The Simpsons

D'oh! (screams)

Whoo-hoo!

Homer!

I said, "Homer!"

Marge, I'm out of beer.

You know, Homie, a lot of men use their Saturdays

to do things around the house. Hint, hint.

But, Marge, I'm not like other men.

That's why you buy my pants at that special store.

I'm serious. You never finished painting the garage...

And you could at least get that snake out of the piano.

-(playing dance hall tune) -(snake hissing)

Fine. I'll drop everything I'm doing just for you.

But you'll have to live with the guilt of ruining my Saturday.

Can you live with that, Marge?

Huh? Can you?

-Yup! -Can you?

Oh...

God... bless him!

Excuse me, I have a few questions for Pop.

That's me.

You're Pop?

No offense, but even I could kick your ass.

Hey, get off my case.

The only reason I'm working here is

'cause I'm trying to get a date with Mom.

Look, Pop, I'm planning some expert home repairs

and I need a pair of bolt cutters or wire cutters,

or something to get the lock off my toolbox.

Aisle one, next to the cat poison.

Edna, look. A dimmer switch could ratchet up the romance

in our love nest.

You mean the janitor's closet? Ha!

What's the matter, Edna?

Lately you just say "ha" to everything.

I want a baby... now.

Why don't we continue this in Pool Supplies?

Hi, I'm Doug Vaccaro.

You know me as Chip,

the wisecracking assistant

on the hit sitcom Toolin' Around.

A man in an apron.

But today, I'm here as a "tool" of Global Dynamics Corp.

You know, installing your own barbecue pit is no harder

than adding an aviary or Olympic-sized swimming pool.

In fact, it's a snap.

Or if you're not into chicken...

No, no! I'm into chicken!

How about wild boar,

or swordfish,

or hippo?

Mmm... Hippo.

Light-hearted apron not included.

Snapping fingers may not make food appear.

How about it, Bart?

Would you like a new backyard barbecue pit?

Can I burn evidence in it?

We can all burn evidence in it.

There. That wasn't so hard, was it, honey?

Dad, I really need to rest my back.

OK, sweetie. Daddy'll take over.

Oh, yeah. That's a fine-looking...

-(contents breaking) -D'oh!

OK, no big deal.

Stupid Lisa!

I got to build fast. Cement drying!

All right, let's see.

Oh... English side ruined.

Must use French instructions.

"Le grille"?

What the hell is that?

Aw, come here... Get... (grunts)

Come on, fit. You...

Huh? (grunting)

Yeah, that's one fine-looking barbecue pit.

Why doesn't mine look like that?

Why? (grunts) Why?

Why must life be so hard?

Why must I fail in every attempt at masonry?

How's your father's project coming along?

I think he's almost done.

Yeah, he's done.

I'd like to return this barbecue kit.

All returned items must be in a box

and accompanied by a receipt.

Well, if you'll follow the flashlight,

you'll see the receipt embedded here, and here,

and elements of the box here, here, and possibly here.

Sorry, I didn't get this hammer hat

by handing out refunds.

Oh!

Come on.

Hold on, there, Santa Claus.

That box is for toys only.

Well, of course.

Any kid would love to have this,

uh, activity center.

It teaches them while they learn.

Yeah, nice try, Saint Nick.

Now, hit the road, Kris Kringle.

-But... but... -You heard me, "Pear" Noel.

-What you got there? -Beanie Baby.

I'll never get rid of it.

It'll follow me to the ends of the Earth.

All right! My bumper fell off!

-(scraping) -(honking and tires screeching)

Not my fault. Act of God. Act of God. (laughing)

Uh-oh.

Ah...

Homie, someone's at the door.

They want to talk to you about some sort of car accident.

Take the kids out back.

I'll handle this.

Mr. Simpson?

I believe something of yours struck my car yesterday.

Oh, yeah. Prove it.

That's your license plate, isn't it?

Uh...

All right, just go ahead and sue me!

Everybody else does.

The average settlement is $68,000.

I'm not here to sue you.

My name is Astrid Weller.

I own an art gallery

and I'd love to display your piece.

You mean this hunk of junk? This isn't art.

It's just the barbecue that pushed me over the edge.

Didn't you? Didn't you?

You stupid... (screams)

Art isn't just pretty pictures.

It's an expression of raw human emotion.

In your case, rage.

Oh, I got that, lady.

Is everything OK?

I got worried when I didn't hear any shots.

This lady says I'm an artist.

You? An artist?

Your husband's work is what we call "outsider art."

It could be by a mental patient,

or a hillbilly, or a chimpanzee.

In high school, I was voted

"Most likely to be a mental patient,

hillbilly, or chimpanzee."

Well, you should be very excited,

because outsider art couldn't be hotter.

So you'd better catch the fever.

Catch it.

Dad, chew with your mouth closed.

You're losing your mystique.

Lisa, all great artists love free food.

Check out Jasper Johns.

You squeal on me, I'll kill you.

Mmm. I don't know.

I studied art for years, but I just don't get this.

Sounds like somebody's jealous.

No, I'm not.

I just can't believe some people

are paying hundreds of dollars

for something a hillbilly pulled out of the trash.

Hey, I done studied for years

on how to get over that junkyard fence.

Then I learnt the gate was open.

Smithers, I think I'm in love...

-(gasps) -...with this sculpture.

Sir, that's by Homer Simpson.

I don't think you want to buy it.

Smithers, years ago, I blew the chance

to buy Picasso's Guernica for a song.

Luckily, that song was "White Christmas."

And by hanging on to it, I made billions.

Anyway, I love this hideous thing.

Young lady, I'll take it.

Congratulations, Homer.

You're now a professional artist.

Whoo-hoo! Look, Marge, my first sale!

In your face Jasper Johns!

Huh?

Where are you going with that junk, Dad?

I'm going to be an outsider artist.

That way, I can turn all these old baseball cards,

Disney memorabilia and antiques into something valuable.

Homie, I'm really happy you sold your sculpture,

but don't you think it may have been a fluke?

Hey, I've always had an interest in art

dating back to my schoolgirl days,