CHORUS: ♪ The Simpsons ♪
(theme music playing)
(bell ringing)
(whistle blowing)
(beeping)
(playing the blues)
(tires screeching)
D'oh! (screams)
(tires screeching)
ALL: Ten... Nine...
Eight...
Eight... Eight... Eight...
Oh, will this horrible year never end?
We've never lost a year before
and I'll be damned if we're going to lose one on my shift.
ALL (hurriedly) : Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.
(crowd cheering)
(corks popping)
♪ Should auld acquaintance be forgot ♪
♪ And never la, la, la... ♪
(crowd shouting in distance)
Ooh, January 1.
Better get going on those taxes, Neddy.
MAN: Hmm.
Let's see, cash register ink.
Well, that's a business expense, isn't it... I--
Oh, but then, I do enjoy the smell of the stuff, don't I?
Better not risk it.
Daddy, what do taxes pay for?
(chuckles) Oh, why, everything.
Policemen, trees, sunshine.
And let's not forget the folks
who just don't feel like working, God bless them.
Neddy, it's 8:45.
The post office is going to be opening soon.
8:45?
Here I am yapping away like it's 8:35.
Ooh! Can't forget the mints!
(panting)
Getting your taxes out of the way?
No, just mailing out death certificates
for holiday-related fatalities.
(chuckling)
(inaudible whistling)
(horn honking)
(crowd shouting)
All right, people, listen up.
The harder you push,
the faster we will all get out of here.
(shouting continues)
(panting)
Oh, Edna, you're certainly looking lovely tonight.
Is that a new green sweater?
Until you're willing to file jointly.
Back of the line, Seymour.
Arrr, sometimes I wonder why I bother plundering at all.
Oh, no.
No, no, I felt that.
You didn't carry the one, you foolish person.
Now you'll incur the penalties
with the compound interest
and the wrath and the truncheons. Ba-heyvin.
This is Kent Brockman
live at the Springfield Post Office on Tax Day.
It's literally the eleventh hour.
10:00 p.m.,
and tardy taxpayers are scrambling
to mail their returns by midnight.
Sir, why did you wait until the last minute
to pay your taxes?
Taxes? Isn't this the line for Metallica?
Sir, why did you wait until the last minute
to pay your taxes?
Because I'm an idiot. Happy?
Of course, not everyone is an idiot.
Some of us took our receipts and pay stubs
to our accountants months ago--
and at the risk of sounding a little smug...
MAN: Oh... Help!
Does anyone have a calculator?
-Myron? -(groans)
Will you look at those morons.
I paid my taxes over a year ago.
Dad...
What is it, sweetie?
Did you see a scary picture in your picture book?
That was last year's taxes.
You have to pay again this year.
No. Because, you see, I went ahead and...
Year-wise, I was counting forward
from the last previous...
D'oh!
I put the tax forms on top of your "to do" pile a month ago.
I have a "to do" pile?
(gasps)
Marge, how many kids do we have?
No time to count, I'll just estimate.
Uh, nine.
You know we don't have...
Shut up! Shut up!
If I don't hear you, it's not illegal.
OK. I need some deductions... deductions...
Oh, business gifts.
Here you go. Keep using nuclear power.
Homer, I painted that for you .
OK, Marge, if anyone asks, you require
24-hour nursing care, Lisa's a clergyman,
Maggie is seven people and Bart was wounded in Vietnam.
Cool.
(muffled groaning)
-(door opening and closing) -(car speeds away)
(sighs) You really had a lot of talent, kid.
(clock chiming)
(tires screeching)
(gasps) If I don't see it, it's not illegal.
(tires squealing)
(clock chiming)
(munching)
(tires screeching)
Oh, no, you don't!
Come on. Get in there.
Drop!
Woo-hoo! D'Oh!
MOE: So, Lenny, let's say
you pull a thorn out of the Pope's butt
and he grants you one wish. What'll it be?
Hm! Only one, huh?
