George Bush is standing beside a big picture of George Bush, which says George Bush on it
Bart Simpson: Hey, are you George Bush?
George Bush: Yes.
Bart Simpson: I love you, George Bush
Bart: Hey, aren't you Peter Grellsk?|
Grellsk: Not today I'm not!
Grellsk walks off, in time to 'Spanish Flea'
Lisa: Hey look, it's Harry Potter!
Harry Potter pulls out a knife and stabs Lisa in the chest. He saws and saws, and eventually holds her heart aloft
Homer: hey! You're that guy! Off TV! You know! That guy!|
Jerry Seinfeld: Yashmakala!
He turns to the camera, and there is canned laughter and applause, like in an episode of Seinfeld
Lisa: Oh my god! It's Daniel Day Lewis!|
Daniel: Hello there Lisa. I'm just here, doing my bit for charity.
He puts on a pair of comedy glasses and moustache.
Daniel: I learned how to do this from the famous director of one of my films.
Lisa: What's wrong with your face?
Daniel: It...Pendrex Disease.
Lisa: Wow...it's really advanced. How long have you had it?
Daniel: Since the mid-80s. I caught it from that indian I had to bum in My Beautiful Laundrette.
Lisa: I did a fundraiser for the Pendrex Disease association once. It got spoiled by my dad. He-
Homer: Hey Lisa! Who're you talking to!
Suddenly Harry Potter appears, pulls out a knife and stabs Lisa in the chest. He saws and saws. Eventually Homer holds her heart aloft
Mr Burns: Smithers, in order to leech off all of the town's power supply to power a machine to cut down trees, we're going to need the help of the most evil man alive.|
Smithers: I'll get on the phone to the White House, sir.
Mr Burns slaps Smithers, knocking off his glasses, then pulls out a needle and s-l-o-w-l-y pushes it into Smithers's right eyeball, just underneath the pupil.
Smithers: AUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGHHHHH! AUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGHH!
Mr Burns pulls out his carbine and shoots Smithers through the throat, sideways. Blood and flesh arc through the air. Smithers's throat hangs down in ragged strips. He chokes and gurgles on his own blood, making horrific noises as he tries to breathe. He falls to his knees. Mr Burns goes to his desk and fetches his nailgun. He fires it indiscriminantly at Smithers's legs. The foot-long nails punch through into the rich, dark wood below, pinning Smither's folded legs at a grotesque angle. Smithers's one good eye bulges and bulges. Mr Burns fires another nail directly through it, and his head snaps back, but then slowly returns to the position it was before. He is still not dead. Mr Burns returns to his desk and fetches his can of kerosene and some matches. He douses the kerosene all over Smithers, and then pushes the nozzle of the can into the wound in Smithers's throat. He stands back, lights a match, and then flicks it at Smithers. With a FWOOMPH he is engulfed in flames. He writhes as best he can despite the nails, the only sound he can make a high-pitched gurgling, more like the noise a turkey makes than a human. Mr Burns moves to different, precise positions around the fire, shooting his nailgun into the flames. The air fills with the sickly sweet smell of charred human flesh. After about 5 minutes he stops moving, but Mr Burns continues to fire at him until he is out of nails. When the flames have subsided he pulls his knife out of his jacket, and plunges it into the gnarled black corpse's chest. He saws and saws, and eventually holds Smithers's heart aloft