Homer: Son, there's only one thing punks like that understand: squealing. You've got to squeal to every teacher and every grown-up you can find. Coming to me was a good start.
Jimbo: Hey Simpson, wanna trade belts?
Bart: Well, not really, 'cause yours is just a piece of extension cord.
Kearney: Hey, dude, he's ragging on your cord.
Jimbo: Get him!
Comic Book Guy: Yes, finally! I would like to return your quote-unquote Ultimate Belt.
Raphael: I see. Do you have a receipt, quote-unquote, sir?
Comic Book Guy: No, I do not have a receipt. I won it as a door prize at the Star Trek Convention, although I find their choice of prize highly illogical, as the average Trekker has no use for a medium sized belt.
Raphael: Whoa, whoa! A fat, sarcastic, Star Trek fan. You must be a devil with the ladies.
Comic Book Guy: Hey, I...uh, de—oh...
Raphael: Gee, I hate to let you down, Casanova, but, uh, no receipt, no return.
Bart: I'll give you four bucks for it.
Comic Book Guy: (sighs) Very well. I must hurry back to my comic book store, where I dispense the insults rather than absorb them.
Bart: Hey, Lis! Check out this space-age toothbrush.
Lisa: That's an electric nostril groomer.
Moe: Who's gonna knock you down?
Homer: No one!
Moe: When are you gonna fight back?
Moe: What are you gonna do?
Moe: That's my boy!
Homer: Look, Marge! They opened a new high-tech gadget store! You love high-tech gadgets.
Marge: No I don't.
Homer: Yes you do. Like bull you don't. Come on. [leadingly grabs Marge's arm]
Marge: Homer, please! You're hurting my arm.
Homer: No I'm not.
Marge: Yes you are.
Marge: Night vision goggles? A bathroom scale from a soviet sub? A suede briefcase case? [growls] Anyone who needs this kind of status symbol must have some terrible emotional problems.
Homer: [gasping] Marge, look! "The world's best jacket." If I had this, it would show everybody! [angrily] Show everybody!
Moe: Geez, Homer. I never seen a guy stand up to that kind of punishment. I mean, you took a three-man pounding and didn't even fall down.
Homer: Big deal. I didn't even get my kid's belt back. The only thing a loser like me is good for is taking beatings.
Moe: There you go! That's the spirit! Homer, I've seen prizefighters couldn't take a punch half as good as you. You know, boxing might be right up your alley.
Moe: Oh, please! It's the good life, Homer. Some of these boxers, they eat steak and lobster and salad bar all in a single meal.
Homer: [gasps] Dressing...?
Moe: Their choice.
Homer: You used to be a boxer just like me?
Moe: Yup. They called me Kid Gorgeous. Later on, it was Kid Presentable. Then Kid Gruesome. And finally, Kid Moe.
Moe: Fun's over, fellas! If you're gonna beat up my friend in my bar, there's a two-drink minimum.
Marge: Homer, you don't know how to box, you're 38 years old, and you haven't gotten any exercise since grade school. Of all the crazy ideas you've had, this one ranks somewhere in the middle. Before you even consider this, I insist you consult a doctor.
Homer: No problemo.
(Homer kisses Marge on the cheek and walks off.)
Marge: (yelling) A competent doctor!
Homer: (off-screen) D'oh!
Homer: [gasps] You know Lucius Sweet?! He's one of the biggest names in boxing! He's exactly as rich and as famous as Don King, and he looks just like him, too!
Moe: Yeah, he was my manager. Back when I was Gorgeous, everybody wanted a piece of me. But somehow, I just never made it to the big time.
Homer: Why not?
Moe: 'Cause I got knocked out forty times in a row. That, plus politics. You know, it's all politics.
Homer: [glaring] Lousy democrats.
Dr. Hibbert: [examining Homer] Well, sir, you more than meet every one of this state's requirements to box, wrestle or be shot out of a cannon.
Marge: [growls] That's what we get for living in a state founded by circus freaks.
