(At the Sapphire Lounge, from the stage Homer makes a speech to the audience)
Homer: I have something to say to all the sons out there. To all the boys, to all the men, to all of us. It's about women, and how they are not mere objects with curves that make us crazy. No, they are our wives, they are our daughters, our sisters, our grandmas, our aunts, our nieces and nephews. Well, not our nephews. They are our mothers. And you know somethin’, folks? As ridiculous as this sounds, I would rather feel the sweet breath of my beautiful wife on the back of my neck as I sleep, than stuff dollar bills into some stranger’s G-string. Am I wrong? Or am I right?
(Homer comes home from work and an angry Marge meets him at the front door and shoves the infamous photo in his face)
Marge: What is the meaning of this?
Homer: (Stammers) Uh, meaningless, Marge. Don’t even attempt to find meaning in it. There’s nothing between me and Princess Kashmir.
Marge: Princess who?
(Bart walks by and sees Marge holding his photo)
Bart: Hey, my photo.
Marge and Homer: (In unison) Your photo?
Homer: Why you little--
(Homer reaches to choke Bart)
Marge: Why you big--
(Marge reaches to choke Homer)
Marge: Bart, go to your room.
Bart: I’m outta here.
Homer: Look, Marge, honey, baby, doll, I--
Marge: Homer, I don’t even want to look at you right now.
Homer: What are you saying, honey?
(Marge grunts and points to outside the front door)
Homer: But where will I sleep?
Marge: My suggestion is for you to sleep in the filth you created!
Homer: Would a motel be okay?
(Marge grunts as she slams the front door in Homer’s face)
(Marge and Homer hold a conversation in the bathroom)
Marge: So, how was the office birthday party?
Homer: Oh, it was delightful. The frosting on the cake was this thick. (Uses thumb and index finger to indicate the thickness) And Eugene Fisk--my poor sucker of an assistant--didn't know the fruit punch was spiked, and he really made an ass of himself putting the moves on the new girl in Valve Maintenance. Ha, ha, ha.
Marge: Does this girl like him?
Homer: Pffft. I have to warn you, Marge. I think the poor young thing has the hots for Yours Truly.
Homer: (Chuckles) Just keepin' you on your toes, babe.
(In the school photo lab, after seeing Bart’s photo of Homer and Princess Kashmir, Milhouse begs for a copy)
Milhouse: Come on, Bart. You're gonna make me a print, aren't you?
Bart: Will you swear not to let another living soul get a copy of this photo?
Bart: Cross your heart and hope to die?
Bart: Stick a needle in your eye?
Bart: Jam a dagger in your thigh?
Bart: Eat a horse manure pie?
Milhouse: (Thinks for a second) Yep!
Bart: Well, okay.