Art lovers of Springfield, good news.
The art museum is closed forever.
Instead, our entire collection will be digitized
and sold for a fortune on the blockchain as non-fungible tokens or NFTs,
whatever the hell those are.
Now, let's turn some of our crappy art into computer money.
Starting with a true masterpiece, my butt.
Uh, Dad.
Technology!
I've lost Bart forever.
No!
Yes!
Honey, remember how we're always saying we wish Bart was less fungible?
Did something happen to Bart?
Only the parts you can hug.
The rest is alive right here on my phone.
My baby is an app.
Uh, no. Apps actually do stuff.
He's an NFT. But look how much he's worth.
For Bart? Hmm, imagine what we'd get for Lisa.
He is the first NFT of an actual person.
I don't care.
We've gotta find a way to get him back.
To do that, you yourself must enter the blockchain.
Who are you?
We are the enlightened intellects who safeguard the cryptoverse.
Kylie Jenner, Rob Gronkowski and Jimmy Fallon.
I thought you were just celebrity shills.
Ugh. We would never promote a technology
if we didn't understand the distributed ledger underpinning it.
Der!
I can't stop laughing, buddy.
Shut up!
You ruined "Cowbell"!
This key is a back door through the blockchain's cryptographic protocol.
Once you're inside, find Bart and use it to get both of you out.
Huh. So this is the blockchain.
No, noob.
This is the block-train.
Speeding forever through the loveless icy world
created by Crypto Bros.
Powered by the most abundant fuel in the universe:
FOMO, the fear of missing out.
For a digital incarnation of an abstract mathematical concept,
it could use a good dusting.
Well, that's because this is the last car of the train, innit?
The dwelling place of NFTs with no value,
which is 99% of all NFTs ever created.
Hmm. I guess being the second-ever human NFT isn't worth a whole lot.
Where do they keep my son?
At the very front of the train where you can never go.
Watch me.
You killed Ennui Oeuf 116.
Hmm?
Congratulations.
You've moved up the train because you are now as valuable as us,
the Cuddle Kittens.
That's why there's an Internet.
For looking at cats.
But why am I worth more?
Because you killed another NFT. What you call mindless slaughter,
Crypto Bros call disruption and then pour cash into it.
So to rescue Bart, I need to kill a bunch of you guys.
Ooh.
Well, I guess I gotta do this.
Sorry. Nothing personal.
Hope you can't feel pain.
Mom's price is skyrocketing. Look at the FOMO.
Now everyone's gonna want human NFTs.
Dad, you said you were taking me to Bumper Boats.
I am. Have some more chocolate milk.
No one is putting another child into that scanner before mine.
Hey!
Please kill Ralphouse.
The front of the train.
I made it.
Bart, we're getting out of here!
Whoa, Mom. What's the rush?
Grab yourself a Jaded Ape and take a load off.
Mine was stolen from Seth Green.
You never like my friends.
Mom's almost got Bart out.
Don't let your son become a worthless human again.
Sell him to me for $100 million.
- Hmm. - No, Dad!
If you sell Bart to Mr. Burns,
he'll be trapped on the blockchain forever.
But this is my chance not to miss out after I've missed out on everything.
The housing bubble, the first tech bubble,
the second tech bubble, the current tech bubble.
Just one time, I wanna be the guy that gives all his money to Bernie Madoff.
Mom, get out of there.
Dad's gonna crack.
He did it.
I can't believe he did it.
We made it.
Where's Homer? I wanna tell him the inside of his phone smells.
He-- He sold himself.
He was so afraid of missing out, he tokened his own life.
Woo-hoo!
Eternity on a super swanky train.
Ooh! Twerked chicken.
What happened?
Our FOMO, it's gone.
The NFT craze is over.
D'oh!
Ah, the romance of train travel.
♪ And it's clearly to his credit ♪
♪ That he is an Englishman ♪
♪ He remains ♪
♪ An English-- ♪
Wait. Did you only ask me to sing to forestall your gruesome end?
Guilty as charged.
Aha! Aha!
Ha!