Well, I've always wondered what it would feel like
to wear something that's been ironed.
-(whistles) -That would be sweet.
What about you, Moe?
Uh, gee, I was going to say a night
with Joey Heatherton, but an ironed shirt...
Damn, that's tempting.
What about you, Homer?
Well...
Homer Simpson?
United States Government.
Hmm?
Help! Somebody!
-Help! -(door closes)
So how about you, Barn?
One wish.
This is an egregious miscarriagement of taxitude.
Oh, this is bad, this is really bad.
You work and you slave and you steal just enough
for a sweet lick of that shiny brass ring.
Don't I get a lick? Doesn't Gil get a lick?
Simpson... Homer J.
(whimpering)
(creaking)
Hey, put in a good word for old Gil, would ya?
MILLER: Mr. Simpson, this government computer
can process over nine tax returns per day.
Did you really think you could fool it?
No, sir. I'm really sorry, sir.
An older boy told me to do it.
You're looking at five years, minimum.
No, sir, please.
I can't go to prison.
They pee in a cup and throw it on you.
I saw it in a movie.
You won't be seeing any prison movies
where you're going... Prison.
No, please! I'll do anything.
Anything? Well, that's a start.
Agent Johnson, FBI.
(sobbing) I'm very happy to meet you.
From now on, you're going to work for us.
(whispering) OK, but could you pay me under the table?
I got a little tax problem.
They want you to spy on your friends?
Not spy, squeal.
I've got no choice.
The government has no right to use you this way.
Quiet, honey, you don't know how big this government is.
It goes all the way to the President.
(grunting)
There you go, ratboy.
Does this make me look fat?
No. It makes you look like a tool
-of government oppression. -But not fat.
If my cover gets blown
and I need help, what's the signal?
Oh...
Hey, I 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.
Oh, God!
How about you, Lenny?
Testing, testing... Lenny?
You saying you want to commit a crime, Homer?
Maybe. But first I need to hear about some other crimes
to get me fired up.
You mean like the time
you was runnin' moonshine out of your basement?
Or that telemarketing scam you pulled?
Uh, um, like those.
But involving you .
You mean like the time
Barney beat up George Bush.
Barney? That was me!
And I'd do it again.
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.
You're under arrest for conspiracy.
(gasping)
Hey, how did they finger Charlie?
Somebody must have ratted him out.
Oh, that's ridiculous, Moe. End transmission.
(ducks quacking)
My superiors were pleased with your work.
You have a flair for treachery.
Well, I'm just glad it's all over.
(laughs) Oh, you're not through, Simpson.
We have a high-risk assignment for you.
Why do you keep picking on me?
Marge's name was on that tax return, too.
-Let's take a walk. -Walk?
(grunts)
That wasn't part of the deal.
(panting)
We're here. Get in.
-(shutter clicks) -Uh, m-my shirt fell off!
Mr. Simpson, please cover your ears
while I say the secret access word.
Cheese.
MAN: Good morning, Agent Johnson.
The film you are about to see is top secret
and contains adult situations.
In 1945, the people of Europe
struggled to rebuild following the war.
HOMER (chuckling): Losers.
JOHNSON: Shut up, Simpson.
MAN: To ease this crisis,
President Truman promised relief.
American tax dollars will help our allies
who fought so poorly and surrendered so readily.
(crowd cheers)
MAN: To make good on this drunken boast,
Truman authorized the one-time printing
of the largest denomination currency ever:
A trillion-dollar bill.
Ooh, a trillion-dollar bill.
'atsa spicy meatball.
The man chosen to deliver this precious cargo to Europe
was America's wealthiest, and therefore
most trustworthy citizen, C. Montgomery Burns.
(propeller buzzing)
(people cheering)
Unfortunately, the money never arrived.
Well, this is a kick in the knickers.
Should we complain to somebody?
Non! I say we just act snooty to Americans forever.
-I agree! -Heh!
MAN: This film will self-destruct... If not properly stored.
