Troy McClure hosts is on TV hosting the Miss American Girl Pageant.
Troy McClure: Live from beautiful Laughlin, Nevada, it's the Miss American Girl Pageant! Brought to you by Meryl Streep's Versatility: Smell like Streep. For Cheap! I'm your host, Troy McClure. And now here come the ladies!
Girls: We learned the truth at seventeen, that love was meant for beauty queens.
Troy McClure: Like Miss South Dakota! Miss North Carolina! Miss Indiana! Miss Alaska!
Marge: Kids, I won't be home tonight so I'm leaving you some low-cal microwaveable TV dinners.
Marge: I'm auditioning for a play. It's a musical version of A Streetcar Named Desire. Isn't that exciting?
Troy McClure: If you ask me, they're all winners! We'll be cutting our first 40 contestants right after this. Let's take a minute to meet our distinguished panel of judges: Skin-care consultant, Rowena! Syndicated columnist, William F. George! Token black panelist, Drederick Tatum! And Mr. Boswell, the man behind those infamous worst-dressed lists. Mr.Boswell, can you give us a sneak peek at this year's list?
Mr. Boswell: Memo to Goldie Hawn: Cheerleading tryouts were 30 years ago. Let's grow up, shall we?
Bart: <laughs> He's such a bitch!
Marge: I haven't been in a play since high school and I thought it would be a good chance to meet some other adults.
Homer: Sounds interesting.
Marge: You know, I spend all day alone with Maggie and sometimes it's like I don't even exist.
Homer: Sounds interesting.
Troy McClure: It's time to name our five finalists, starting with… Miss Montana!
Homer: A beaut from Butte.
Troy McClure: Miss South Carolina!
Homer: Nothin' could be finer.
Troy McClure: Miss Delaware.
Homer: She, uh … Good for her.
Marge: <singing scales>
Homer: Marge, keep it down in there!
Marge: Homer, my audition is in half …
Lisa: Hey, look! It's last year's winner, Deborah Jo Smallwood!
Deborah Jo Smallwood: Tonight, my reign as Miss American Girl comes to an end. And I'd like to apologize one last time for my unfortunate remarks at the United Nations.
Maggie plays 'Dance Of The Sugar Plum Fairy' on the xylophone.
Homer: Maggie, cut that racket!
Marge puts on her coat to leave.
Homer: And where exactly are you going?
Marge: I'm auditioning for a play.
Homer: Well, this is the first I've heard about it.
Marge: I told you several times. It's a musical version of A Streetcar Named…
Homer: Excuse me, Marge! I think that if you told me, I would remember. I mean, I'm not an idiot.
Marge: Hm. Well, I-I thought I told you.
Homer: Kids, back me up.
Bart: He's right, Mom.
Homer: Match point, Homer.
Marge: I'm sorry, honey.
Homer: That's okay. We're none of us perfect.
Down at the Springfield Community Center, the auditions are being held for "Oh! Streetcar!" The piano is playing, and several people are warming up their vocals.
Chief Wiggum: Me May Ma Mo Mu.
Flanders: Well, howdy-do, neighbor.
Marge: Hi, Ned. I didn't know you were an actor.
Flanders: Oh, indeedily-doodily. Uh, I've even been in Streetcar once before. I played Blanche DuBois. Mm-hmm. Just part of the fun of going to an all-male school.
Llewellyn: Hello! I am Llewellyn Sinclair. I have directed three plays in my career and I have had three heart attacks. That's how much I care! I'm planning for a fourth.
Marge: Maybe I should have taken a nice calligraphy class.
Chief Wiggum: Oh, forget about it. That Mr. Takahashi's a lunatic.
Chief Wiggum: Sorry.
Llewellyn: I am not an easy man to work for. While directing Hats Off to Hanukkah I reduced more than one cast member to tears. Did I expect too much from fourth graders? The review, "Play Enjoyed By All," speaks for itself.
Chief Wiggum: Hm.
Llewellyn: Those auditioning for the role of Stanley, take off your shirts. Take off your shirts! Déshabillez votre chemise! Schnell! Schnell! Schnell! Uh-uh. Nope. Try joining a gym. Oh, ye Gods!
Otto: Hey, man, if you like that, you should see my butt.
Llewellyn: You. You're my Stanley.
