Million-Dollar Abie/Quotes

But first, the commissioner of pro football has announced plans to expand the league! Owners will meet soon to award a new team to one lucky city. Well, it's a cinch Springfield won't be that lucky city. Yeah, the only thing we're known for is leading the country in heart attacks.

Marge, meet pro football's newest team: the Springfield Meltdowns! Plus I designed a state-of-the-art stadium. We'll fund it with corporate naming rights. It's the Duff Beer Krusty Burger Buzz Cola Costington's Department Store Kwik-E-Mart Stupid Flanders Park!

I'm sick of L.A.! They got earthquakes, wildfires, Bennifers, Brangelinas, and that potty mouth ! To hell with all of 'em! I didn't kill my husband to get control of his franchise to give a team to Los Angeles! Then Springfield it is! Yee ha! Now if you'll excuse me, I've gotta go tell my gay grandson I still love him.

"Touchdown Avenue"? Delightful! Who ya talkin' to? Your imaginary girlfriend? Isn't your mother a well-known whore? You win this round, Mel.

If I knock him out, I'll be a hero. And people will listen to my loose-brained nonsense.

It's so strange that the commissioner didn't show up. Maybe he's thinking of a new shape for the football.

You're a useless old man! Name one thing you do for this family. I watch the baby. Where is the baby? You left me with a baby?

Mr. Simpson, you are a good candidate for assisted suicide. Aw, I think you're cute, too. But killing yourself isn't as easy as putting on an ugly sweater like you did today. I want you to carefully think about this for twenty-four hours. Oh, I see. You want me to reconsider whether or not I really should give up my life. Yeah. And we're cleaning the death machine today. A lot of gunk gets stuck in it.

Okay... if I get a single phone call in the next twenty-four hours, I'll keep on livin'. If you go, can I have your blanket and your liver? Blanket? Sure. Liver? Never!

You're all dead too? So, who went berserk? Fatso or the little guy?

I suggest we use the stadium for the ancient art of the toreador... bullfighting! No! Wait! Wait! Bullfighting is a cruel, pseudo-sport! Lisa's right! It is a cool, super sport!

Grampa, I think you should give up the bullfighting. Forget it! I'd look pretty stupid in this outfit walkin' around fightin' oysters!

Grampa Simpson's movements are tentative. As if he is distracted. Distracted as if by a moral dilemma. A moral dilemma posed by a young boy... no, a girl! A girl named Linda... no, Lisa! The flutter of the cape tells all.