Lisa: Mom, I feel kinda funny wearing white. I mean… Milhouse…
Marge: Oh, Milhouse doesn’t count.
Smithers: Oh, Mr. Burns, we’ll thaw you out the second they discover the cure for seventeen stab wounds in the back. How are we doing, boys?
Frink: Well, we’re up to fifteen!
Librarian: Hmph. First they hate each other, now all of the sudden, they love each other. Oh, it doesn’t make any sense to me.
Man: Of course not, you’re a robot.
Hugh: I’ll get the dictionary.
Hugh: You’ll see when you get there: the word “stochastic”.
Lisa: “Pertaining to a process involving a randomly-determined sequence of observations”.