Judge Harm: I'm gonna lock you up till frogs do fractions!
Homer: Careful. These pants cost me 600$.
Homer: Yeah, they're Italian.
Moe: (pulls out shotgun and points it at Homer) All right, hand them over.
Moe: Yeah, I rob now.
Judge Constance Harm: Grand theft auto?
Bart: It was an accident, ma'am.
Judge Constance Harm: Don't spit on my cupcake and tell me its frosting.
Homer: What did she say about cupcakes?
Marjorie: She's such a butthole!
Homer: She is so cool!
Marjorie: We hate her, Homer.
Judge Constance Harm: According to this, your father was driving you to school. Then where was he when you stole the police car?
Homer: Uh, your Honor, I was chasing the KBBL Party Penguin Prize Patrol.
Judge Constance Harm: You abandoned your son to win forty dollars?
Homer: And a Blue Oyster Cult medallion.
(Holds it up and admires it) Cool.
Judge Constance Harm: And that was more important than keeping your son out of trouble?
Homer: Your Honor, if may sing a little bit of, "Don't Fear the Reaper," I think you'll agree...
Judge Constance Harm: I'm familiar with BOC. But you have got a boy here who is crying out for adult supervision.
Homer: I couldn't agree more. Perhaps some sort of court-appointed babysitter or au pair.
Judge Constance Harm: Sorry, bub, that crow won't caw.
Homer: It won't!
Judge Constance Harm: Agh! That quilt was made by my Grandmother.
Homer: So... it cost you nothin'.
Lisa: That's my brother.
Snake: Um, did she say she used to be a dude?
Homer: Judge Snyder, while we're young?
Judge Constance Harm: I hereby order you to be tethered to your son.
Judge Constance Harm: Tethered. Report to room five.
Homer: Room five!
Judge Constance Harm: Oh, I can't resist that look. You remind me of me, when I was a little boy.
Judge Constance Harm: But I was about to bang my gavel, making the sentence official!
Homer: That was close.
Hans Moleman: Please drive off me.
Marjorie: What was that?
Homer: Uh, just the radio, dear.
Judge Constance Harm: You remind me of myself... when I was a little boy.
Edna Krabappel: Okay, now who can pick out the predicate in this sentence?
Edna Krabappel: What is it now, Bart?
Bart: Night terrors.
Homer: Ahh! Cobras!
Homer: Look at her in there, washing her body.