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, fidgeting] I'm missing the cook-off! It's going on right now, and I'm missing it!
[annoyed] 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. Don't you remember what happened last year?
[Flashback to the previous year, in which a naked Homer frolics inside a cotton candy machine, a bottle of Duff in each hand]
Look at me... I'm a puffy pink cloud!
[He climbs out of the machine, scaring several kids, then lies down on the ground, where dogs lick at him. Back to the present]
Well, of course, everything looks bad if you remember it. Now where are my chili boots? [finds them in the closet] A-ha!
Okay, we'll go to the chili cook-off, but I want you to promise that you won't have any beer.
[pulling his chili boots on] Okay, quit nagging me, I won't have any beer! Sheesh, why don't you have a cigarette or something?
Mm, I suppose I could.
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