Flanders: Hot diggity! How 'bout that, Marge? Little ol' Stanley me, huh? "Stella. Stella!" <laughs>
Woman #1: Hey, look me over…
Woman #2: Won't you come home Bill Bailey…
Woman #3: There's got to be a…
Llewellyn: Thank you for nothing. You're all terrible! What you ladies don't understand is that Blanche is a delicate flower being trampled by an uncouth lout… <sighs> Forget it! Just strike the sets! Clear the stage! This production is…
Marge is on the phone to Homer.
Marge: Homie, I didn't get the part. You were right. Outside interests are stupid.
Llewellyn notices Marge on the phone to Homer.
Llewellyn: Wait a minute.
Marge: <groans> I'll come home right away. All right. I'll pick up a bucket of fried chicken, extra skin, rolls, chocolate cream parfait…
Llewellyn grabs the phone off Marge.
Llewellyn: Stop bothering my Blanche!
Marge: I play an aging Southern beauty who's driven to insanity by her brutish brother-in-law, Stanley.
Lisa: Wow! My mother the actress. I feel like Lucie Arnaz-Luckinbill.
Bart: Are there any jive-talking robots in this play?
Marge: Mm, I don't think so.
Homer: Bart, don't ask stupid questions. Is there any frontal nudity?
Marge: No, Homer.
Back at the Springfield Community Center, the cast are introducing themselves to each other.
Helen Lovejoy: My name is Helen Lovejoy, and I'll be playing Stella.
Apu: I am Apu Nahasapeemapetilon. I play Steve.
Otto: My name is Otto! I'm playing Pablo!
Lionel Hutz: Lionel Hutz, attorney-at-law. I'm filing a class-action suit against the director on behalf of everyone who was cut from the play. I also play Mitch!
Marge: I'm Marge Simpson. I'll be playing Blanche. I made some peanut butter brownies for everyone.
Llewellyn: Well, would anyone else like a bite of banality?
Chief Wiggum: I would.
Llewellyn gives direction to Ned and Marge.
Llewellyn: You're, you're pulsing with animal lust! You take Blanche and you fling her roughly to the bed.
Ned grabs Marge and flings her onto the bed. He then climbs onto her angrily.
Maggie crawls out of Marge's hair, takes Ned's glasses and puts them on.
Flanders: Aww, isn't that cute! Me without a camera.
Llewellyn: Here. My sister runs a daycare center.
Marge: Hmm. I guess a few weeks wouldn't hurt her.
Down at Ayn Rand School For Tots.
Marge: Maggie is allergic to strained pears and she likes a bottle of warm milk before nap time.
Ayn Rand: A bottle? <chuckles> Mrs. Simpson, do you know what a baby's saying when she reaches for a bottle?
Ayn Rand: She's saying, "I am a leech." Our aim here is to develop the bottle within.
Marge: That sounds awfully harsh.
Ayn Rand: Mrs. Simpson. I don't like to toot my own horn, but we're the only daycare center in town that's not currently under investigation by the state.
Marge: Oh. Well, be a good girl, Maggie. <kisses her>
Ayn Rand: I'm sorry, Maggie. We don't allow these here.
Ayn Rand takes Maggie's dummy and locks it away with hundreds more.
Back at the Springfield Community Center, Ned and Marge are singing their lines.
Flanders: You're a dame and I'm a fella.
Marge: Stanley, stop or I'll tell Stella.
Llewellyn: Passion, Mrs. Simpson. Anger. This man disgusts you!
Flanders: All I want is one embrace.
Marge: I'll twist this bottle in your face. Mm. Mm. Mm!
Flanders: <chuckles> Here, Marge, let me. Hate to be an armchair Blanche, but I always gave it one of these. There. There's the ol' face-shredder.
Llewellyn: Mrs. Simpson, if you set out to push the bile to the tip of my throat, mission accomplished! I'm, uh, I'm gonna crawl into bed with a bottle of amaretto. Good day.
Homer's in bed playing Bowling on a Gameboy.
Homer: Easy, easy. Yes, yes. Yes, yes, yes…D'oh!
Gameboy: 7 - 10 split.
Marge: Homer, can you run some lines with me?
Homer: Make Bart do it.
Marge: It'll just take a sec.
Gameboy: Gutter ball.
Homer: D'oh! You see, Marge, while you're off in your own little world you forgot that other people have problems too.
Back at the School For Tots, Maggie is trying to find things to substitute as her dummy. She tries her thumb, a crayon, a block, and even a Bart Simpson doll, but nothing seems to work.
Later on that day, Maggie climbs out of bed and wakes up other babies. They go over and look at the dummy collection locked away. The babies stack up all sorts of toys so that Maggie can climb up and try to get the dummies out. The toys all crash down, and Ayn Rand hears it. Ayn Rand comes in to find Maggie amidst the mess.
