♪ The Simpsons ♪

-(chalk screeches)

-(bell rings)

(work whistle blows)

-(sucking)

-(register beeping)

(jazzy solo)

(tires screech)

-(tires screech)

-(horn honking)

(tires screech)

(tires screech)

Come on, Mom.

Yeah, Mom.

Hurry up.

All right. Mmm.

How about “he”?

Two points.

Your turn, dear.

Hmm.

How could anyone make a word

out of these lousy letters?

Oh, wait.

Here’s a good one. “Do.”

“Id.”

Triple word score.

Hey, no abbreviations.

Not I.D., Dad. “Id.” It’s a word.

As in,

“This game is stup-id.”

Hey, shut up, boy.

Yeah, Bart. You’re supposed to be

developing verbal abilities

for your big aptitude test

tomorrow.

We could look this “id” thing

up in the dictionary.

We got one?

I think it’s under

the short leg of the couch.

“Id: Along with the ego

and the superego,

one of three components

of the psyche.”

-Get outta here.

-My turn. “Kwyjibo.”

K-W-Y-J-I-B-O.

Twenty-two points,

plus triple word score,

plus 50 points for using

all my letters.

Game’s over. I’m outta here.

Wait a minute,

you little cheater.

You’re not going anywhere

until you tell me

what a “kwyjibo” is.

“Kwyjibo.” Uh–

A big, dumb, balding,

North American ape

with no chin.

And a short temper.

I’ll show you a big,

dumb, balding ape!

Uh-oh.

Kwyjibo on the loose.

GIRL: ♪ We come from Springfield

and we sell swampland ♪♪

You there. No chewing gum

on school grounds.

In the trash can with it.

Principal Skinner,

one of my fellow children

is vandalizing school property.

Oh? Where?

Over there, sir. See?

Look out, Bart.

Here comes Skinner.

Yikes!

Hmm.

♪♪ (whistling)

Whoever did this

is in very deep trouble.

And a sloppy speller, too.

The preferred spelling

of “wiener” is w-i-e-n-e-r,

although “e-i”

is an acceptable ethnic variant.

Good point.

Boys, let’s see your hands.

Mm-hmm.

Good. Okay.

Simpson?

You might say you

caught him red-handed.

Simpson, you and I are going

to have a little talk.

Same time, same place?

Yes. In my office

after school.

ALL: Ooh!

-(gulps)

-(bell rings)

Bart, I hope you won’t bear some sort of

simpleminded grudge against me.

I was merely trying to fend off

the desecration of the school building.

-Eat my shorts.

-Pardon?

Now, I don’t want you

to worry, class.

These tests will have

no effect on your grades.

They merely determine

your future social status

and financial success. If any.

Mrs. Krabappel, isn’t Bart

supposed to face the window

so he won’t be tempted to look

at his neighbor’s paper?

-You’re right, Martin. Bart?

-(groans)

Remember to visualize

the complex problems, and relax.

The test will start… now!

“At 7:30 a.m.,

“an express train traveling

60 miles an hour

leaves Santa Fe bound for Phoenix,

520 miles away.”

Shh! Visualize it, Bart.

“At the same time,

“a local train traveling

30 miles an hour

“and carrying 40 passengers

“leaves Phoenix bound

for Santa Fe.

“It’s eight cars long

and always carries

“the same number

of passengers in each car.

“An hour later,

a number of passengers

“equal to half the number

of minutes past the hour get off,

“but three times as many

plus six get on.

“At the second stop,

“half the passengers

plus two get off,

but twice as many get on as got on

at the first stop.”

Oof!

-Ticket, please.

-I don’t have a ticket.

Come with me, boy.

-We’ve got a stowaway, sir.

-I’ll pay. How much?

Twice the fare

from Tucson to Flagstaff

minus two-thirds of the fare

from Albuquerque to El Paso.

(laughs)

-(laughing)

-Whoa!

-(train whistle blows)

-(screams)

Bart, there are students

in this class with a chance to do well.

Will you stop

bothering them?

He’s not bothering me,

Mrs. Krabappel. I’m finished.

May I go outside

and read under a tree?

Certainly, Martin.

What are you

looking at, Bart?

Are those naughty dogs

back again?

You have 20 minutes,

class.

♪♪ (humming)

He’s a good boy now,

and he’s getting better,

and sometimes even the best sheep

stray from the flock

and need to be hugged

extra hard.

That’s exactly the kind of crapola

that’s lousing him up.

