Lovejoy: [holding Cleaning Brushes] I Want You To Clean Every One Of These Organ Pipes That You Have Befouled With Your Popular Music.

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Lovejoy: [holding cleaning brushes] I want you to clean every one of
these organ pipes that you have befouled with your popular
[hands the brushes out, walks off]
[Bart and Milhouse start cleaning; a door slams]
Bart: You shank! How could you tell on me?
Milhouse: Well I don't want hungry birds pecking my soul forever.
Bart: Soul? Come on, Milhouse, there is no such thing as a soul.
It's just something they made up to scare kids, like the
bogeyman, or Michael Jackson.
Milhouse: But every religion says there's a soul, Bart. Why would they
lie? What would they have to gain?
[Lovejoy, in his office, works a change sorting machine]
Lovejoy: I don't hear scrubbing!
-- Only innumerable fiduciary rewards,
"Bart Sells His Soul"