Ayn Rand: Don't like to nap, eh? We have a place for babies like you. The box!
Ayn Rand takes Maggie to a play pen where she is all alone, with only a ball to entertain her.
Back at the Springfield Community Center, Llewellyn is still trying to get Marge to get into character.
Llewellyn: All right, let "ham-ateur" night in Dixie commence.
Marge: I'm sorry, Llewellyn, I just … I just don't see why Blanche should shove a broken bottle in Stanley's face. Couldn't she just take his abuse with gentle good humor?
Homer: Marge, your ride's here.
Marge: Homer, it'll just be a few minutes more!
Flanders: You're a dame and I'm a fella.
Marge: Stanley, stop, or I'll tell Stella.
Llewellyn: Marge. Marge! I'm asking for white-hot rage and you're giving me a hissy fit.
Homer: Marge, can I get some change for the candy machine?
Llewellyn: Oh, here!
Llewellyn throws a fistful of coins at the ground and Homer bends down to pick them up.
Homer: Hey, there's some quarters in here.
Marge: I just don't see what's so bad about Stanley.
Llewellyn: Stanley is thoughtless, violent and loud. Marge, every second you spend with this man he is crushing your fragile spirit. You can't let that happen.
Homer: <yelling> Whoo-hoo! Come to Papa. Marge, I'll be out in the car.
Flanders: All I want is one embrace.
Homer in the car honks the horn.
Homer: Marge, move it or lose it!
Marge then imagines Homer instead of Flanders.
Marge: I'll twist this bottle in your face!! Aaah!
Llewellyn: Hallelujah! I've done it again! Ned, you're supposed to overpower her.
Flanders: I'm trying! I'm trying!
At the dinner table.
Homer: Salt me.
Marge: <southern accent> Here you are, Homer.
Homer: What the … Why are you talking like that?
Marge: The play's tomorrow night. <with accent> I've got to stay in character.
Lisa: <with accent> Would it help if I talked like this too?
Marge: It might.
Bart: <cockney accent> An' I'll talk like 'is. Bob's yer uncle, mate.
Marge: That really doesn't help, Bart.
Lisa: Big Daddy, would y'all mind passin' a lil' ol' biscuit?
Bart: Can I slog off school tomorrow? Got a pain in me gulliver.
Homer: I'm livin' in a cuckoo clock!
Marge: Oh, see you later, kids. I've got to go rehearse with Ned.
Homer: But, Marge, what about dessert?
Marge: For God's sakes, you can pull the lid off your own can of pudding!
Homer: Fine. I will! <screeches> Oh, no. My pudding is trapped forever! So I can open my own can of pudding, can I? Shows what you know, Marge.
Outside Flanders' house, Homer yells up at Marge who is rehearsing with Ned.
Homer: Marge! Hey, Marge!
Marge: Keep yelling, you big ape.
Flanders: Aren't you being a little hard on old Homie?
Marge: Oh, forget about him. Let's rehearse the bottle scene!
Flanders: Oh, let's not and say we did. Hmm?
Later that night in bed.
Marge: <muttering lines>
Homer: So, what time does this play start?
Marge: Why? Are you going?
Homer: Well, I gotta go, don't I?
Marge: I'm sure you won't enjoy it. There's nothing about bowling in the play. Oh, wait, there is.
Homer: Probably not much of it.
Marge: Why can't you be a little more supportive?
Homer: 'Cause I don't care, okay? I can't fake an interest in this and I'm an expert at faking an interest in your kooky projects.
Marge: What "kooky projects"?
Homer: You know, the painting class, the first aid course, the whole Lamaze thing.
Marge: Why didn't you tell me you felt this way?
Homer: You know I would never do anything to hurt your feelings. Good night. <snores>
At the daycare center.
Ayn Rand: Playing nicely, little humans? Good, good. Hello, Maggie. Poor little dummard.
Maggie's had enough. She grabs her nappy full of her essentials and goes over to the blinds. She grabs onto the coil and shoots up to a vent. She crawls into it and makes her way to Ayn Rand's office where she spots the keys on her table. Maggy opens up her nappy and ties the string from a Krusty doll around her waste. She then holds two bottles of milk as she jumps down towards the table. The Krusty doll talks from having its string pulled.
