The Simpsons Script 1

“I've been reading a lot of scripts lately. You know, it's a lot cheaper than going to the movies.” --Troy McClure


As I ransacked through desk drawers that stored stacks of torn folders thick with papers that I filled up with ink years ago, I found something other than what I was searching for. Wasted potential? Crushed expectations? No and no. Don't be so negative. What I came across had a cover page that more or less looked like this:

Prime-time TV Writing
The Simpsons
“Insert Title Here”
Written by
Nick Olig, 15th grader

Allow me to explain this cover page. The college I graduated from offers radio, TV, and film courses that are fairly respected by those who want nothing to do with more practical pursuits like marketing, sales, and computer programming. Now, it is a bit loopy for unknown and unconnected Wisconsinites to write scripts for shows that are produced far west in California. Looking back, more so than a kind of minor league system, the class seems like a fantasy camp for addicts of cartoons and C.S.I. In truth, neither Seth MacFarlane nor Michael Bay called my professor on a weekly basis to ask, “Who are your top prospects, Doug?” Even so, every semester, scripts from UWO are submitted to contests, and the ones that are well-received at least provide their scribes a dozen or so positive words to add to their resumes. The same semester that I won a short story contest (to fill up some empty space on my resume), I also wrote an episode of The Simpsons. I couldn't come up with a title for it in those bygone days when I told others I was a 15th grader rather than a junior in college. And years later, I still don't know what to name it. “The Simpsons Script”?! Horrible. That's almost worse than “Insert Title Here.” I don't even warrant a D-minus for some of my titles.

The setup of act one and some of the lines and gags are passable, though, and so I have decided to post the first four or five scenes. After that, my plot-line stumbled a bit (that happened years ago), and some of the pages have gone missing (as I discovered today). There is a slim chance that the lost content eventually will turn up. As far as the likelihood of that is concerned, read this paraphrasing from an episode of The Simpsons:

INT. LIVING ROOM

Homer walks in with movie rentals in tow.

MARGE: Did you bring home a copy of Waiting to Exhale?

HOMER: No. They were all out. They put me on a waiting list but told me not to hold my breath.

And so the family watches Paint Your Wagon instead.

End scene.

OK. Now read part of a script that will never be produced. Come on. Be like Troy.

ACT ONE

FADE IN:

EXT. SIMPSONS' HOUSE – AFTERNOON – To Establish*

INT. LIVING ROOM

BART and LISA lie prone on the carpet, elbows pressed to the floor, chins resting on opened palms. They watch TV with bated excitement.

ANNOUNCER (OFF-SCREEN): Live from Springfield, home of the world's most obscene parakeet, it's the Krusty 30th Anniversary Special! And now, here he is, the man who puts the “acidic” in “Hasidic,” Kruuussstttyyy the Klooowwwnnn!

The curtain raises. The children in the crowd cheer hysterically. KRUSTY is clad in a dapper tuxedo.

BART: Wow. When's the last time you saw Krusty in a tux?

LISA: I think it was when he did that tasteless sketch that led to the cancellation of the short-lived Krusty After Dark—the one in which James Bond is captured, starved, and forced to resort to cannibalism.

BART: (SNICKERING) Oh, yeah. Those Pussy Galore jokes worked on so many levels!

INT. KRUSTY'S STUDIO – CONTINUOUS

KRUSTY: Hey, hey, kids! (GOOFY LAUGH) Thank you, thank you. Thirty years on TV. What a dream come true. I couldn't ask for more. Sure, it would have been nice of the network to give me a prime-time slot for this thing, but hey, it's sweeps week and I guess I can't keep up with the drunk broad from New Jersey. What can you do? Anyway, in honor of this fine occasion, Krusty has something very special lined-up today...I'm taking the day off to get plastered at the bar!

INT. LIVING ROOM

Disappointed and disgusted, Bart and Lisa spring to their feet. Bart balls up his fists.

