Pilot: And I keep telling you, you fly boys crack me up!
Homer has been banned from and thrown out of Moe's Tavern by Moe, a portly man wearing a top hat and good suit enters Moe's Tavern. He looks remarkably like Homer, except he has a long mustache
Man: Greetings, good man. Might I trouble you for a drink?
Moe: Oh, get out of here, Homer!
Man: Homer? Who is Homer? My name is Guy Incognito. I...AUGH!
Guy Incognito (Homer's clone) is pummelled by men while crashing sounds/men throwing things on the ground with crashes are heard and Homer tossed/thrown out of Moe's Tavern by Moe, where he lies unconscious on the street. Homer is walking by and stops to see Guy Incognito bears a striking resemblance to him
Homer: (Gasps) "Oh my God! This man is my exact double!" (Gasps) That dog has a puffy tail!" "Homer runs off to chase dog"
Norm: Woody, gimme a beer.
Woody: I think you had enough, Mr. Peterson. My chiropractor says I can't carry you home anymore.
Norm: Just gimme another beer, you brain dead hick! I'll kill ya! I'll kill all of ya!
Cliff: Whoa, settle down Normy! Gotta save those pipes for karaoke!
Doctor Zwieg: Go on Marge, tell me more about your father.
Marge: (nervous rambling) Sure, I will tell you about father. Father Christmas. That is what they call Santa Claus in England. They drive on the wrong side of the road there. Now that is crazy! People are always talking about how small England is but you could not fit it in Springfield. Not by a long shot! You know what, I am cured!
Dr. Zwieg: Marge, get back here!
Homer: So, Marge, pretty sweet, eh?
Marge: Hmm. Oh, I forgot to clean the lint basket in the dryer. If someone broke into the house and did laundry, it could start a fire.
(Cut to Bart sitting next to Maggie, who is crying)
Bart: Oh, great. I specifically asked not to be seated next to a baby.
Grandpa: (looking out window) Wow...we must be really flying high! Those people down there look all tiny and blurry...just like the inside of a cataract.
Marge has just revealed that she is ashamed of the fact her father made his living by working as a flight attendant
Dr. Zwieg: Marge, there is nothing to be embarrassed about. Male flight attendants, or stewards, as the old term is, are now quite common on flights. Your father was a pioneer for public acceptance of that.
Marge: You might even say he was an American hero.
Dr. Zwieg: Let us not go overboard.
Marge: Could there be other reasons I became afraid of flying?
Flashback to Marge as an infant in a high chair being spoon fed by her grandmother
Marge's grandmother: Here comes the airplane!
Marge's grandmother has poor depth perception and aims the spoon of baby food at Marge's eye, not her mouth, poking Marge
Baby Marge: WAH!
Forward in time to Marge as a toddler playing with a pedal-power miniature jet. Although a pedal-powered toy; the phony wings on the toy somehow become aflame
Younger Marge: AUGH!
Forward in time to Marge as a little girl with a younger Jacqueline Bouvier on a sightseeing trip of a cornfield in the Midwest. A crop duster flies low and attacks Marge and Jacqueline with machine gun fire
Jacqueline and Marge: AUGH!
Fades to present
Dr. Zwieg: (dismissively) Yes yes, it's all a rich tapestry.
Moe: That's it Homer I'm taking your caricature down from Mount Lushmore (Moe removes Homer's picture) And I'm pulling your favorite song out of the jukebox.
Homer: "It's Raining Men"?
Moe: Yeah, not no more, it ain't. (throws record out the window, landing into Smithers' car.)
Smithers: Oh! (looks at record)
Bart: Cheer up, Homer.
Marge: What if you pretended that this couch were a bar? Then you could spend more nights at home with us. Huh?
Homer: I'm not going to dignify that with an answer.
Lisa: Look on the bright side, Dad. Did you know that the Chinese use the same word for "crisis" as they do for "opportunity"?
Homer: Yes! Cris-atunity!
Marge: Everyone has a fear of something.
Homer: Not everyone.
Marge: Sock puppets!
Homer: Where!? Where!? [screams]
Marge: I don't know, Homer. We're right in the middle of the busy housekeeping season.
Homer: But Marge, you deserve a vacation. It's a chance for you to clean up after us in a whole other state!
