“Except…?”

“Except… I KILLED MR. BURNS!!!”

cseresznyepite:

“You should’ve seen the murderous glint in his eyes, Smithers. And his breath reeked of beer and pretzeled bread.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Burns. This was all my fault.”

“Don’t concern yourself. If things had turned ugly, I always had my mace.”

I just called to say, I don’t love you. You are a bad son, Montel…

Your new duties will include answering Mr. Burns’ phone, preparing his tax return, moistening his eyeballs, assisting with his chewing and swallowing, lying to Congress, and some light typing.

“Out of my way. I’m a motorist.”

“That’s some nice reckless driving, Mr. B.”

Popping a paper bag.

“This novelty foam hand is ludicrously oversized. Go and swap it for a smaller one!”

“It is a bit ostentatious, sir. I’ll be right back.”

It’s not as funny to me, but what do I know?

Here comes the endangered condor into the power lines.