Marge: The horde is almost dead! There's still some writhing and twitching, but that should stop by morning.
Homer Clone: Good news.
Marge: Mmm, [kisses the Homer Clone] One handsome hubby is all I need. [continues kissing the clone, then gasps in shock] No belly button? You're a clone! Then the real Homer...
Homer Clone: First over cliff.
Marge: [gasps] My Homie is dead? How will I go on?
Homer Clone: You like back rubs?
Marge: Oh well.
Kent Brockman: Like comedy clubs in the late '80s, these ravenous clones are everywhere. They destroyed every building in town except Moe's Tavern, which is reporting record business.
Moe: All right, who's paying the tab?
Homer Clones: LENNY!
Lenny: Anything for Homers.
Bonney: (to Homer) Play us some pian-ee. (Homer begins playing Für Elise, and then a bullet ricochets) That's piano! I said pian-ee! (Homer plays western-style music.) (to Marge) You! Play the cell-ee! (Marge plays a honky-tonk tune.) (to Bart) You! Sing a song about cattle-russlin'. (to Lisa) And you! Sing one about, uh, robbing banks.
(The song begins playing)
Bart: (singing) Caps in the field so you sneak up slow, grab 'em by the tail and go man, go.
Lisa: (singing) Break into the bank and snatch that dough...
Bart and Lisa: (singing) Please don't hurt our family.
(The zombies start shooting at the floor directly under Bart and Lisa)
Homer: Marge, let me do a solo. This could be my big break!
Marge: I very much doubt that, Homer. These are horrible ghouls from the past.
Homer: Hey, so are the Grammy judges. (gets pulled into a room)
Lisa: (to Homer) How do you like being a walrus, Dad?
Homer: It's great, I haven't been this skinny since high school.
Marge: The House of Pain? I guess this is where you pay the bill. (laughs) Why am I always funny when no one's around?
(Maggie as an Anteater passes by Homer)
Homer: Maggie! (Lisa as an owl grabs Maggie) Lisa! (Homer captures Lisa and set Maggie free)
Lisa: We were just playing.
Homer: What game?
Lisa: Let's eat Maggie?
Ned: Milk Me!
Frink: No! Wait a minute now. Guess what, I'm dying ha ha, with the basting and the butter balling and the chestnut stuffing in my pupik. Gobble, Gobble, Gobble. Death.