Chalkboard: I was not the sixth Beatle
Couch: A skating ramp is set up next to the couch. Marge (with Maggie in hand), Bart, and Lisa successfully do skateboard tricks off the ramp and onto the couch. Homer, however, falls off the ramp and, adding injury to insult, gets hit on the head with his own skateboard.
Wiggum: My wife and I like watching that Oz show on HBO. Uh, is … is prison really like that?
Jack: Wouldn't know. We only get basic cable.
Wiggum: Ouch. I also like that Sex in the City. None of those girls looks like my wife. (laughs)
Jack: Sports Center's not bad.
Wiggum: Yeah, I never got that show.
Jack: What's to get? They just tell the scores.
Wiggum: Yeah, I suppose, yeah. Hey, ya meet any Mob guys? Are they really like the Sopranos?
Jack: I told you, we just get basic cable.
Wiggum: Oh right, right, right. Listen, if I'm getting too chatty, just, uh, just tell me to shut up.
Jack: Ah, I'm enjoying it. Hey, you ever watch them strongman contests? They're pretty good. Those guys look strong. Other guys in prison say they're gay, but I don't know; they look strong to me.
Costington: Why, I don't think I've ever seen such generosity. You're a modern-day Kris Kringle, sir.
Homer: I'm just trying to dig myself out of a pit of shame.
Costington: Say no more. I've had a bit of a shoe-sniffing problem myself. I'm still not allowed on the third floor.
Homer: That's okay. (They hug each other)
Bart: Well, it all started last week in Krabappel's class. I was trying to breed the hamster with the lizard to create an unholy super creature, when I saw an even worse crime against nature.
(Skinner and Krabappel enter the room, kissing. Bart hides in the coat closet)
Skinner: Ah, head lice inspection day. While the kids are out getting their nits picked, we can have our own private cootie call.
Edna: Oh, you talk too much. Let's do it on Martin's desk.
Skinner: It is usually the cleanest.
Lindsay Neagle: Mr. Simpson, your intelligence profile indicates that you're too "stupid" to stick to a budget.
Homer: Yes, go on.
Lindsay Neagle: So let me put this simply. You need more money.
Homer: How do I get it?
Lindsay Neagle: I'm a financial "planner", not a financial "consultant"
Lindsay Neagle: Now, I'd like my fee please.
(Homer writes a note)
Lindsay Neagle: I know you're not a deaf mute, Mr. Simpson. We've been talking for the last 20 minutes.
(The Singing Sirlion closes for the night, and the Simpsons leave after working off their bill. In the car, Marge and Maggie are up front, Homer is driving, Bart and Lisa are in back.)
Marge: When did this happen? When did we become the bottom rung of society?
Homer: I think it was when that cold snap killed off all the hobos.
Lisa: Dad, what happened to the backseat?
(The camera changes angles to show Bart and Lisa standing on rails, they're all that's keeping them from running on the street.)
Homer: I sold it. I needed gas money.
(The car slows to a stop. The gas tank is empty.)
Homer: ...which I spent on a novelty horn.
(He butts his head against the horn, triggering a horn that would lead to a 'CHARGE!!!' cry at a baseball game.)