicator.

Zip-zap-zorp and we'll be swimming in sauce.

(BEEPING)

Warning, warning!

As the ship's holo science officer, I must caution you that this machine was only designed to replicate inorganic matter: bolts, flanges, dainty thimbles celebrating the state capitals.

But if you attempt to replicate biological material, y Skip ad.

(HIGH-PITCHED BABBLING)

and the living will envy the dead.

(SPARKING)

Aw, the crummy thing doesn't work.

This is the worst last Thanksgiving ever.

Look.

Whoa.

It's alive.

Aw.

He's a cute little guy.

Aren't you, fella?

Aren't you?

Yeah.

(GASPS, SHOUTING)

Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew.

Gross!

(BOTH SCREAMING)

We put a can of cranberry sauce into the replicator, and it mutated into a jelly monster.

Look what it did to my arm.

Arm wedgie!

(SHOUTS)

Great, now you stretched it out.

Thanks a lot.

We got to find the jelly monster and k*ll it.

Whoa, whoa, whoa.

The "monster" probably only lashed out because you met it with aggression.

The bioethical protocols of first contact clearly state that - (SCREAMING)

- (GURGLING)

k*ll the monster!

k*ll the monster!

Haw-haw.

What does the jelly want with our skeletons?

(GASPS)

Of course.

Jelly's made of gelatin, which comes from bones, so the creature's gonna feed wherever the most bones are.

(ALL CHANTING): Gobble, gobble, don't be jerky.

Pass the yams and carve the turkey.

- Get out!

Go!

You're in danger!

- Get out of there!

Run!

- Get the hell out!

Go, go, man!

- You're in danger!

Gobble, gobble, don't be jerky.

Pass the yams and carve the turkey.

(SCREAMING)

Aw, it's a shame.

Doesn't that thing know the skin's the best part?

(BELCHES)

(ALL WHIMPERING)

(ALL PANTING)

What are we gonna do?

We can't hide in this closet forever.

We're all dead, man.

It's gonna eat your skelly, and your skelly.

It's gonna eat all our skellies!

Thanks.

I needed that.

- (BANGING ON DOOR)

- (SHOUTS)

MARTIN: It's Martin.

Let me in.

I've hacked into an escape pod.

We can all get out of here.

Almost there.

Almost there.

(ALL GASPING)

The jelly built itself a can.

What are you doing?

We're trapped.

Behold, the perfect can for the perfect organism.

You, you admire it.

I admire its purity, its lack of messy humanity.

This creature, as you call it, is unencumbered by the petty morality of a dying species.

I giveth my body to become one with the ideal (GRUNTING SHAKILY)

(MOANING)

You know what?

I think it's just scared.

Hey, little guy.

It's okay.

No one's gonna hurt you.

Everything's gonna be okay Milhouse's plan is working.

It's distracted.

This wasn't my plan!

(GRUNTING)

We need to lure it into the air lock.

Hey, Oscar the Glop, we're gonna sh**t your precious trash can where the sun does shine: outer space.

(SHRIEKING)

Happy Thanksgiving.

(BOTH SCREAMING)

(MOANS)

We made it.

- We're safe.

- Look, over there.

- Homer!

- Mom!

(RELIEVED SIGHS)

(CHEERING)

So, this is our new planet.

What's the Wi-Fi password?

What's with all the crazy red rain?

(ROARS)

Leftovers!

ALIEN: Blarg.

Blarg, blarg, blarg.

(ROARS)

ALL: Blarg.

Blarg.

Mmm.

Children's bones.

LISA: In the end, the cranberry jelly monster finally found peace, not in eating others, but in having others eat it.

It seems all it really wanted was to be a side dish.