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We're Simpsons, Dad. We don't do good behavior. | Don't tell me I'm not capable of good behavior! |
We're Simpsons, Dad. We don't do good behavior. | Your honor, I would like to request a sidebar. |
Ten years. That is a long time to be away from your family. | All that time I'll be stuck in my cell, unable to exercise... |
Actually, most convicts work out like crazy. | I repeat: unable to exercise... |
Simpson, we are currently conducting a twenty-year investigation into the activities of Anthony "Fat Tony" D'Amico. | What? This guy? |
We're gonna plant you in Fat Tony's gang as an undercover informant. | I can't go undercover with Fat Tony. He's met me. I've been in his house. I was briefly his Consiglieri... Consugly... Canolli... Robert Duvall. |
So we're gonna plant you in the prison with a disguise and a new name. | Can I be Johnny Undercover? |
That's a little obvious. | Okay, Melvin Mafia. |
No, you will be known as Nicky "Blue Pants" Altosaxophony. | Can I keep the name after I'm done? |
Now pay attention. We're gonna move in on Fat Tony when he takes delivery on a shipment of Belgian guns. In your left sideburn is a fiber-optic camera. In your right, a wireless mic. To zoom in you go ayyyyy! To zoom out go ohhh! | Ayyyy! Ohhhh! Ayyyy! Ohhhh! |
Now pay attention. We're gonna move in on Fat Tony when he takes delivery on a shipment of Belgian guns. In your left sideburn is a fiber-optic camera. In your right, a wireless mic. To zoom in you go ayyyyy! To zoom out go ohhh! | Fuhgetaboutit! |
You do know the meat is made from diseased pigeons. | Just get the ladle down there deep -- that's where the beaks are! |
You do know the meat is made from diseased pigeons. | Hey, you're that guy from the F.B.-- |
Time to go to work. Stop licking my hand. | There was barbecue sauce on it. |
Here's how it goes down: I rough up Louie. Then you stand up to me, earning his trust. | But I haven't earned his trust if it's based on a lie. |
Enough of your dime store morality. | What's a dime store? |
Hey Nicky Blue, you're one tough yegg. If you come out of your beatin' in one piece, you and I should have a face-to-face. | Beating? What beating? |
Hey Nicky Blue, you're one tough yegg. If you come out of your beatin' in one piece, you and I should have a face-to-face. | Oh. That beating. |
Don't worry. We're not gonna touch you. We'll make it sound like a beating by tenderizing these steaks. | Can I have any of the steaks? |
Whoa! I'm impressed over here with that guy over there. | Please! Let me have it! Come on! Give it to me right in the mouth! |
Now let us escort you to freedom. | How're you gonna do that? |
I detect a distinct lack of oregano. | I'll take care of this. |
You carry oregano with you? | Oregano, basil, rosemary... |
No apology necessary. I am touched. You and me, Nicky, we feel. Legs, Louie, Jimmy the Axe, Tommy the Face Shooter -- they never share my grief. | Yeah. Those guys are probably FBI informants. |
You think an informant could get that close to me? | Oh yeah. I got in your gang and you barely know who I am. |
Why you! I'm gonna chop you into pieces and make you into a Rubik's cube, which I will never solve! | Well, I guess I could tell him he could improve his phone etiquette. |
What's the matter, Nicky? You got a problem with this job? | Oh no! No! I... was uh... just thinking how cheap this crime would have been in the seventies when gas was thirty-five cents a gallon. |
To heterosexual male friendship, the kind the Greeks wrote about. | Huh? |
All units, move in! | Tony, you've gotta get outta here -- now! |
What? Why? | Don't ask questions! Just go! |
Get a shot of Tony with the guns! | Ayyyy! |
Closer... | Ayyyy! |
Too close. | Ohhhh! |
Closer. | Ayyyy. |
Too close. | Ohhhh. |
He's dead. | No! You're wrong! Check again! |
Homer, I just want to say that of all the rat bastards we've had working for us, you were the snitchiest. | So that's it! You used me to kill a man, and all I get is a handshake and a blanket? |
And I'm not gonna shake your hand. | Poor Tony. He didn't deserve this. He was just a soldier in a war he started. |
Homie, I know you had a terrible experience, but it's over. | It's not over, Marge. It'll never be over. When I shut my eyes, all I see is Fat Tony and me having drinks at that bar on the beach. |
You never took me to that bar on the beach. | Oh. Well, uh... you wouldn't like it. It's not very good. |
Sounds pretty good. | No, no, I oversold it. |
Wake up, Homer. | Fat Tony? |
No -- I'm his cousin from San Diego, Fit Tony. | Wow, I've never seen a mobster use a tracksuit for exercising. |
And there's no better exercise than killing and disemboweling a big, fat snitch. | I understand. I loved him too. |
Your tears seem in no way crocodilian. | Do what you gotta do. The quicker you kill me up here, the quicker he can kill me down there. |
Well. This is awkward. | Wha-- oh, oh, uh, Mr. Burns? Uh, you were cool too. |
No. Because my cousin lives on in your memories. And to extinguish you, would be to whack what still remains of him. | Wow, the killers have been kind to me... while the people who were supposed to protect me treated me like dirt! What kind of a world is this? |
It's pretty screwed-up. That's why I keep my friends close. | And your enemies closer? |
No! Why would I do that? If they were close, they would kill me! | Fit Tony took his cousin's place running the Springfield mob. |
No! Why would I do that? If they were close, they would kill me! | The pressures got to him so he started to eat. Soon, he was known as "Fit Fat Tony," then just "Fat Tony" for short. |
No! Why would I do that? If they were close, they would kill me! | And me? Now, I'm just an average shnook like everyone else. |
No! Why would I do that? If they were close, they would kill me! | Stuck in this backwater burg where all you can count on is your family. And the only one who ever shot anyone is the baby. |
No! Why would I do that? If they were close, they would kill me! | And I have to admit, it's a pretty good life. |
It's all yours. | Okay let's see, number of dependents: three. Um, add to line thirteen... |
It's all yours. | Hm, better check last year's return. |
It's all yours. | Hm. |
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