Games, games, games, games, games, games, games, games!
- Mmm. Normals? - Two-eyes?
In-casts?
Why does a game store feel like detention?
Modern board games aren't about fun. They're about economics and math.
You know, fun!
Whoo-hoo!
Bartholomew! A little help, please!
We've been epic-fantasy roleplaying for six hours.
If you'll sit in for me, I need to fill the porcelain chalice.
Only you could make peeing sound lame.
How do I play this stupid game?
You must role-play as my beloved character, Dandelion Tenderjape.
The bardic imp of the Feyrealm!
- Hi. - No pleasantries at table!
"The party enters a cavern
where, atop a glittering treasure mound, sleeps the dragon Balfalmagog."
Though I, Mythagoras the Bold,
have vanquished every fire-drake and lava wyrm in the Caverns of Hotness,
this foe is far beyond any of you. Retreat is what we should do.
I attack!
You idiot! You're gonna get us all killed!
So long as I get Martin's guy killed.
The party enters combat.
The dragon breathes fire at the defenseless lutist.
Rolling to determine damage.
Twenty-eight... Twenty-eight points of fire damage!
Hilarious.
Without the help of his friends, a-Dandelion will surely a-perish.
Mythagoras the Bold leaves no companion behind!
With the bravery of the derring-do and the confident mannerism-free voice.
Ah! Mythagoras is fighting a dragon.
Everyone, freak out.
Ice Blast.
Lightning Bolt.
Sleep Apnea.
In a final act of desperation, the dragon lays Egg of Death.
I'm fairly certain I can handle one measly Death Egg.
Likewise.
One!
Great Sheldon's ghost. It can't be. It... Well, it's un-Frinkable.
The lethal "eggsplosion" pierces the wizard's defenses.
And Mythagoras the Bold falls. He's dead.
I've been with Mythagoras for 20 years.
He's my oldest friend.
- Why? Why? Why? - Yoink.
Bart, you got Frink's character killed! You made a grown-up cry!
Uh... Don't tell Mom about this, okay?
Oh, Bart, how could you even think I wouldn't?
You.
Um, hello, Professor.
Bart's sister told me he did something bad to you,
but I don't understand what it was, despite repeated explanations.
Any-Anyway, apologize.
I'm sorry I pulled a Leeroy Jenkins and got Mythagoras perma-deathed.
Whoosh. Well, we brought caramel clumpies.
This place is the coolest.
At least my heroic friend died in battle.
It's what he always wanted.
So, you're not mad at me?
Oh, powerful emotional responses are just a spike in brain chemicals, lad.
My brain prefers cogitation.
Sweet.
I'm so sorry you lost your imaginary friend.
How old are you again?
Ow! This slime just shocked me!
Oh, did it explain why? It is supposed to.
You see, as the mighty wizard, I could be all the things that I am not.
I was, uh... Well, brave.
Mmm.
Is this a shrink ray?
Uh, yeah. But it only works on watermelons.
It sure does!
As a mother, I've tried so hard
to channel my son's enthusiasms in a positive direction.
Science could be a wonderful outlet for Bart's energy and imagination.
Could he be your helper?
Rambunctious child. Yes. Would you accept the position of a lab assistant?
Will I get to tangle with forces I can't possibly understand
and scream, "My God, what have I done?"
At least once a day.
I'm in.
You know, in college, they're gonna try to tell you that noble gases don't burn,
so don't mention today.
Dude, I'm never going to college. I'm dumb.
"Dumb"? Well, that is the worst thing you can call yourself. You take that back!
What? I am dumb. It's fine. Dumb guys can do lots of cool stuff.
It's always a dumb guy who wins the lottery.
You're not dumb.
Everybody knows I am.
Oh, yeah? Well, I don't.
- Am too. Am too. Am too. - Are not. Are not.
Are not. Are not. Are not, not, not, not, not.
I would not be friends with you if you were the D word.
What is it?
So when Bart said, "What is it," what did you say?
I said, "It's an invitation."
Professor Frink's college reunion is at some billionaire's private compound,
but he'll only go if I go with him.
Bart would be quite helpful.
Social interaction can be, uh, well, uh, tricky for me.
- What? - No!
Mr. Personality?
The invitation does say family is welcome.
And as an impossibly literal person,
I assume that means that I can bring all of you.
A rich guy super party. Think of the food. Think of the booze.
Where exactly is this reunion?
Well, they won't say where it is.
These billionaires are so reclusive,
we have to sign an NDA in order to find out.
The Simpsons are going to.
Welcome to, Professor Frink and unrelated family.
This mansion is incredible. It's like where a Realtor would live.
Actually, that's just where we store Christmas ornaments.
The mansion is behind the next rise.
John, welcome to my humble abode.