It was only by following my hunch that we found the Eastside Strangler
on the west side of town.
Can you explain how you overcame childhood trauma
to become the nation's most renowned criminal psychologist?
For that story, you'll have to read my book.
Finally. Wanna get some lunch?
Officer Muntz.
Told ya I'd smell you later.
Been a long time.
Ah, look at us. We thought we were gonna stay young forever.
Some of us did.
Oh, right. Like Bart, because he got murdered.
Speaking of gruesome junk, we could use your help on a case.
I'm flattered, but I'm the dean of the True Crime Department.
I can't just run off and--
The killer left a message, and we think it's for you.
Maybe Rod Flanders did grow up to become a shockingly foulmouthed prop comedian,
but he didn't deserve this.
Only a super traumatized profiler like you can piece together what happened here.
Our killer took his time.
Had fun with it.
Enjoyed a game of solitaire.
Red king on a red queen.
This psycho doesn't play by the rules.
Damn, she's good.
Here, he had one of those moments where you walk into a room
and forget what you came in for.
How did my guys miss that?
One more thing.
This killer won't stop now.
There will be others.
Sarge, there's been another.
How can he also be the first?
Sarge, we got another one.
Boy, that's something you don't see every--
One more, Sarge.
Got another one, Sarge.
The severed hand opens the fridge
which tugs on that strip of sinew, turning over the eyeball cup,
which rolls down the spine, startles the cat,
which leaps onto the butter dish seesaw
and sends the other eyeball flying, turning on the coffee maker.
- Thanks. - You'll have to take that to go.
They're about to do a walk-through.
- Forensics? - Podcasters.
The smell was overpowering.
A lover's quarrel or maybe something much darker...
Use code "entrails" for 15% off at toothpaste-warehouse.com.
Even I can't get inside a mind this deranged.
There's only one person who can.
Little Lisa Simpson.
You really made something of yourself after I made mincemeat of your brother.
Come to thank me?
- No. - Rude.
I don't have time for your games, Bob. I'm working on a--
Yes. A case so confounding, you're actually willing to seek my help.
The Rube Goldberg Sherri is actually quite impressive.
Hat tip, psychopath.
What about the identical messages?
How can they all be the first?
Really, Professor Simpson?
Am I meant to spoon-feed you all the answers?
Speak in riddles or drop a clue in a clever anagram
hidden in something I've just said right now?
This is a waste of time.
Perhaps a limerick will help.
There once was a shiny machete that turned poor Bart's head to spaghetti.
You're gonna die in that cell, Bob.
And when that happens, wherever I am, I'll be dancing.
Can you think of anyone who would've wanted to hurt Sherri?
No. Everybody loved my big sister.
Big sister?
You guys were twins.
Yes, but Sherri was born first.
Probably makes sense for you to be my husband now, huh?
Sherri is the first.
Rod Flanders, Dermott Spuckler, all firstborns.
That's the pattern.
And Bob said something about an anagram taking us to the killer's lair.
That's it.
Stay here.
Hey, meat hooks. Hook meat much?
Ha-ha--
Nelson?
Nelson, where are you?
The killer's lair looks just like my old bedroom.
But how?
Oh. Maybe the killer's on the security footage.
No, it can't be.
Freeze.
Wha-- I can't be the killer.
I turned my trauma into healing.
Oprah said so!
I'm sorry for the imbroglio,
but if the chef de cuisine insists on calling it Taco Tuesdays,
he can't very well serve flautas and expect us not to make a fuss.
Hello, Bob.
How did you get in here?
Well, I knew if I killed enough people in the most gruesome possible ways,
they'd send me to your prison.
But to get into your cell, I had a little help.
Lisa the Killer. I never thought you had it in you.
The Lisa you knew didn't.
But I'm another story.
Oh, really?
Split personalities?
Trope alert.
Call the first-thought police.
Professor Lisa had no idea she was my accomplice.
But she's gone now.
She was my last victim, or rather, second to last.
The penultimate.
♪ He remains an Englishman ♪
Simpson, no eating in the turbine room.
