* (Bell ringing) (Whistle blowing) (Playing the blues) Chief Wigham, Archbishop McGee, distinguished guests. I am pleased to dedicate this emergency warning system. In the off-chance of a nuclear disaster this sign will tell the citizens of Springfield what to do. Homer: The joke's on them. If the core explodes there won't be any power to light that sign. I would like to present the man who made this sign possible by dropping his obstructionist legal challenges-- Montgomery Burns. Mr Burns is never late. Something must be wrong. There better be. Nobody leaves Diamond Joe holding the bag. (Gasping): Must... turn... over. Got... to... greet... dignitaries. Oh, no! Mr Burns! We've got to get a doctor. Absolutely not. No quack sawbones is going to apply his leeches to me as long as there's an ounce of strength left in me.... Mmm. Mr Burns is suffering from what we medical men call hypohaemia. In laymen's terms, a lack of blood. Damn it, doctor, I know what hypohaemia is. What can we do? Our only hope is a transfusion. How fast can you sterilize a needle? Oh, skip it! Just leave me enough to get home. (Chuckling): I'm afraid it's not that simple. His blood type is double-O-negative. It's quite rare. But I'm B-positive. Damn my common gutter-blood. Smithers, don't feel so bad. After all, the kidney you donated to me really hit the spot. Smithers: Attention all employees! Our boss and inspiration, Mr Burns (Choking): is at death's... death's door. If you have type double-O-negative blood I implore you to report to the bloodmobile outside. That is all. I'd give him my blood except for one thing. What's that? I don't want to. I can't believe you guys. There's a human being with millions of dollars who needs our help and you don't want to cash in? That's why you losers are stuck in this crummy dead-end job. I AM your supervisor. Sorry, sir. Maggie, look. What's that? Lee-mur. Lee-mur. Zebu. Zeee-booo. What are you doing, honey? Teaching Maggie that nature doesn't end at the barnyard. I'm offering advantages I didn't have. Lisa, we did the best we could. What's a zebu? It's like an ox with a hump and a dewlap. Hump and dewlap. Hump and dewlap. Marge! What's my blood type? A-positive. Aw, nuts! I don't have it. You know his blood type? A mother knows everything about her family. Oh yeah? What's my shoe size? Four-B. How many teeth do I have? 16 Permanent, eight baby. Earmuffs? X-L. X-L. Ring? Wearing rings looks cheap, but three. Allergies? Imitation butterscotch... And..? Glow-in-the-dark makeup. Ooh, impressive. How many hairs on my head? Homey, you have lots of hair. What's this about your blood type? Old man Burns will die without double-O-negative blood. Nobody at the plant has it. Bart does. Whoa! Yes! All right! Whoo! Congratulations, boy! You've got a date with a needle. Wait a minute. I don't have to give blood. I have rights. The right to remain silent. Bart, help someone in need. It's the only decent thing to do. D-ohhh! Homer: Bart, it's not like I'm asking you to give blood for free. You're a little young to understand this but when you save a rich man's life he showers you with riches! Know the story of Hercules and the lion? Is it a Bible story? Probably. Anyway, once upon a time there was a big, mean lion who got a thorn in his paw and all the village people tried to pull it out but nobody was strong enough. So, they got Hercules and Hercules used his mighty strength and bingo! Anyway, the moral is the lion was so happy he gave Hercules this big thing of riches. How did a lion get rich? It was the olden days. Oh. Hey! Let's go! Emergency! Life or death here! Just a sec, man. Whoa, Otto, man. You work here? Yeah. My friends are in school so I got a job as a bloodletting tech dude. Get this show on the road. OK. Let me wash up. Humming "Iron Man" by Black Sabbath. Homer, brave young Bart... I don't know which one to hug first. Uh, the boy. Eww. (Tyres screeching) (Humming) Oop! We're ready with the transfusion. Smithers, I'm not going to make it. I want to dictate... my epitaph. Go ahead. Charles Montgomery Burns... Mm-hmm. American... Mm-hmm. And patriot American... patriot... master of the atom... scourge of a despot. Oh, tyrant, hear his mighty name and quake! Smithers! I'm back! Burns: Top of the morning to you. Why, look who's here. It's... good old... you. Hi, Mr Burns. Oh! Hey, there, mister... Brownshoes. How about that local sports team? Mr Burns-- he's OK. Jackpot! (Glass breaking) Ay caramba! Well, that's game. Hasta manana, Oswaldo. Smithers, I'm back in the pink-- full of pith and vinegar. Just remarkable, sir. You know, it's funny, Smithers. I tried every tincture and poultice and tonic and patent medicine there is and all I really needed was the blood of a young boy. What was