(Dolph's, Jimbo's, and Kearney's fathers beat up Homer.)
Jimbo's dad: That's for telling me how to raise my son. (punches Homer)
Dolph's dad: And this is for the crummy life I had to live. (punches Homer)
(Dolph, Jimbo, and Kearney are about to beat up Bart.)
Bart: I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but you guys asked for it. (hits a button on his utility belt that fires a rocket with a note that says "Call Police Assistance Needed") Can't you read?! Call the police!
Moe: Okay, punching isn't your thing. But that's okay. You're not that kind of fighter. What you're gonna do is stand there while your opponent gets exhausted from over-punching.
Homer: Then I can just push him over.
Moe: That's right, and if the ref's not looking, you can kick him a couple of times.
Barney: Man, you'd never get me into a ring. Boxing causes brain damage. [drinks varnish]
Moe: Homer, I want you to have my lucky mits. I hope you do better with them than I did.
Homer: Gee, thanks, Moe. What's this?
Moe: Ah, that's the barbed wire. We, uh, we called that the stinger. They...they don't let you use that no more.
Moe: Lucius! Hey! What's a glitteradi like you doing in my dump? I thought you were managing the champ.
Lucius Sweet: Yes, managing Drederick has been my highest priority, even though he is temporarily incarcerated for pushing his mother down the stairs. But with his impending release, I've been strategizing for his glorious return to the shores of Fistiana.
Moe: Uh, what?
Lucius Sweet: His comeback fight. You know, boxing?
Moe: I gotta be honest with you, Homer. I didn't bring you up here to show you my new tar paper.
Homer: You didn't?
Moe: No. Homer, how would you like to be heavyweight champion of the world?
Homer: Oh, sure.
Moe: All you gotta do is fight Drederick Tatum. It's this Saturday. Here's your parking pass.
Homer: [reads the pass] Ooh, "general."
Interviewer #1: Champ, do you feel remorse for your crime?
Drederick Tatum: Oh, yes. Believe me, my god, if I could turn back the clock on my mother's stair-pushing, I would certainly, reconsider it.
Interviewer #2: Drederick, ah, what do you think of Homer Simpson?
Drederick Tatum: I think he's a good man. I like him. I got nothing against him, but I'm definitely gonna make orphans of his children.
Interviewer #3: Uh, you know, they do have a mother, Champ?
Drederick Tatum: Yes, but I would imagine that she would die of grief.
Marge: Homer, why are they saying you're going to fight Drederick Tatum?
Homer: [gulps] Uh, well, uh, I was gonna surprise you, but... happy anniversary, baby!
Homer: I'll make a fortune for one night's work! We can have all the things we always dreamed of: a snooty butler, carpeted carports, those blue cupcakes they sell sometimes...
Marge: But you'll get killed!
Homer: Marge! Will you let me finish? Plug-In room deodorizers, front and rear spoilers for the car.
Lisa: Mom's right, Dad. The odds against you winning are a thousand to one.
Homer: Whoa, I don't think it's that unlikely.
Lisa: Those are the odds they're giving in Vegas.
Homer: All right, I think we've heard just about enough from Mr. Newspaper today. (tosses the newspaper away)
[On television, a monstrously strong Drederick Tatum exits a jail cell threateningly]
TV Announcer: Society put away Drederick Tatum for his brutal crime. But he's paid his debt, and now, he's going to get revenge... on Homer Simpson.
[a shot of Homer, staring blankly, and getting powerfully punched in the face by Tatum's boxing glove; Homer's head explodes and morphs into the words: "Tatum vs. Simpson: PAYBACK"]
Grampa and Bart: Yay!
Bart: Woo hoo!
Grampa: [to Maggie] That's your daddy.
Dr. Hibbert: You have an absolutely unique genetic condition known as "Homer Simpson" syndrome.
Homer: Oh, why me?
Bart: You'll be okay, Dad. Just make sure he hits you an even number of times, so you don't end up with amnesia.