BART: He pulled this same stunt on Arbor Day!

LISA: ...And on that Jewish holiday he just made up on the spot. “Rokmoklahavven.”

BART: You mean that's not a real holiday? I wasted hours on that “Rokmoklahavven” greetings card!

INT. KRUSTY'S STUDIO

The youngsters bicker and boo. An ANGRY BOY wads up a spit ball while he mouths, “You son-of-a-bitch.”

KRUSTY: Now, now, settle down. Sideshow (FAKE-COUGHS, MUTTERS A MUFFLED NAME) is here to put himself in Krusty's shoes.

With trepidation, SIDESHOW MEL joins Krusty at center stage.

SIDESHOW MEL: Now, Krusty, you do know that remark about the shoes is purely figurative...

Krusty hops around as he removes his shoes one at a time.

KRUSTY: Like hell it is.

FLASH FORWARD TO:

Bent over with his head on level with Mel's kneecaps, Krusty exerts a series of grunts as he shoves Mel's biggish foot into his own modestly sized red shoe. The bruised toes on Mel's other foot have already been forced through the vinyl tip. Krusty grumbles, thrusts, and pounds the tip until the toes on Mel's other foot horridly burst through, too. An ominous pop sounds. Mel shudders as Krusty rises to his feet and lets out a satisfied sigh.

KRUSTY: There. Go get 'em, new guy. So what if you've got a broken toe? It's time to break a leg.

He swats Mel on the back and walks offstage.

SIDESHOW MEL: (GNASHING HIS TEETH) Greetings, children. As a bit of an overture, I wish to regale you with a splendid impression of former Prime Minister Lord James Callaghan.

INSERT: Dumbfounded, the whole audience blinks as one.

OFFSTAGE: With his tie already loosened, Krusty warily raises an eyebrow. MR. TEENY lights a cigarette for him. Krusty nods a quick thank you and swipes his hand by his neck in a cutting gesture. Mr. Teeny likewise nods. The monkey then picks up a nearby bucket marked “Weasel Guts.” With a mighty heave, he hurls the bucket's bloody contents onto the bone that juts out from Mel's hairdo.

SIDESHOW MEL: (GRIM) Oh...dear. Well, onward with the show, Mel. Onward with the show...

INSERT CLOSE-UP: A malicious ROTTWEILER snarls inside a portable cage. A ZOOM-OUT shows Mr. Teeny unlatch the door. The dog rushes for Mel, leaps in the air, and clamps its teeth on the bone. The kids in the crowd are appeased by this; they point and cheer as Mel falls and flails.

ON LISA – HOLDING THE REMOTE

With narrowed and fiery eyes, Lisa thumps the power-button with her thumb.

LISA: This is a new low for Krusty. I can't bare to watch.

BART: I hear ya, Lis...but what else is there to do?

The two peer through the window.

EXT. EVERGREEN TERRACE

The sun shines majestically above chirping birds and smiling passersby on the sidewalk. In the road, an ice cream truck has turned over. MILHOUSE AND JANEY raid the supply with chocolate smeared on their delighted faces.

INT. LIVING ROOM

These happenings fail to excite the Simpson children.

LISA: (YAWNS) I see your point.

She turns on the TV. Like her brother, she looks sedated. The noise of cheering children and snarling dogs fills the room.

SIDESHOW MEL: (OFFSCREEN) (STRUGGLING TO IMPERSONATE) My countrymen call me “Lucky Jim,” but if that were truly the case, why was I born with such woeful vision?

KRUSTY'S AUDIENCE: (O.S.) Boooooooo!

EXT. MOE'S BAR – TO ESTABLISH

INT. MOE'S BAR

Krusty gulps down a shot. He is the only patron, and a solemn one, at that.

MOE scrubs the inside of a glass with a very long and colorful handkerchief. He hands it back to Krusty, who stuffs the gaudy cloth back into his pocket.