Well, not exactly humble, and I only abode here four days a year,
and the actual owner is an offshore trust
controlled by nominee directors, but you know.
Peter, how long has it been? 9.56 times ten to the third days?
Oh, that was witty and delivered rather calmly.
This place is sweet.
I wouldn't mind being hunted for sport here.
I saw this view on a screen saver, and I just had to have it.
The indigenous people who lived here were none too happy.
What happened to them?
Have you ever heard of eminent domain? Because the tribal elders sure hadn't.
Oh.
These are the worst people in the world.
Don't think of them as people.
Think of them as big piles of money
with nothing better to do than fund a smart little girl's education.
You want me to try to squeeze a scholarship out of a tech bro?
Don't I have a college fund?
We spent that on long-term parking for this trip.
These are just some of the trifles I've collected over the years.
There's a Komodo dragon, nature's perfect tongue-flicking machine.
This fossil here is the extinct creature that a very famous video game is based on.
Poor Frink. How can he stand to be around Peter?
That man took everything from him.
What did Peter do to Frink?
This was back in college.
We were undergrads in the early boom days of the Internet.
Together we created the modern tech economy,
which seemed like a good idea at the time.
John Frink was brilliant, but unlike the rest of us,
he never cared about making money.
Once he created something, he just moved on to the next discovery.
Peter, I'd better get going or I'll be late for Applied Email 202.
My goodness, we've been playing that long?
Uh, Susan, uh, what time is it?
The current time is 57 degrees Fahrenheit.
Susan is the voice-activated assistant I created,
but she never quite does what you want her to do.
Would you like to hear music by a band you hate?
John, you just leapfrogged current technology by light years.
Turning off lights for one year.
Oh, she's worse than nothing.
Now, if Susan is stressing you out,
I-I could toss it in the dumpster on the way to my Ethics in Business seminar.
You're always looking out for me, always, trusted friend.
To this day, whenever a Siri or an Alexa almost understands what you want,
that's John's technology.
But it was Peter who got rich off it.
What kind of billionaire chooses money over friendship?
Siri, what's a good revenge idea?
Revenge is a dish best served cold. Here's some ice cream near you.
Oh, she's worse than nothing.
Say, how many of these will get me unpleasantly drunk,
and may I have twice that many?
None of the drinks this weekend will have alcohol.
Alcohol is a deadly poison.
And it's poison o'clock somewhere, am I right?
It will take years off your life.
Yeah, all the crap ones at the end.
Everyone here is dedicated to radical life extension.
Did you know that in the very near future, pseudoscience will literally solve aging?
Do you mean our kids will stay little forever?
No, but they'll live longer, healthier lives.
This weekend we will only be consuming
the most cutting-edge plutoceuticals and longevisyrups. Yum.
This tastes nothing like purple.
Oh, that's olive oil and river clay. It'll do wonders for your left testicle.
Speaking of life expectancy,
did you know that graduates of private universities
live longer than their state college peers?
Especially if they've gotten full scholarships. Ha-ha.
Sorry, I only listen to podcasts. Could you talk at 2.5 times speed?
Sure.
My name is Lisa Simpson,
and an investment in me is an investment in...
- 2.7. - ... a more equitable, greener future.
Pause and delete. Play Sam Harris.
I can't wait to find out how they screwed up the omelet bar.
What do you want as your base? Goat placenta or lab-grown goat placenta?
Half and half.
Homie, I know this life extension stuff is a little wackadoodle,
but if it worked, you and I could have more time together than I ever dreamed of.
Happy 53rd birthday, my love.
These last 15 years have been an unexpected miracle.
Okay, hair plugs. My wife wants me to do whatever you say so I live forever.
It all starts with a simple blood test.
Follow my lead, and soon you'll have the sex drive of an 18-year-old.
No, not again!
Then the Egyptians said my yacht was too big to fit through the canal,
so I said, "Suez problem? That's a 'you-ez' problem."
I'm so happy you came, John.
Oh, really? Well, allow me to just verify that.
Ah, confirmed.
These glasses are a new technology of mine.
I'm not the best at reading other people's emotions.
These glasses do it for me.
Well, I can see that you're impressed.
They're amazing.
Think what it could do for the neurodivergent community
or in a business negotiation
to always know what the poor unsuspecting bastard
across the table is really feeling.
I've never seen that emotion before.
These may still need some tweaking.
Could I take a closer look at them?
Well, of course you can, trusted friend.
Homer, it's incredible. The blood tests we ran...
Somehow you had the biomarkers of a 26-year-old.
- Him? - He looks 60.
He smells 80.
But he must know something we don't!
Tell us your secrets. Give us the keys to eternal life!
Hmm? Hmm!
The journey begins as all journeys do, with beer.
And I now own every beer in this country.