Marge: Moe, I'm so glad I found you. Please, promise me you won't let Homer get hurt.
Moe: Hey, hey, hey, I'm not the villain here, okay? If Homer gets killed in the ring tonight, it'll be because of your negative attitude... there, I said it.
Michael Buffer: Celebrities at ringside tonight: Star of the McBain action films, and feature player in the Hollywood prostitution scandal: Rainer Wolfcastle! (audience applauses) TV anchorman and Springfield institution, Mr. Kent Brockman! (audience boos and throws things at him)
Kent Brockman: (laughs) This just in, go to Hell!
Michael Buffer: From the world of organized crime, say hello to Anthony "Fat Tony" D'Amico! [audience applauses]
Michael Buffer: To challenge the irresistible force of Tatum, we have the immoveable object; he's been called the Brick Hit House and is also known as the Southern Dandy, Homer-r-r Simpson!
Lucius Sweet: Your boy looks a little soft, Moe. You do remember our arrangement?
Moe: Yeah, don't worry, you'll get your three rounds.
Lucius Sweet: Stupendous. Because if he goes down before that bell rings, your future's going with him.
Moe: Okey-doke. Future's down the crapper. Gotcha.
Homer: Okay, Homer, nothing to be worried about. Just... [Tatum punches him] OOF!
[way in the back of Row ZZ, Bart and Lisa watch]
Bart: Wow! I've never seen Dad hit somebody like that before!
Lisa: What are you talking about?
Bart: Isn't Dad the one in the black trunks?
Marge: [from behind the pillar with Maggie] What? What? What am I missing? What?
Marge: [through Homer's fuzzy vision] Homer! Homer, he's not going to get tired. You've got to hit him back. Hit him back!
Homer: That cactus is right, I only got one chance: I got to knock him out! (Homer regains his senses long enough to throw a punch at Tatum, but it misses and Drederick punches him on the top of his head). Ooohh.
Moe: Hang in there, Homer. Only 440 more seconds. (to Grampa) He's getting a second wind.
Grampa: No, he's getting killed. He's gonna die on his feet!
Marge: Somebody stop the fight! Where's the doctor?!
Dr. Riviera: Kill him! Kill him!
Michael Buffer: Oh my god! Simpson's manager has flown into the ring and is airlifting him out! Ladies and gentlemen, whatever dignity remained in boxing is literally flying out the window.
Homer: Are you an angel?
Moe: Yes, Homer. I'm an angel. All us angels wear Farah slacks.
Homer: But you stopped the fight. Won't everyone be mad at you?
Moe: Eh, let 'em be mad. The only thing that matters to me is you're safe. [bumps Homer's head up a steel beam]
Drederick Tatum: Homer, your manager obviously loves you very much. Lucius, would you do that for me?
Lucius Sweet: Absolutely, I would. [chuckles] Now get in the van.
Lucius Sweet: You couldn't even give me one lousy round, Moe. You will always be a loser. Now take your check for a hundred thousand dollars and get out of my sight.
Moe: I don't need your stinking money! [carefully folds the check and puts it in his pocket]
Marge: Oh, Homie! Are you okay?
Homer: I can't remember where we parked.
Marge: That's all right. We'll just wait till everyone else leaves.
Bart: I got your tooth, Dad.
Homer [tries to fit the tooth in his mouth]: Uh, not mine. [tosses it aside]
Indian #1: Thank you. I just wish Ben and Hoss and Little Joe and Hop Sing and Sheriff Roy and all your favorites could be alive today to see this wonderful turnout.
Indian #2: You know, on the series, we were always trying to kill the Cartwrights. [audience boos] But it looks like Father Time took care of that for us, right? [pause] Am I right, folks?
[the audience doesn't respond, so the two Indians motion for the theme song to play again, which they dance to]
Bart: Oh, this sucks.
Marge: Weren't there three Indians last year?
Milhouse: [about Bart's new belt] Wow! I bet if God wore pants, he'd have a belt like that.