MOE: Thanks, stranger. Ever since I splurged on that smutty arcade game, I got no cash to spare for clean towels.

KRUSTY: Don't mention it.

MOE: Hey, pardon my ogle, but...don't I know you from somewhere?

KRUSTY: (GROANS)

Krusty reaches into his pants pocket for his trademark clown nose. He puts the thing on and points at it.

MOE: Holy crap, you're Krusty the Klown!

Krusty nods and removes the red nose. Moe hurries to fill a glass with beer.

MOE: You know, I might hate myself in the morning for doing something generous, but what the hell, have one on the house.

KRUSTY: Thanks.

The entrance door swings open. Along with LENNY and CARL, HOMER bursts through.

CLOSE-UP ON MOE

The hot-tempered bartender grabs Krusty by the collar and yanks him nose-to-nose.

MOE: (RAGING YET HUSHED) That drink was our little secret. You got that, clown?

Krusty is horrified. He nods. Moe's rage vanishes as he puts an arm around Krusty and greets the newcomers.

MOE: (CONT'D) Hey fellas, look who it is!

Homer and his coworkers vacantly look at the clown.

KRUSTY: (GROANS)

He reaches into his pocket and again applies his signature nose.

HOMER/LENNY/CARL: Holy crap, it's Krusty the Klown!

Krusty takes off the nose as the men occupy the stools flanking him.

HOMER: Mr. the Klown, your comedic talents have completely freed me from the awful pressure of being a positive role-model to my children. (EMOTIONAL) Thank you. (beat) Now, let me buy you a beer.

KRUSTY: Na, pug-nose over there just gave me a--

His gaze meets Moe's he detects the murderous glint in the bartender's eyes.

KRUSTY: I mean, sure! Why not? I'll have another, but just one. And that's only if I don't have to pretend to care about your problems. Or listen to any of your stories...unless there's a horny housewife in there somewhere.

HOMER: Woo-hoo!

EXT. MOE'S BAR – LATER

A slug line reads “42 beers, 14 shots, 5 mixed drinks, and a bottle of glue later.”

INT. MOE'S BAR

Pleasantly sloshed, the men sway on their bar stools. Krusty, the center of attention, is about to finish an anecdote fit for a locker room.

KRUSTY: ...So I said to Pacino, “Sure, Natalie Wood was pretty good, but I'd rather bone Sharon Stone.”

They erupt with laughter.

LENNY: Holy smokes. A six-figure audit, four OD's, and a bout with the clap. I envy you, Krusty.

CARL: Yeah, what a lifestyle. Hey, give us the scoop, Krusty. How many women you been with, anyway?

KRUSTY: Eh. Who keeps track?

LENNY: Seven.

CARL: Eleven.

MOE: Three.

KRUSTY: (SIGHS) OK, OK. Let me see...does a tipsy Bea Arthur count?

LENNY: Meh. I guess so.

MOE: Whoa, whoa, that counts? All right! That ups my total to four, then.

KRUSTY: Well, that puts me at...two-thousand, eight-hundred and twelve women. Plus a weird close-call with David Bowie.

Following a hushed awe, the boys fidget.

MOE: Huh. (beat) David Bowie.

LENNY: So, how 'bout you, Homer? What's your number?

Homer reacts to the question like it's a whiff of smelling salt. Deep in thought, he strokes his five o'clock shadow.

HOMER: Well, let me see...there was...her...and then...add the zero...(beat) Marge. Just Marge.

Aside from Krusty, all involved scoff at Homer.

MOE: For God's sake, Homer, I thought I was pathetic, but I got you quadrupled.

LENNY: Yeah, and I got you sevtupli—um, septaruple...uh...I've boinked more broads than you!

KRUSTY: Ah, you can't fault the guy for not cheating.

CARL: Maybe so, but what about high school?

MOE: Yeah. Plenty of people scored in high school. Even me. Thank you very much, Marvin Gaye record...and narcolepsy.

