Grampa: What's the matter, boy? Homer: Nothing. Grampa:

Grampa: What's the matter, boy?
Homer: Nothing.
Grampa: You haven't said poo all night and usually I have to wrestle the
bucket [of `Shakespeare's Fried Chicken'] out of your greasy
mitts.
Homer: Dad, I'm in love.
Grampa: Uh oh! Why don't you grab yourself a beer, boy.
Homer: But Dad, I don't drink ...
Grampa: Cut the crap!
[in a mocking voice] I just collect the cans, Daddy.
[in his normal voice] Now grab yourself a beer and get me one
too. Now, this girlfriend of yours, is she a real looker?
Homer: Uh huh.
Grampa: A lot on the ball? [ie, intelligent?]
Homer: Yeah.
Grampa: Oh, Son, don't overreach!
Go for the DENTED car,
the DEAD-END end job,
the LESS ATTRACTIVE girl.
Oh, I blame myself. I should've had this talk a long time ago.
Homer: Thanks, Pop.
-- Grampa's three words of advice, "The Way We Was"