Hey, look at this.

“I am a wiener.”

(laughs)

He sure is.

-(intercom buzzes)

-Mr. and Mrs. Simpson are here.

Send them in.

Hello again,

Principal Skinner.

What have you done

this time, boy?

I caught your son

defacing school property this morning.

We estimate the damage

at $75, and frankly,

we think it’s terribly unfair that

other taxpayers should foot the bill.

Yeah, it’s a crummy system,

but what are you gonna do?

-(whispering)

-Oh, no. He can’t mean that.

My wife thinks you want me

to pay for it.

-That was the idea.

-Oh.

By itself, something like this

might not call for an extreme penalty,

but this is not

an isolated incident.

Bart’s behavior is unruly.

He’s frequently absent

from school,

then gives teachers

pathetic excuse notes

that are obviously childish forgeries

when compared to–

Well, at any rate,

it is my reluctant decision–

(intercom buzzes)

Mr. Skinner, Dr. Pryor

is here to see you.

-He says it’s urgent.

-Send him in.

Mr. and Mrs. Simpson, this is

our district psychiatrist,

Dr. J. Loren Pryor.

What do we need

a psychiatrist for?

We know our kid is nuts.

Oh, on the contrary.

I have some very exciting

news for all of us.

This aptitude test

we administered this morning

has revealed that

the young Bart here

is what we call a “gifted child.”

A what?

Your son is a genius,

Mr. Simpson.

-Bart?

-This lunkhead?

-Impossible.

-No, no, we’re quite certain.

The child is not supposed

to know his own IQ, of course,

but, uh, you can see

it’s beyond the range of any doubt.

912!

Uh, no, you have it

upside down. It’s 216.

-Oh.

-That’s still amazingly high.

Tell me, Bart,

are you ever bored in school?

-Oh, you bet.

-Mm-hmm.

Ever feel

a little frustrated?

-All the time, sir.

-Uh-huh.

Do you ever dream

of leaving your class…

to pursue your own

intellectual development

on an independent basis?

Wow! It’s like you’re

reading my mind, man.

Uh-huh.

You see, when a child

with Bart’s intellect

is forced to slow down to the pace

of a normal person,

he’s probably going to lash out

in ways like these.

I think we should retest him.

We should move him

to another school.

Ooh. Better yet.

Bart, we’d like you

to try a kind of school

that doesn’t rely on grades and rules

and bells and buzzers.

A school without walls,

where you do as much

or as little of the assignments

as you feel you need to.

-Does that sound good, Bart?

-Sign me up, Doc.

Excellent. We’re all set then.

Here’s all the information

you need.

Show up around nine-ish.

Mr. and Mrs. Simpson,

congratulations once again.

I think we’re all

in a mood to celebrate.

Doc, this is all too much.

I mean, my son a genius?

How does it happen?

Well, genius-level intelligence

is usually the result

of heredity and environment.

Although, in some cases,

it’s a total mystery.

Aw, come on, Mom.

You look very

intelligent, dear.

No way!

How about a tie, son?

Everybody knows

boy geniuses wear ties.

You’re stifling

my creativity, Dad.

-Sorry, boy.

-Bart, this is a big day for you.

Why don’t you eat something

a little more nutritious?

Nonsense, Marge.

Frosty Krusty Flakes are what

got him where he is today.

It could be one

of these chemicals here

that makes him so smart.

Lisa, maybe you should

try some of this.

Homer!

I’m just saying why not have

two geniuses in the family?

Sort of a spare, in case

Bart’s brain blows up.

I don’t care what that

stupid test says, Bart.

You’re a dimwit.

Maybe so,

but from now on,

this dimwit

is on easy street.

No rush, Dad.

Take the scenic route.

Gotcha.

(tires screech)

Oh, no. Ties.

Don’t worry, son.

You can have mine.

Here. Let me show you

how to put on a tie.

The hook goes over the top

and these things go in there.

Thanks, Dad.

You kissed me.

There’s nothing wrong

with a father kissing

his son… I think.

Now go on, boy,

and pay attention.

Because if you do,

one day you may

achieve something

that we Simpsons have dreamed about

for generations.

You may outsmart someone.

(grunts)

You must be Bart Simpson.

I’m Ms. Melon,

your learning coordinator.

Let me say right at the start that

we have one rule here:

Make your own rules.

If you feel sleepy,

take a nap.

If you get bored,

feel free to take out

a book and start reading.

-What should I read, ma’am?

-Anything you want, Bart.