HOMER: Hey! For your information, I got to second base with Shirley McDonald.

MOE: The head cheerleader? You felt her up?

HOMER: Well, not exactly. She was my partner in a three-legged race that took place on a baseball diamond.

For this admission, Homer is cackled at.

HOMER: Shut up! We may be a little old-fashioned, but Marge and I share something special. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going home to romance the woman I love after a heated pep-talk to my whiskey-wang.

With that, Homer storms for the exit. Krusty pursues and catches him by the door.

KRUSTY: Don't worry about those schmucks. They're just jealous of you and me both.

He jots down his phone number and hands the napkin to Homer.

KRUSTY: Listen, it get lonely at the top, so if you ever want to hear a story about how great I am, or if you can score some primo reefer, give me a call, will ya?

As he sways to and fro, Homer eyeballs Krusty.

HOMER: Who the hell are you?

KRUSTY: Aw, for the love of...

He digs into his pocket for the clown nose.

INT. BEDROOM – LATER

As Homer barges in, the door thwacks against the wall. He flips on the light, staggers toward the bed, and kisses Marge.

HOMER: Listen, baby, you're the greatest thing that ever happened to sliced bread. And I'm not just saying that 'cause I threw up on some roadkill on the walk home.

MARGE: (YAWNS) Well, you're home early. The bars don't close for another five minutes.

Homer wrangles with his shirt, trying to remove it.

HOMER: Yeah, the jerks at Moe's were being a bunch of Lenny and Carls. They were giving me the third dimension 'cause you're the only one I've done the old sweaty-snuggle with. But I say there's nothing wrong with weirdos like us that embrace premarital Cassidy. Am I right?

MARGE: (NERVOUS LAUGH) Yup. You're right, Homey.

As he fumbles with his zipper, he casts a leery gaze on her.

HOMER: Hold on...I know that laugh. That's the same laugh you let out when I asked if you'd seen my Members Only shirt. Two days later Lisa told me you donated it to those monsters at the Salvation Army. They revoked my membership and gave it to a freaking hobo! (beat) Are you hiding something from me?

She pulls the covers over head.

MARGE: No, no, no. Of course not. There. It's settled. Now let's go to sleep and hope you're too drunk to remember this conversation in the morning. (NERVOUS LAUGH)

Homer tugs on the covers like a magician revealing the ugly truth. He exposes his wife to his accusatory pointer-finger.

HOMER: You are hiding something. What is it, Marge? I demand to know.

Marge rubs her forehead, swallowed by dread.

MARGE: (SIGHS) Homer, you're the love of my life and we got this far without me ever having to bring this up. But the truth is, before I met you...I once slept with another man.

Unfazed, Homer backs away from the confrontation. He hops on one foot and clumsily tends to stepping out of his pants.

HOMER: (NONCHALANT) Hmm. Slumber party with a dude, eh? Well, that's kind of odd, but I can handle it. Who was he? Smithers?

MARGE: No. Homer, you don't understand. When I say “slept with,” that's a nice way of saying that—before I knew you existed—I had sex with another man.

HOMER: (AGHAST) What?!

He loses his balance, tips over, and whacks his head on the dresser. He won't regain consciousness until morning.

END OF ACT ONE

###

Hey, it's me again. This is a suitable place to stop for now. There will be a little more to come. Homer has a funny nightmare in the next scene, and after that, he confronts Marge in the kitchen and you'll find out which semi-well-known character bedded her in high school. (In my script, at least.)

“If you've come this far, maybe you're willing to come a little further. You remember the name of the town, don't you?”**

Springfield.



*Not all of the formatting herein is done properly. You know what, though? If you're the type who models his scripts after what he reads on my blog, the time has probably come for you to abandon your hopes and dreams.

** I'm not sure why I slipped in a Shawshank quote at the end. Standards have fallen.