the lad's name? Bart Simpson, sir. Who? Son of Homer Simpson-- a stiff in 7-G. Well, the Simpsons will be getting a very nice surprise in the mail. Very nice, indeed. Bill, bill... summons, bill... (Gasps) Wait a minute. From C M Burns. This is it. Yes, this is it! Woo-hoo! Whoo! Bart, Lisa, Maggie! Let's do this in the yard where the neighbours can see. Lisa, dim the lights. No! More lights. Do something. Yes, Dad. It's a little thin but that's OK. It could be a cheque. There's no cheque. Just a card, but don't panic. I'm sure it tells us what we're getting and where we can pick it up. "Dear Bart, thank you kindly for the blood. Yours truly, Montgomery Burns." D-ohhh! It's just a card! Is that some way to show your gratitude? No gold, no diamonds, no jewellery... not even a lousy card. Wait. There was a card. That's what got me so mad! You don't do that to be rewarded. You do it because a fellow human needs a hand. Marge, you're my wife and I love you but you're living in a world of make-believe with flowers and bells and leprechauns and magic frogs with funny little hats. Mom, we got hosed. Bart! We got exactly what we wanted! We gave an old man a second chance. I promised my boy one simple thing: lots of riches and that man broke my promise. I've had it! Bart, take a letter! Dear Mr Burns I'm so glad you enjoyed my son's blood and your card was just great. In case you can't tell, I'm being sarcastic. You stink! Read that last part back to me. "You stink!" Good. You are a senile, buck-toothed old mummy with bony girl arms and you smell like... An elephant's butt? (Laughs) An elephant's butt. Do you have to mail it right this minute? Yup. Why don't you sleep on it. Forget it, Marge. Please, Homey? For me? Oh, all right. You always do that hand thing and it usually works. Cheap son of a... (Snoring) Homer, breakfast is ready. Hmm? (Gags) Marge, you saved me from making a big mistake. I finally understand the meaning of... (Unintelligible) Meaning of what? Better half, Marge. Oh, thank you. Where's the letter? (Whistling) * Where is it?! Oh... Homer, I don't think it's in the cornstarch canister. Well, it's somewhere. It didn't just get up and walk away. Bart, have you seen the letter? Yep. All right, think very carefully. Where did you see it last? The last place I saw it... Uh-huh? Was in my hand... Yeah? As I was shoving it into the mailbox. Homer: Oh! Why did you do that? There were things in the letter that had to be said and I know you. Just because you were mad last night is no guarantee you'd be mad in the morning. I'll show you mad in the morning! Homer, you encouraged him. You should be strangling yourself. She's right. OK, think, Homer. Don't panic. They don't pick up the mail till noon. There's still time! Ow, ow. Ow, ow. Ow, ow. Give it up, Homer. It's locked up tight. Locked, eh? Well, I just might have a little surprise up my sleeve for old Mr Lock. Step aside, boy. Hey! I'm with you, Homer. Fight the power! Why the hose, Homer? I'll get our letter so wet, the ink will run and no one will be able to read it. Don't other people have mail in there? So a few people won't get a few letters. Boo-hoo. You know the kind of letters people write: "Dear somebody you never heard of-- "how is so and so? "Blah, blah, blah. Yours truly, some bozo." Big loss. Keep an eye out for the mailman. Just give a signal. The mailman's here. That's a good one. No, I mean the mailman's here! (Screams) Are you planning to water the mail? I guess it wouldn't do any good to run 'cause you know my address. That's right. Well, I'm still going to run! I want the whole world to hear the story of my harrowing struggle with hypohaemia. Mr Roman is the finest ghostwriters in the business. He's written Like Hell I Can't, Up From the Muck, the Unsinkable Sadruodin Mahbaradad. Excellent. All right, first question: Have you slept with anyone famous? Well, Countess Von Zeppelin and I... What in blaze..! You listen to me, you bargain-basement Baudelaire I'm not some dizzy starlet who can't string two words together. I can write this myself! You're fired! Imitating Mr Burns: Hello. My name is Mr Burns. I believe you have a letter for me. OK, Mr Burns, what's your first name? I don't know. Great plan, Bart. Ooh, look, Maggie. What is that? Dodecahedron. Dodecahedron. Lisa, I don't know what you're doing but it's very strange and your father's trying to worry. Burns: Chapter the fifth-- The trip to the infirmary with most unexpected results. Homer: Ooops. 