We believe Burns still has that bill
hidden somewhere in his house.
But all we've ascertained from satellite photos
is that it's not on the roof.
We're hoping that as his trusted employee,
you can help lead us to it.
But Mr. Burns gave me my job.
And he hasn't fired me
even after three meltdowns and one China syndrome.
I can't betray him.
I'm afraid you have no choice.
And remember...
This information is highly classified.
-APU: Cheese! -(camera whirring)
MAN: Good morning, Agent Johnson.
The film you are about to see--
(whistling)
Here you are, sir.
Wild raspberry compote, celery root remoulade
and pheasant under duck.
I hope you enjoy it.
Oh, stop fishing for compliments, Smithers.
Go home to your can of mushroom soup.
Sir, a kind word now and then...
I'm choking it down.
Isn't that thanks enough?
(muttering) Sometimes I don't know why I bother.
I'm in.
(doorbell ringing)
Now what, Smithers?
I... You're not Smithers.
Uh, I'm Homer Simpson, your trusted employee.
(chuckling) Employee, eh?
What a pleasant surprise.
Hmm, a pack of vicious dogs
should be ripping you to pieces.
Uh, I don't know what to tell you.
Very well. Come on in.
Perhaps I have something I can scald you with.
It'll, uh, be a few minutes.
So, what brings you to my home?
Well, Mr. Burns, you always come off
as kind of a gruff, crotchety loner,
but we both know that deep down inside...
Ya, ha!
Still cold.
Hmm, well, let me get you a towel.
Starting search for trillion-dollar bill.
Come on, where are you?
Here, trilly, trilly...
(humming)
What is this?
What are you doing?
Um... Er... Um...
Oh, I get it.
I'm on to you.
You're from Collier's Magazine, aren't you?
Are you going to put me in Star Snoop?
Oh, yeah, sure.
That thing.
Well, I won't go without a fight. Wink, wink.
(laughs) Let me show you around.
I hope you don't mind a little walking.
(groans)
Well, of course I didn't want a racehorse
in my living room, but you don't say no
to Spring Byington, do you?
(chuckling) No, you don't.
(chuckling)
Oh, you'll find this amusing.
The suit Charlie Chaplin was buried in.
Ew.
Here's a scoop for your readers.
The hall of patriots.
That intrepid lad is my great-grandfather
Franklin Jefferson Burns
tossing that tea without a care
For what the caffeine would do to the Fenway flounder.
-Is that a fish? -It was.
Hey, that guy looks like you.
Ho-ho! That's me, all right.
Standing up against America's reckless
spendthrift politicians.
It commemorates my liberation
of a trillion dollars that would have been
foolishly squandered.
Let's move.
(gasping)
Is that the trillion-dollar bill in his hand?!
(chuckling)
That would be pretty careless of me, wouldn't it?
I keep the real bill right here.
(velcro ripping)
Wow.
That must be worth a fortune!
-(guns cocking) -Nobody move!
What the...?
Montgomery Burns, you're under arrest
for grand, grand, grand, grand larceny.
(strains) I'm not the thief.
The government is.
Every year, you make hardworking Joes
like my reporter friend here pay income taxes.
And for what?
Aid to ungrateful foreigners.
Do-nothing nuclear missiles.
Tomb polish for some unknown soldier.
Hey, he's right!
You crooks in Washington...
Put a sock in it, punk.
Ooh, you can silence me
but you can't silence Collier's Magazine!
Tell the people! Don't let the government push you around!
You have a choice! Fight back!
I'm going to write the best darn article...
Oh. Wait.
(grunting)
(all grunting)
Huh! Take that, Uncle Sam!
(giggling)
(tires screeching)
Faster, Simpson.
Those jack-booted g-men won't be far behind.
We'll hide out at my place. I've got beer.
No! We need help.
There's only one man
who can get us out of a jam like this.
♪ You'll be swell, you'll be great ♪
♪ Gonna have the whole world on a plate... ♪
(doorbell chiming)
All right, all right.