Oh!

A comic book?

How did this get mixed in here?

We used it last week

as a prop in a film

we made about illiteracy.

Bart, these are the students who will

share your work area.

This is Ethan Foley.

O Memsahib, Bart.

Rabbi has memo.

What?

Ethan’s very good

with palindromes.

You know, sentences

spelled the same

backwards and forwards.

And this is

Sidney Swift.

-Trabing norm doog.

-What’s your problem?

Oh, don’t mind Sidney.

He’s just speaking

in backwards phonetics today.

He said,

“Good morning, Bart.”

-And this is Cecile Shapiro.

-Hi, Bart.

Cool hamsters.

What are their names?

Hamster Number One

has been infected

with a staphylococci virus.

Hamster Number Two

is the control hamster.

Hi, little

control hamster.

I wouldn’t get too attached, Bart.

We’re dissecting him next week.

Discover your desks,

people.

Now let’s all welcome

the newest member

of our collective experience,

Bart Simpson.

(kids saying “hello”

in various languages)

And now we can continue

our debate from yesterday.

When we left off,

Calvin and Tanya were arguing

that free will is an illusion.

(lisping) If you ask me,

humankind has freedom,

a freedom fraught

with paradoxes.

Freud shows how childhood shapes

our subconscious mind,

but this helps us

to think for ourselves.

MELON:

Very good, Ian.

Does anyone else

have an example of a paradox?

Without law and order,

man has no freedom.

If you want peace,

you must prepare for war.

Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm.

Well, it seems

the smartest child in the class

is also the quietest.

Bart, what other paradoxes

affect our lives?

Well, you’re damned if you do,

and you’re damned

if you don’t.

Well, I guess that

would be a paradox too.

(chuckles)

Thank you, Bart.

Whew!

Tell you what, Bart.

I’ll trade you the weight

of a bowling ball

on the eighth moon

of Jupiter from my lunch

for the weight of a feather

on the second moon of Neptune

from your lunch.

-Well, okay.

-There you go!

(kids Laughing)

I’ll trade you

1,000 picoliters of my milk

for 4 gills of yours.

-Well, all right.

-Anything you say.

(laughing)

Uh, Bart, would you

wager your cupcake against my–

Save your breath.

What do you think

of the new kid?

A rather mediocre genius.

Yes, not very bright at all.

-(slurping)

-So, how was it?

-Os-os.

-What?

-That’s backwards for so-so.

-Wow.

What are you reading there?

Comic books?

Uh, guess you don’t want to overheat

the old noggin, eh?

Tell you what.

To celebrate your first day

of genius school,

what do you say we go out for a round

of frosty chocolate milkshakes?

All righty!

Bart, I feel so bad for going

so many years without…

Mmm, hmm–

What’s that word where you encourage

something to grow?

(both groan “I don’t know”)

-Nurturing.

-Nurturing your brilliant brain,

so I got tickets

to the opera tonight.

Hurry up. Get dressed.

It starts at 8:00.

Oh, Mom.

Not tonight.

Come on, Bart, your

mother’s only trying to help,

so go ahead and enjoy the show.

Homer, you’re going too.

But I’m not a genius.

Why should I suffer?

♪♪ (orchestral)

Hey, Lis, keep an eye out for

the guy with the peanuts.

There’s no guy

with peanuts, dear.

Jeez. No beer.

No opera dogs.

Shh!

♪♪ (“March of the Toreadors”)

♪ Toreador, oh,

don’t spit on the floor ♪

♪ Please use the cuspidor ♪

♪ That’s what it’s for ♪

-(laughing)

-Bart, stop fooling around.

Homer, stop encouraging him.

Don’t stifle the boy, Marge.

We’re supposed

to encourage him.

Shush!

♪♪ (singing in French)

(snoring)

-(snoring)

-(whistling)

(both laughing)

Shh!

♪♪ (singing in French)

-Who’s the lard butt?

-LISA: He’s the bullfighter.

No way a bull’s gonna miss

a target that big, man.

-(laughing)

-(singing continues)

(laughing)

-♪♪ (singing in French)

-(making farting noises)

(making farting sound)

(laughing)

Who are those people?

P.U. When is this over?

It ain’t over till

the fat lady sings.

Is that one fat enough

for you, son?

-♪♪ (high note)

-(laughing)

Let’s go get a burger.

So, “Y” equals “R” cubed

over three.

And if you determine

the rate of change

in this curve correctly,

I think you will be

pleasantly surprised.