28 Minutes till Burns comes in-- Time for operation "mail take." Can I help you? Don't be frightened of this. It's just a letter opener. Who are you? THINKING: Give him a fake name. Homer Simpson. D-ohhh! Simpson, huh? Simpson, there's a letter here from you. I'll just read it right now. "Dear Mr Burns, I'm so glad you enjoyed my son's blood and your card was just great." Why, Simpson, you've made my day. You're a true gentleman. Well, I'll be on my... Hello, there's more. "In case you can't tell, I'm being sarcastic. "You stink. "You are a senile "buck-toothed old mummy "with bony girl arms and you smell like an elephant's butt"! Come on, Joey, you have to twist my arm? I don't tell you how to do your job, OK? I could crush him like an ant, but it would be too easy. No, revenge is a dish best served cold. I'll bide my time until... Oh, what the hell. I'll just crush him like an ant. * Senile, eh? Buck-toothed, am I? Bony arms, are they? This pink slip awaits your signature, sir. Hmm-hmm-hmm. That's odd. I've just robbed a man of his livelihood and yet I feel strangely empty. Tell you what, Smithers, have him beaten to a pulp. But, sir... But what?! Nothing, sir. I've never seen Mr Burns this mad and he's always kind of mad. Me and my big letter-writing pen. What's done is done. No matter what happens we'll pull through. We always do. Here's the plan. You and the kids move in with your sisters and I'll die in a gutter. It's practical and within our means. They always told me I was going to destroy the family but I never believed it. That's OK, Bart. Nobody really believed it. We were trying to scare you. You know Homer Simpson? Yeah, nice guy. Play poker with him. We need him beaten up. What is it? Wait. Uh... nothing. Wait. What? Beat, but don't kick. Hold the kicks. Wait. What?! Um... What did Homey do? Sobbing: He saved Mr Burns's life. (Thunder rumbling) In closing, gentle reader, I'd like to thank you. What's that you say? Me thanking you? No, it's not a misprint. For you see, I enjoyed writing this book as much as you enjoyed reading it. The end. Ah, Smithers, how did the beating go? Sir, there was no beating. What? Why? Because I... I called it off. Judas! I'm sorry, but I just couldn't hurt Homer Simpson. He saved your life. I see. I know you're mad at me but I'm going to stand outside the gate until you forgive me. No need, Smithers. As usual you've been the sober ying to my raging yang. Put her there, old pal. Sniffling: Sir, while I wish this handshake would never end I'm afraid we still have the Simpson matter to attend to. We do indeed, old friend. We do indeed. Moe's Tavern, where the elite meet to drink. Bart: Hello, is Mike there? Last name Rotch. Hold. I'll check. Mike Rotch! Mike Rotch?! Has anybody seen Mike Rotch lately? (Laughing) Listen to me, you little puke. One day I'm going to catch you and carve my name on your back. What's the matter, Homer? You're not your normal self. I've got problems. Another one. You should not drink to forget your problems. You should drink to enhance your social skills. (Burping) Burns: We'll get the Simpsons a present-- an extravagant present. A mad, unthinkable, utterly impossible present. A frabulous, grabulous, zip-zoop zabulous present. Too practical. Too cutesie-poo. Too cornball. A pool table? I'm not going to turn his home into a saloon. Eureka! We've found it. But, sir, it's $32,000. Don't you dare sully this moment with your price taggery. It's perfect. Oh, woe is me. Oh, my, it's Mr Burns. (Yelps) Heave-ho, heave-ho. Heave-ho. Dad, he's smiling. Mr Burns, you brought us a present. What did you think I was going to do-- have you beaten to a bloody pulp? There's no hard feelings. Here's a copy of my book. I haven't forgotten you. Here. Wow! A crowbar. To open the crate, stupid. What did I tell you? I bet it's filled with diamonds, rubies, sapphires, pearls. Bart: Wow! A big, ugly head. Actually, son it's a big, ugly, Olmec Indian head. It was carved by Meso-American Indians 3,000 years ago. This gruesome customer is Ixtapolapoquetl-- the God of War. Awesome! No, Maggie, not Aztec. Olmec. Olmec. What does it do? Doesn't do anything. Really, what does it do? Whatever it does, it's doing it now. I'll let you get acquainted with Senor Ixtapolapoquetl. Did you see their faces? You're my god of generosity. Homer: Save a guy's life and what do you get? Nothing. Worse than nothing-- a big, scary rock. Don't badmouth the head. It's the thought that counts. The moral is: A good deed is its own reward. Hey, we got a reward. The head is cool. Then I guess the moral is: No good deed goes unrewarded. If I hadn't written that nasty letter we wouldn't have gotten anything. Then I guess the moral is: The squeaky wheel gets the grease. Perhaps there is no moral. Exactly. It's just a bunch of stuff that happened. But it certainly was a memorable few days. Homer: Amen to that. (All laughing) Captioned by the Caption Center WGBH Educational Foundation. www.able.co.nz Captions were made with the support of NZ On Air. Able 2018