Krusty Doll: Hey, kids! I'm flame-retardant. <laughs>
Maggie stops just above the keys. Ayn Rand starts to make her way back to her office. Maggie gasps, drops the milk bottles, grabs the keys, and is pulled back up by the string on the Krusty doll.
Krusty Doll: If I break, buy a new one. <laughs>
Ayn Rand enters her office and one of the bottles rolls off the desk and shatters on the floor.
Ayn Rand: <gasps>
Maggie crawls back through the vents. She grabs a plastic gun and shoots a rubber dart across to the locker filled with dummies. She then slides over to the locker on a coat hanger, with the keys in her mouth. When she gets to the locker, she opens it with the keys and throws up dummies to all the babies. Homer arrives with Bart and Lisa to take Maggie home.
Homer: Maggie, time to go to the… <screeches>
Babies: <loud sucking>
Homer makes his way slowly through the babies, grabs Maggie, and slowly makes his way back out.
Homer: <shudders> Babies.
An Alfred Hitchcock look-alike walks past with his dogs.
Llewellyn: Perhaps we are all a little mad we who don the cap and bells and tread beneath the proscenium arch. But tonight, you will all be transformed from dead-eyed suburbanites into white-hot grease fires of pure entertainment! Except you. You're not working out. I'll be playing your part.
Chief Wiggum: Long before the Superdome, where the Saints of football play, lived a city that the damned call home, hear their hellish Rondelet.
Cast: New Orleans! Home of pirates, drunks and whores. New Orleans! Tacky, overpriced souvenir stores. If you wanna go to hell you should take that trip to the Sodom and Gomorrah on the "Mississip". New Orleans! Stinking, rotten "vomity" vile. New Orleans! Putrid, brackish, maggoty, foul. New Orleans! Crummy, lousy, rancid and rank. New Orleans!
Woman: What's the matter, honey? Are you lost?
Marge: I'm lookin' for my sister, Stella.
Lisa: It's Mom!
Marge: My name is Blanche DuBois. I thought my life would be a Mardi Gras, a never-ending party. Ha! I'm a faded Southern dame without a dime.
Apu: I'm collecting for the Evening Star.
Marge: Come here. I want to kiss you, just once, softly and sweetly on your mouth.
Apu: I am just a simple paperboy. No romance do I seek. I just wanted 40 cents for my deliveries last week. Will this bewitching floozy, seduce this humble newsie? Oh, what's a paperboy to do?
Marge kisses him.
Flanders: Stella! Stella! Can't you hear me yell-a, you're puttin' me through hell-a, Stella, Stella!
Marge is attached to guide ropes and is being pulled around by Moe and Barney to make her appear as she's flying.
Marge: Oh! Oh!
Bart: Cool. She can fly.
Lisa: I think it's supposed to symbolize her descent into madness.
Marge: Oh! Oh! Oh!
Marge is talking to Chief Wiggum's character.
Marge: Whoever you are, I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.
Cast: You can always depend on the kindness of strangers, to buck up your spirits and shield you from dangers.
Marge: Now here's a tip from Blanche you won't regret.
Cast: A stranger's just a friend you haven't met. You haven't met. Streetcar!
Chief Wiggum: Ah! <chuckles>
Lou and Eddie: Yay!
Llewellyn: You people out there, you're the stars!
Bart flies around in the flying device while Lisa holds him up.
Bart: Hey, look at me. I'm Blanche DuBois!
Lisa lets go of Bart and he falls to the ground.
Bart: <grunts> Way to go, Mom!
Lisa: Everybody was cheering for you!
Marge: Almost everybody.
Homer: Kids, wait in the car. I want to talk to your mother about this play thing.
Bart: <with accent> Lookin' for a spot of fun with the missus, hey, guv'nor?
Homer: Shut up, boy. Marge, you were terrific.
Marge: Oh, come on, Homer. By the end, you were so bored you could barely keep your selfish head up.
Homer: I wasn't bored. I was sad. It really got to me how that lady, uh, um … you know which one I mean. You played her.
Homer: Yeah. How Blanche was sad, and how that guy Stanley should have been nice to her.
Marge: Yeah? Go on.
Homer: I mean, it made me feel bad. The poor thing ends up being hauled to the nuthouse when all she needed was for that big slob to show her some respect. Well, at least that's what I thought. I have a history of missing the point of stuff like this.
Marge: No, Homer, you got it just right.
Homer: Hey, you know, I'm a lot like that guy.
Homer: Yeah, like when I pick my teeth with the mail and stuff.
Marge: Well, maybe just a little.
Marge kisses Homer.