Keep your top on.
Why, sir, what a pleasant...
(screams)
So now our own government is hunting us down
like a couple of common snow leopards.
It's an outrage, sir.
This is Agent Johnson from the FBI.
Be on the lookout for a 1936 maroon Stutz Bearcat.
Eh, that really was more of a burgundy.
Oh, we're never going to make it.
Let's just divide up the trillion now
and go our separate ways.
Uh, I'm afraid we've got to get out of the country.
Capital idea.
Let's blow this fascist popsicle stand.
We'll purchase a small island somewhere
and start our own country
free from the relentless tyranny of Uncle Sam.
But I can't leave the country.
What about my wife and kids?
That can be shipped.
JOHNSON: OK, kids,
I want some answers.
Where do you think your father would go
with a trillion dollars?
My dad has a trillion dollars?
Wow! I can buy and sell your sorry ass.
I'll give you a billion dollars
to empty the cat box for me.
No, no, Bart.
That money's going towards your college education.
Who needs college, Mom?
We're trillionaires!
Let's buy dune buggies.
Contact.
Remove the chocks, Simpson!
Simpson?
(gasps)
Ohh!
BURNS: There's soda on the plane!
Attention, fugitives.
You are leaving U.S. jurisdiction.
Turn back immediately
or we will be unable to prosecute you.
We'd better do what he says.
Wait. We're now over international waters.
Woo-hoo! We can gamble!
Yes!
Aw, nuts!
They'll be back. They'll miss American TV.
Any of these islands would make a fine new country.
-I call President. -Vice-president.
Ohh...
Ooh. There's a big one.
And it has "freedom" written all over it.
Sir, that's Cuba.
Cuba, eh?
Take her down, Smithers.
Uh... You're flying the plane, sir.
Excellent.
Sorry about the landing, boys.
This fog is so thick I can't see my own cataracts.
Uh... Purpose of visit?
Oh, you're going to love it in Cuba, Marge.
There's shredded pork everywhere.
(speaking in a foreign language) Es carne de burro.
Nice to meet you.
Ah, the new Packard we've been hearing so much about.
(engine misfires)
-(bell dings) -(crowd cheering)
-Oof! -Oof!
CROWD: Boo!
So you say Batista's gone.
-Did you know that? -I had no idea.
In that case, just take us
to whoever's in charge.
CASTRO: Comrades,
our nation is completely bankrupt.
We have no choice but to abandon communism.
(groaning)
I know. I know. I know.
But we all knew from day one this mumbo jumbo wouldn't fly.
(grumbling)
I'll call Washington and tell them they won.
But, Presidente, America tried to kill you.
Ah, they're not so bad.
They even named a street after me in San Francisco.
(whispering)
It's full of what?!
(panting)
Presidente, three men are here to see you.
They claim to have a trillion-dollar bill.
Ay caramba!
Oh, so the island's not for sale, eh?
Well, will you at least permit us to live
in your socialist paradise?
Are you talking about Cuba?
Exactly. All we ask is
preferential treatment because of my fabulous wealth.
May I see?
Oh-ho-ho!
See with your eyes, not with your hands.
Please, we are all amigos here.
Mr. Burns, I think we can trust
the President of Cuba.
Now give it back.
Give what back?
Ohh...
It's hard to believe there's a place
worse than America, but we found it.
Yes, I, too, feel renewed appreciation
for the good old U.S. of A.
Oppression and harassment are a small price to pay
to live in the land of the free.
But, uh, sir, aren't you facing
some serious jail time?
Well, if it's a crime to love one's country,
then I'm guilty.
And if it's a crime to steal a trillion dollars from our government
and hand it over to communist Cuba,
then I'm guilty of that, too.
And if it's a crime to bribe a jury,
then, so help me, I'll soon be guilty of that.
God bless America!
(theme music playing)
Shh!
Captioned by Visual Data Media Services