Burns: Smithers, I don't want that unpredictable lunatic working in
Smithers: Fine, we'll transfer him to the nuclear plant, sir.
Burns: Aw, my beloved plant. How I miss her -- bah! To hell with
this. Get my razors! Draw a bath! Get these kleenex boxes
off my feet.
Smithers: Certainly, sir. And, uh, the jars of urine?
Burns: Oh, we'll hang onto those. Now, to the plant! We'll take the
Spruce Moose. [picks up the model] Hop in!
Smithers: But, sir --
Burns: [pointing a gun] I said, hop in.
-- Inexorable logic, "$pringfield"