Since when?
Pfft. The nanny state wins again.
No tanning in the reactor core.
No texting while driving and eating ribs.
Can't even trim your hedges with a machine gun.
When did everyone get so scared?
The world would be fine if people just used common sense like me.
Jailbreak!
Woman. Woman.
Homer 1, nanny state 0.
Stupid radioactive garbage doughnut mutating my DNA while I sleep.
Hey, who stole my Flanders' newspaper?
Sorry about that, Homerino.
But I whited out the crossword after I did it so you can enjoy it too.
Better from the chimney than the furnace. Am I right?
So, you see there's nothing in the Bible that says
a pastor and his wife can't take separate vacations.
Daddy, are you being tickled by the Holy Spirit?
I've been neighborino'ed into Home-diddly-omer.
And why am I in church when football is on?
Kiss my ass, "church-os."
I'm fat, I'm bald, and I've never felt sexier, baby.
Why you little--
Woo-hoo!
A mysterious affliction
has descended upon Springfield.
Citizens of every age, race, and catchphrase
are mysteriously transforming into bald, pear-shaped "doofi."
Donut Stu has diabetes type 2.
News is stupid. Somebody put on wrestling.
Do all these burping baldos remind you of anyone?
I'd know that butt scratch anywhere.
Everyone's turning into Dad.
Uh, children, your father's less-than-stellar genetic code
is spreading through burp-born transmission.
If we're going to cure this virus, we need his DNA.
You three are the only ones impervious to the virus.
You have got to find him.
Hmm. It is 11:30 in the morning.
- Beer, Moe. - Beer, Moe.
A beer, a-Moe.
Have you seen our dad?
No, just these hundreds of silly versions of him,
which is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me.
I mean, I'm printing money over here.
Coming right up, Santa's Little Homer.
Real Dad wasn't at the bowling alley,
the candy store or mocking the hippos at the zoo.
Wait, Dad ate a bucket of this chicken last night.
When that happens, where does he always spend the next day?
I'll be out in a minute.
Um, is this really the most convenient bathroom for your father?
It's the closest one Mom will let him use.
Dad, we need you to save the world.
Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.
Can you believe some idiot left his perfectly good back scratcher in there?
Look, it goes all the way down.
What?
Now, if you'll just board the "Frink-o-ma-copter"--
We're not calling it that.
And then we'll pop your DNA into the "Frink-tabulizer"--
We're not calling it that.
And everything will go back to the way it was.
Wait, hold on.
Why would I want that?
Finally, everyone thinks the way I do.
Nobody's making up stupid rules about bicycle helmets
or where you can smoke cigars.
You wanna drive without a seat belt?
FaceTime while jaywalking?
Enjoy a sugary soda?
Go ahead. You're not hurting anyone.
It's a utopia.
No, a "me-topia."
Yes. Well, you don't really want everyone to be like you.
Earth-shattering reveal!
When did insurance commercials get so funny?
Marge.
Cooperating with us is the only way to get your wife back to normal.
You've never looked more beautiful.
Scooch over, gorgeous.
When we get home, let's you and I bump muzzles.
Please, please.
If we don't have some competent people left to run things,
society will collapse.
Coders to run the Internet that feeds you the latest misinformation.
Pilots to fly the planes you need to be restrained on.
I mean, a world without experts--
Does Beaker ever shut up?
Good one, Me-Marge.
Well, you leave me no choice.
I'm calling in a nuclear air strike
to obliterate all the "Homerized" Springfielders,
including-- very sadly-- the touring company of Kinky Boots.
Obliterating in three, two--
Hey, you know what you need?
A nice relaxing scratch on the back.
No! No!
Oh! A lifetime of study and education down the--
♪ This must be just like Livin' in paradise ♪
♪ And I don't want to go home ♪
Woo-hoo!
♪ This must be just like Livin' in paradise ♪
♪ Just like paradise ♪
♪ And I don't want to go home ♪
♪ And I don't want to go ♪
♪ This must be just like Livin' in paradise ♪
♪ And I don't want to go home ♪