Sideshow Bob

Evey time we say good-bye I die a little

And I would have gotten away with it too if it weren't for these meddling kids.

Treat kids as equals! They're people too! They're smarter than you think. they were smart enough to catch me!

Bart is the shamus in short pants who sent me to prison.

You're forgetting the first two noble truths of the Buddha. - I am not. - Yes, you are.

When prison ended that dream, I became a seething cauldron of rage and recrimination.

This is one more Emmy than you'll ever win, you bantering jack-in-the-box!

Do you know what prison is like for a life-long Republican?

But what kind of guest would I have been?

Like the lone crocus that pokes through the prison yard, our love bloomed despite all obstacles.

Cutter. Icepick. Snake. I'm going to miss you most of all.

You seized the wheel of my slow boat to hell, and pointed it towards the sunny shores of Selma.

Though kissing you is like kissing some divine ashtray, that's not what I had in mind.

First of all, he's not a genius. He's an actor. And second, he's not much of an actor.

that was a well-plotted piece of non-claptrap that never made me retch.

Enjoy your rest. The wedding was very tough on you, and the honeymoon is going to be... murder.

I wanted a room with a fireplace, you brainless luggage monkey!

Ah, fire-- Scourge of Prometheus, toaster of marshmallows, eradicator of deadwood.

Even murder has its ugly side.

Soon I will kill you. - Huh? - Son pieds sentit beau-- French for 'her foot smells lovely.'

Voy a matar a usted. - Wha? - That's Spanish for 'I am going to kill you.' - Say what?

Don't forget to die. - Ding-dong.

My best-laid plans have gang agley.

Take care, Snake. May the next time we meet... be under more felicitous circumstances. Ga?

How many people in this court are thinking of killing her right now? Be honest.

Oh, I'll stay away from your son, all right. Stay away... forever. Oh, no! Wait a minute. That's no good.

Wait. I've got a good one now. Marge, say 'Stay away from my son' again. No!

Come on! Leave town! No. I'll be your friend. No. Oh, you're mean.

The following neighborhood residents... will not be killed by me: Ned Flanders... Maude Flanders. Oh, isn't that nice?

Hey, kids, wanna drive through that cactus patch? Yeah! Yeah! No! Whoop, two against one.

Surely there's no harm... in laying in the middle of a public street.

Roman numeral three: Surprise boy in bed-- and, uh, disembowel him. No, I don't like that 'bowel' in there. Gut him.

Oh, no, Dad's been drugged. No, he hasn't.

Well, you have such a beautiful voice. Guilty as charged. Anyway, I was wondering if you could sing the entire score of the H.M.S. Pinafore.

Very well, Bart. I shall send you to heaven before I send you to hell.

I knew I had to buy some time... so I asked him to sing the score from the H.M.S. Pinafore. Ooh, a plan fiendishly clever in its intricacies.

If elected mayor... my first act will be to kill the whole lot of ya and burn your town to cinders.

Please, Krusty, this is very demeaning. / Shut up and conduct!

Soon I will kill you.

It's time people realized we conservatives aren't all Johnny Hatemongers... and Charlie Bible-Thumps or even, God forbid, George Bushes.

Attempted murder. Now, honestly, what is that? Do they give a Nobel Prize for attempted chemistry? Do they?

A fine mahoq to you all.

Do you know what he does? He flip-flops. Sometimes he doesn't know whether he's coming or going.

No children have ever meddled with the Republican Party and lived to tell about it

I'd say that Les Wynan ought to do more thinking and less whining. There's no Councilman Les Wynan. Good line, though.

At that time, we will blow up your house and any remaining Simpsons

That way, they can sleep soundly tonight on their hard, feculent motel pillows.

There. Is that what you want, you smarmy little bastards?

You want the truth? You can't handle the truth. No truth-handler, you. I deride your truth-handling abilities.

Because you need me, Springfield. Your guilty conscience may force you to vote Democratic. But deep down inside, you secretly long for a cold-hearted Republican... to lower taxes, brutalize criminals and rule you like a king.

