Mr. Burns: Sorry about the landing, boys. This fog is so thick I can't see my own cataracts.
Homer: (Filling out his tax return) Okay, Marge, if anybody asks, you require 24-hour nursing care, Lisa's a clergyman, Maggie is seven people and Bart was wounded in Vietnam.
Mr. Burns: I'm not the thief; the government is. Every year you make hardworking Joes like my reporter friend pay income taxes. And for what? Aid to ungrateful foreigners, do-nothing nuclear missiles, tomb polish for some unknown soldier.
Mr. Burns: That intrepid lad is my great-grandfather, Franklin Jefferson Burns, tossing that without a care for what the caffeine would do to the Finway Flounder.
Homer: Is that a fish?
Mr. Burns: It was.
Mr. Burns: (Pointing to a display case) Oh, you'll find this amusing: the suit Charlie Chaplin was buried in.
Homer: (Wearing an FBI listening device.) Hey, see you're watching the ball game. Looks like a good one. Any of you involved in any illegal activity? Cause I could sure go for some. How bout you, Lenny? Testing, testing. Lenny?
Lenny: You saying you want to commit a crime, Homer?
Homer: Maybe. But first I need to hear about some other crimes to get me fired up.
Carl: You mean like the time you was running moonshine out of your basement?
Barney: Or that telemarketing scam you pulled?
Homer: Uh . . . like those, but involving you.
Moe: Oh, you mean like the time Barney beat up George Bush?
Homer: Barney!? That was me! And I'd do it again.
Charlie: Why stop there, Homer? My militia has a secret plan to beat up all sorts of government officials. That'll teach them to drag their feet on high definition TV!
FBI Agent: You're under arrest for conspiracy!
Moe: How'd they finger Charlie? Somebody must have ratted him out.
Homer: Oh, that's ridiculous, Moe. End transmission.