Marge: I don't want to be a wet blanket, but getting on a plane like that seems like a hassle coupled with a burden.
Homer: Come on, Marge, I want to shake off the dust of this one-horse town. I want to explore the world. I want to watch TV in a different time zone. I want to visit strange, exotic malls. I'm sick of eating hoagies. I want a grinder, a sub, a foot-long hero...I want to live, Marge! Won't you let me live? Won't you please?!
Homer: Marge, what's wrong? Are you hungry? Sleepy? Gassy? Is it gas? It's gas, isn't it?
Marge: Whenever the wind whistles through the leaves, I'll think, Lowenstein, Lowenstein…
Psychiatrist: My name is Zweig.
Marge: (whispering) …Lowenstein.
Homer: You're right. I've been wasting my life away in that dump for years. That's it! I'm going to find a new bar to drink in, and I'm going to get drunker than I've ever been in my entire life! Bart! Where's my wallet?
Bart: (pulling it from his own pocket) Right here, Dad!
Homer: Thank you!
Bart: You know, I have this feeling that we forgot something…
Grampa: (still on the plane) AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
Homer: Ehh, I'm sure it's nothing.
Homer: Lisa, the important thing is for your mother to repress what happened. Push it deep down inside her, so she'll never annoy us again.
Lisa: But if we don't encourage her to vent her feelings, they can come out in other ways.
Marge: I just realized we never had a wedding for the cat and the dog... they've been living in sin!
[the pets whimper]
Lisa: Mom, you've been cooking all night?
Marge: Judge, jury, and executioner, all rolled into one, you are!
Lisa: See, Dad, I told you Mom would have problems.
Marge: No, no, honey, it's all right. Really, I'm fine, I'm all right. Mother always said, "Don't complain. Be good. Behave. Behave. Be nice. Smile. Be polite. Don't wink..." [walks out]
Homer: You heard your mother's ramblings. She's fine, so behave.
Lisa: Dad, Mom's getting worse. You have to take her to see a real psychiatrist. Look how tense she is!
Homer: She's fine. [camera shows Marge sitting on air] Oh.
Homer: [sarcastically] All right, Lisa, you got your way. Your Mom's going to a psychiatrist. She's going to tell Marge to leave me. It'll break up the family and you'll have to live with your grandmother and pick beans.
Lisa: Dad, I like picking beans with Gramma.
Homer: Well, keep it up, then.
Lisa: [sarcastically] OK, I will.
Homer: Good. You do that.
Homer: You'll be picking many a bean.
Lisa: Hope I do.
[in a flashback to Marge's first day of school]
Patty: They got this thing called a "fire drill". They use it to drill a flaming hole in your head.
Selma: And there's only one big toilet, and they make you all go at the same time. [laughs]
Marge: [voice over] The kids at school were even worse.
[flashback to young Marge gets on the bus and sits next to a girl]
Girl: [seeing her lunch pail] Ew! You like the Monkees? You know they don't write their own songs.
Marge: They do so!
Girl: They don't even play their own instruments.
Girl: That's not even Michael Nesmith's real hat.
[back in the present]
Dr. Zweig: Kids can be so cruel.
Marge: But it's true. They didn't write their own songs or play their own instruments.
Dr. Zweig: The Monkees weren't about music, Marge. They were about rebellion, about political and social upheaval!
[Marge smiles, relieved]
Homer: Did you talk about me in therapy today?
Marge: I don't think so.
Homer: Tell me the truth! [gasps] Don't tell her I raised my voice. [laughs nervously] Happy family, happy family...
[flashback to a young Marge holding her daddy's hand]
Mr. Bouvier: Goodbye, Margie. Be a good girl, now. [gets on plane]
Marge: Why does Daddy have to leave?
Mrs. Bouvier: Because he's a pilot. He flies all over the world.
Marge: I want to see Daddy fly. [runs up plane steps]
Mommy: Margie! No, come back!
[Marge gets inside and looks around]
Marge: Daddy? Daddy, where are...
Daddy: [a steward] So, who wants pre-flight cookie? Fig Newtons? Hydrox?
Marge: Daddy? [sees Mr. Bouvier as a steward]
Mr. Bouvier: [screams] Don't look at me. Don't look at me!