Ah, Westminster Abbey. Edward the Confessor himself could not have done better.

My foolish capering destroyed more young minds than syphilis and pinball combined.

that omnidirectional sludge pump droning and burping-

Informally now and by affidavit later, time permitting.

Buzz-cut Alabamians spewing colored smoke from their whizz jets to the strains of 'Rock You Like a Hurricane'? What kind of country-fried rube is still impressed by that?

TV's bottomless chum bucket has claimed Vanessa Redgrave!

Except perhaps... a mushroom cloud.

Why, we could revive the lost arts of conversation... and scrimshaw.

By the way, I'm aware of the irony of appearing on TV in order to decry it. So don't bother pointing that out.

Some decent local marmalade, for one. Oh, well, next time.

Blasted helium! Shoo! Shoo! Shoo! Shoo! That's better.

How naive of me to think a mere atom bomb could fell the chattering Cyclops!

and his sister, Lisa, to whom I'm fairly indifferent.

Really? What type of smart? Book smart? Because there are a lot of people who are book smart. But it takes a very special type of genius to-

God bless the idiot-proof Air Force.

Back before every Joe Sweat Sock could wedge himself behind a lunch tray and jet off to Raleigh-Durham.

How ironic. My crusade against television has come to an end so formulaic... it could have spewed from the PowerBook of the laziest Hollywood hack.

Well, Krusty, as you may remember, after I tried to frame you for armed robbery... I tried to murder Selma Bouvier. Let's see. I rigged the mayoral elections... I tried to blow up Springfield with a nuclear device, and I tried to kill you.

And whenever I could find a spare moment, I've tried to murder... Bart Simpson. [Screaming] [Door Slamming] He said 'tried'!

Really, Reverend, your praise is gonna get me beaten up.

Yes, I'm a good, good man.

You mean Arthur Fiedler's wake? No, no, no. I mean our falling out.

I'm all murdered out.

And as an American, aren't I entitled to one? Probably!

[Thinking] I hope they still make that shampoo I like.

I'll be happy just as long as it doesn't taste like orange drink fermented under a radiator.

Hydrological and hydrodynamical. Talk about running the gamut.

What about the buffoon lessons? The four years at clown college?

These giant clown mitts are extremely hilarious, but do make it difficult to shift gears. That's the title of Erma Bombeck's latest, isn't it?

Cecil, no civilization in history has ever considered... chief hydrological engineer a calling. [Clearing Throat] Yes, yes. The Cappadocians. Fine.

Just the thought of that raw, surging power makes me wonder why the hell I should care.

Oh, great. Whenever a woman passes by... I suppose it will be my job to lead the hooting. Oh, yeah! Shake it, madam. Capital knockers.

He's just shy because I've tried to kill him so many times.

Oh, the pleasure's mine, Bob. It's so exciting to be dating a killer. To be fair, I never successfully killed anyone. Oh. I see.

I did once try to kill the world's greatest lover. But then I realized there are laws against suicide.

He says that, but I bet he gives up pretty quickly.

Coveralls that don't quite cover all.

Sometimes I wish this dam would burst... and bury this cursed town.

Madam, your children are no more... than a pair of ill-bred troublemakers.

Here's a clue for you, Jack! One hundred thousand tons of reinforced concrete.

When it's one of my schemes, you can't foil it fast enough. But when Cecil tries to kill you... 'It's hopeless. Utterly, utterly hopeless.'

Come on! Quickly now! Bart, for once I'm not trying to kill you. I know it's awkward and I don't like it any more than you do. But you've got to trust me.

Lisa, you don't spend 10 years as a homicidal maniac... without learning a few things about dynamite.

Bart, how would you like to do something incredibly noble? Do we have to? Yes.

Oh, I don't know about that. [Whimpers] Joking. Joking.

Oh, I don't relish having to write the Christmas letter this year. Nor I to read it.

You'll live to regret this! Oh, thanks a lot. Now I look crazy.

I'm older! I get the top bunk! Oh, poppycock! I called it at the arraignment! Get back!