[Homer is in bed. A toned Marge walks in, lustfully]
Say, Homie, how about a good luck snuggle before my competition tomorrow?
[feeling trapped] Erm, listen my bulky flower, I have an early day tomorrow and...
[Gets on top] I wasn't asking. [Veins bulging. She rapes Homer]
[the next morning]
Morning kids, I made your lunches.
Where's Mom?
Your Mom has a lot of stuff to shave. [walks off hobbling]
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