Stark Raving Dad

Dad died. / No, no, he's fine. / What do you know? / I'm relieved.

Everything changes when you hit the big 1-0. Your legs go. Candy doesn't taste as good.

This old-timer does ramble on sometimes.

If you haven't asked your parents' permission-- naughty, naughty... but Krusty forgives you.

I tried to stop her, but she overpowered me.

Pink?! I can't wear pink to work. Everybody wears white. I'm not popular enough to be different.

It's all over, Marge! It's all over!

Ah, my lucky red hat. Clean as a whistle. You did this to me!

Why is that man in pink?! That's Homer Simpson-- a boob from Sector 7-G.

Judging by his outlandish attire... he's some sort of freethinking anarchist.

Yes, these color monitors... have already paid for themselves.

Just because I'm wearing pink... doesn't mean I'm some kind of pink doughnut-eater... although it is tempting.

Spare me the tiresome antics of the Simpson family.

20 simple questions that will determine... just how crazy or 'meshuggener' someone is.

All right, all right. I'll get Lisa to do it.

Why, oh, why is my cat dead? Couldn't that Chrysler hit me instead?

No deal. / Dad, you should do this.

It's no different... than the time I let you vote for me. Remember that absentee ballot?

Anyone order a hot dog?

Do you hear voices? I'm hearing one now, though I'm trying to watch TV.

Are you quick to anger? Bart, shut up or I'll shut you up! Yes.

Do you wet your pants? Even the best of us has an occasional accident.

Careful, men. He wets his pants.

We have a very simple method. Whoever has that stamp on his hand is insane.

I'm a very popular entertainer. Of course, I've heard of you. You'd have to be living under a rock-- What's your name? Michael Jackson. Doesn't ring a bell.

Heard of MTV or Motown? No. Beat It? You beat it. Thriller? What was that?

How do your feet do that? The moonwalk? No, your feet!

I wore a pink shirt. I understand. People thought I dressed crazy. What did you wear? One white glove... covered with rhinestones.

Five times nine. Forty-five. Wow! This guy is the chief.

Joe's Crematorium. You kill 'em, we grill 'em.

If you're really Michael Jackson... who were your last four Grammy dates? Brooke Shields, Diana Ross, Emmanuel Lewis and Bubbles.

You don't want him to get a lobotomy, do you? Hmm... lobotomy.

Oh, my God. Mother was right.

I said crazy house! Poorhouse. Crazy house! Poorhouse.

Hot cakes... football... boobies-- Bubbles, it's going to be a long night.

Was the door locked?

Was it raining?

Were you out of gas?

You mean there really is a Bart? Good Lord!

In 1979, I got real depressed... when my Off the Wall album... just got one lousy Grammy nomination.

Joe's Taxidermy. You snuff'em, we stuff'em.

I'm a vegetarian, and I don't drink. Are you sure you're here voluntarily?

Can you keep a secret? No. Michael Jackson... is coming to my house!

will henceforth be known as the Michael Jackson Expressway.

He's 300 pounds. He's white. He's dressed without flair.

Don't ever show your face around here again, you tool.

Perhaps, if a professional so advises... I will give you a hug... at some far distant family reunion... but rest assured, it will be purely for show.

Hey, Looney Tunes, this is what Michael Jackson looks like. You look like a big, fat mental patient.

Although I know you're looking at me, I would look exactly the same, even if you weren't.

This is my real voice. I'm Leon Compowski. I'm a bricklayer from New Jersey.

All my life I was angry, until one day... I talked like this. All of a sudden... everybody was smiling at me.

To make a tired point, which one of us is truly crazy?

Not me. I got this.