(all laughing)

Don’t you get it, Bart?

Derivative D-Y equals

three R squared,

D R over three,

or R squared D R,

or R D R R.

Har-dee-har-har.

Get it?

Oh, yeah.

(nervous laugh)

Hi, guys.

Great to see ya.

-Get lost, Poindexter.

-Yeah, beat it, Professor.

Why don’t you go build

a rocket ship, brainiac?

(groans)

Well, come on, you two.

Don’t forget about the film festival.

-The what?

-Oh, sorry, Bart.

Your mother bought us tickets

to a snooty movie

directed by

some Swedish meatball.

Oh, no.

Well, I guess we don’t

have to do that.

Um, look, Dad.

I got something to tell you.

Can it wait, son?

It’s getting kinda dark.

All right, Homer.

Come on, baby.

Right across the plate.

Let me feel the wind.

(grunts)

Whoa! Strike two!

Two and two.

Can you still

see the ball, Bart?

Don’t worry, Home boy.

You’re not that fast.

Oh, you don’t think so, eh?

Well, here comes

some real heat.

(grunts)

Whoa! Yeah, strike three!

You’re outta there!

So, what was it you

wanted to tell me, son?

Oh, nothing, Pop.

I’m still trying to get you

a lab partner, Bart.

If we don’t get any volunteers soon,

I’ll assign somebody.

Say, what’s that?

It looks dangerous.

Well, it’s really pretty

top secret, ma’am.

All right, keep going.

But you do know

what happens

when you mix

acids and bases, right?

-‘Course I do.

-(explosion)

-Sorry.

-(glass breaks)

Now, Bart, we want to emphasize that

nobody’s angry about this.

We’re– We’re just concerned.

When a young man

with a 216 IQ

can’t make

a simple experiment work,

well, it doesn’t take

a Bart Simpson to figure out

that something’s wrong.

Tell me. Is the class moving

too slowly for you?

Lord, no.

Well, then, what can

we do to make you happy?

I wanna go back

to my old class.

Oh, but, Bart, don’t you

remember the boredom,

the ennui,

the intellectual malaise?

Yeah, well, you know,

kinda, um,

but I was thinking

I could go undercover.

Undercover?

Bart, I’m intrigued. Go on.

Well, I could pretend

I’m a regular dumb kid.

You know, to study them

and all the stuff they do

with each other.

You know, see what

makes them tick.

I see. Like Jane Goodall

and the chimps.

-Yeah.

-Uh-huh.

This is

most impressive, Bart.

You write up your proposal

while I talk to Principal Skinner.

-Proposal?

-You know, outline your project,

what you hope to achieve,

what you’ll require to do it.

Gotcha, man.

BART: “‘My proposal’

by Bart Simpson.

“I want to pretend…

“I am a regular dumb kid.

Period.

By this, I hope–”

Oh, no.

“For this, I will–”

Ohh. “Require–”

Ohh.

Oh, man.

“‘My Confession’

by Bart Simpson.

“I am a regular dumb kid.

Period.

I cheated on my intelligence test.

Period.”

Ah, finished already?

(chuckles)

Principal Skinner will be

very interested to–

Oh. You know,

you misspelled

“confession.”

Hey, lookin’ good,

Bart.

Bart, what happened?

I had a little accident

in chemistry today.

Well, I bet it’s nothing

a little turpentine won’t take off.

Come on, son.

Don’t be discouraged, son.

I bet Einstein turned

himself all sorts of colors

before he invented

the lightbulb.

Dad, I gotta tell you

something.

Hope you won’t be

too mad.

-What is it, son?

-I’m not a genius, Dad.

What?

I cheated on

the intelligence test.

I’m sorry.

But I just want to say

that the past few weeks

have been great.

Me and you have

done stuff together.

You’ve helped me out

with things,

and we’re closer

than we’ve ever been.

I love you, Dad.

And I think if something

can bring us that close,

it can’t possibly be bad.

-Why, you little–

-Uh-oh.

-(Bart screaming)

-What’s going on out there?

I think Bart’s stupid again,

Mom.

Oh, well.

(Bart screaming)

You can’t stay

in there forever!

I can try.

March your butt

right out here, now!

-No way, man.

-But–

Son, if you

don’t come out,

I can’t hug you and kiss you

and make you feel all better.

You think I’m dumb enough

to fall for that?

I’m insulted.

(shouting gibberish)

(pounding)

♪♪

-(muttering)

-Shh!