[In the Simpson house, Marge has been acting strangely all morning: Cutting things out of the newspaper, running the vacuum cleaner during Homer's phone conversation with Lenny (which keeps him from hearing about something big and annual), and now smoking a cigarette. Homer is suspicious when she doesn't want him to open the front door to let fresh air into the house.]
Homer: What's wrong with you? What are you trying to hide from me? [opens the front door and sniffs] What's that smell? Onions ... chili powder ... cumin ... juicy ground chuck? It's Chili! Oh my God, I'm missing the Chili Cook-Off! [whining and fidgeting] I'm missing the Cook-Off, it's going on right now, and I'm missing it!
Marge: All right! I was trying to keep it from you! But I had a good reason. Every time you go to that Cook-Off you get as drunk as a poet on payday!
[Flashback to last year's Chili Cook-Off. People are shocked as a naked Homer is cavorting in the cotton candy machine.]
Homer: [drunk, slurred speech] Look at me! I'm a puffy pink cloud!
[Return to present.]
Homer: Well, of course everything looks bad when you remember it!
[Homer interrupts Marge while she's looking at Lenny's crafts booth.]
Homer: Maaaaaarrge! We're missing the chili! Less artsy, more fartsy!
Marge: Homer, I happen to like handicrafts much more than stuffing my face.
Homer: Fine, I'll come find you when I'm ready to stop having fun.
Marge: Remember your promise: no drinking. [leaves]
Homer: Stupor pooper.
Smithers: Evenin', little lady. Ya reckon a square could get a dance?
Marge: It looks so complicated. Do you know how?
Smithers: Ma'am, I wouldn't honk the honk if I couldn't tonk the tonk.
[The next morning, Homer wakes up on a golf course and attempts to rationalize his chili hallucination.]
Kent: (looking angry) Hey get off the course you bum. Security! (Kent then blows his whistle)
Homer: What? Golf course? Did I dream that whole thing? Maybe the desert was just this sand trap. Oh, and I bet that crazy pyramid was just the pro shop. [The pro shop is shaped like a giant pyramid.] And that talking coyote was really just a talking dog.
Dog: Hi, Homer. Find your soulmate!
Homer: Hey, wait a minute! There's no such thing as a talking dog.
Homer: Damn straight!
Homer: Wherever my soul mate is, it's not here.
Coyote: Find your soulmate, Homer. Find your soulmate.
Homer: Where? Where?
Coyote: This is just your memory. I can't give you any new information.
Sea Captain: 'Tis clear sailing ahead for our precious cargo.
Man: That would be the hot pants sir?
Sea Captain: Aye, the hot pants.
[In search for his soul mate, Homer calls a Personals ad.]
Homer: Hello? Is this... uh... GBM? Uh, yeah. I read in the personals you were seeking a soulmate. Well, I also like rainy days and movies. Uh-huh... [apprehensively] uh, no, I don't like that... or that... No, it's not that I'm afraid. [now speaking very quickly] I'm gonna hang up now, bye-bye!
[Homer is in the lighthouse, and his silhouette is being projected into the sky by the lighthouse's lamp.]
Bart: [looking out a window and seeing the silhouette] Hey, look! Is that Dad?
Lisa: Either that, or Batman's really let himself go!
[In the lighthouse, Marge catches up to Homer and they patch up their differences.]
Homer: Wow, Marge, you really do understand me. See, I thought we weren't soulmates because...
Marge: [completing Homer's sentence] We had a fight?
Homer: Right, and we don't like the same things. It's like you're from Venus...
Marge: And you're from Mars.
Homer: Oh, sure, give me the one with all the monsters.
Homer: Hey, buddy! Get back there with the other rocks! (He sees the rock was a tortoise) Huh? A tortoise? (Reads slowly) "Follow... the..." (Gasps) This must be why I'm here! Follow the what? Follow the what? Hurry up! (The message reads: Follow the tortoise) D'oh! (that words forms in clouds of dust); (Homer frantically follows the tortoise, which is moving far too slow to suit him.) Get moving, you stupid-- "When I'm kicking you, that means hurry up! Come on!" (He kicks the tortoise. Homer runs after it, taking increasingly greater strides, finally coming to a tiny Aztec-style pyramid. The tortoise points to it.) Oh, you want me to climb that, huh? No problemo. (Before Homer can climb it, the ground rumbles and the pyramid grows to several times its original size, likely for kicking the tortoise.) (Homer groans) This is 'cause I kicked you, isn't it?
(The tortoise nods as his way of saying, "Yes".)
Homer: Hey Barney, Soul mate! Let me buy you a beer.
Barney: Okay, but I'm not your soul mate. I'm really more of a chum.