And beam up some Doritos too, or you're all dead by midnight.
What an accomplishment.
It's a wonder you found time to file a patent for these.
Well, I didn't.
Didn't file a patent? That's... That's so you.
Are you nuts, showing him your new invention?
He stole your Susan idea and made billions off it.
Making money is for businessmen. You and I are scientists.
You should be a mad scientist. You need to get angry at that jerk.
As I said, powerful emotional responses such as anger
are just a spike in brain chemicals.
Oh, I suppose I-I could try.
Peter never did thank me for his success. That feels quite yucky.
And he could have shared some of his fortune with me, but he chose not to.
Well, that makes the old glayvin poipik right up, doesn't it?
He-He took advantage of me.
That's it, Professor! You're losing it!
Now, what do I do with this... with this rage?
Meh, nothing. It's just how you're supposed to feel.
Why? Now my whole life just feels like a cruel joke.
At least you're done being a wimp.
"Wimp"? All this from the boy who calls himself dumb
- so he never has to try? - What?
You're afraid that if people knew that you were smart,
then you'd actually have to apply yourself and you might fail.
So it's much safer to call yourself dumb.
How could you say that? I am dumb.
Bad news, kid. You're smart, and that's all you'll ever be.
Who wants to live forever?
We follow your path, teacher,
but are you sure that the secret to eternal youth
is shotgunning beer and watching The Godzilla Channel until 3:00 a.m.?
Twenty-six-year-old blood says it is.
That pain you're feeling is just age leaving your body.
I said no vitamins, you scarecrow vampire!
They're not vitamins, sensei. They're double cheeseburgers in pill form.
It's the only way I can keep up with your caloric intake.
Come on, fella.
Open. Open.
Stupid Frink calls me smart?
I'll stick my hoyvin so far up his fluhpudnik
he'll be tasting gaheivin-moyven for weeks.
You seem upset with our mutual friend.
I do this all the time. Practically every week.
You know what might make you feel better? Making him feel worse.
After all, the Buddha teaches us,
"It's impossible to be happy if other people are."
Give me the design schematics for the emoji glasses,
and we'll both have our revenge.
You tech moguls really are all psychopaths,
and I'm here for it. Let's do this.
As part of the practice of mindful eating, before we put anything in our mouth,
we say, "Don't mind if I do."
Modern food packaging is designed by law
to tell you exactly what's going into your body.
So look for claw marks in the logo, icicles on the lettering,
and you can't go wrong with lightning bolts on the wrapper.
Lightning bolt equals sexually active at 1,000 years old.
Oh, come on!
Are you all so terrified of growing old that you'll desperately cling to any guru
who promises you five more minutes on earth?
But his blood was tested by our top medical imagineer,
Dr. Incomparable Fabulous, and it said he's 26.
Obviously the blood you tested wasn't my dad's.
I tried to give blood, but none would come out, so I used Bart's.
Ha! You hear that?
My ten-year-old brother is biologically 26.
Welcome to the Simpsons' lifestyle. Prepare to die.
But also if any of you want to pay for my college, that would be really great!
Can still outrun death.
Help!
You shall not have him, vile dragon!
Devastating thrust!
Artful parry! Freezing spell!
Magic doesn't work here.
Fantasy sequence. Zip it.
John Frink leaves no companion behind,
especially when they're... friends?
There's something I need to show you, but you're not gonna like it.
Well, it's my emoji glasses with enough detail to produce an exact copy.
You-You made this, Bart?
I was gonna give it to Peter because I was mad at you.
My brain chemicals were spiking like crazy. I'm sorry.
Bart, you produced this schematic entirely from memory?
Do you know what this means?
This is conclusive, irrefutable proof that you are smart!
Oh!
My son is a science boy!
So you're really not mad?
Well, see for yourself.
Three lions?
It's "pride," genius!
It certainly is.
You know, if these glasses are so valuable,
perhaps I'll donate them to my alma mater
in exchange for a future full scholarship for my very, very smart assistant.
Oh, for crying out loud!
The Simpsons are leaving the beautiful nation of.
I wish I could have seen more
of's many historical sites and natural wonders.
At least I'm bringing home a souvenir from.
I'm just glad to get the out of New Zealand.
What? What? I never signed the NDA.
I send you greetings from the Komodo dragon species.
For millennia, we have attempted to communicate our message of peace
through the language of dance.
An effort that proved futile due to our splayed inflexible hips,
which, unlike those of your South American chanteuse Shakira,
do nothing but lie.
Now, at last, we can share with you our poetry, our medical breakthroughs,
and our deep understanding of the mathematics that underlie reality.
But first, are you going to eat that boy?
Because if you're not, I would sure like to.
Or we could split him, how do you say, splitties?
Yummy, yummy boy.
Shh!