Burns: Sitting with the employees,I guess this proves I'm their friend. Get me an aisle seat. I don't want to be surrounded. Homer: Let's go! Swing! batter! Bart: We want a pitcher, not an itcher! Lisa: We want a catcher, not a scratcher! Smith: Here we are, sir. Homer: Oh, no! Sitting next to the boss. The best night of the year and it's ruined. Of all the lousy, rotten.... Marge: It just means you can't wave your fanny in public. Homer: Rub it in. Vendor: Beer here! Duff Beer! Homer: Beer. Did you hear that, Marge? Delicious, frosty beer. Fate ... me sitting next to Burns. Marge: No, Homer. Burns: I suppose you want a beer? Homer: Me, sir? Not a chance. Only idiots drink beer. Burns: I wonder if you'd join me. My treat. Homer: If someone of your status can enjoy a beer, maybe I'm wrong on the subject. Are we having a drug test tomorrow? Burns: No. Vendor, two, please. Vendor: 2.50. Burns: The hitter's off his rocker, kissing Betty Cocker! Homer: Good one, sir! Burns: I used to rile Connie Mack with that one at old Shibe Park. Homer: Little baby batter, can't control his bladder! Burns: Crude, but I like it. What do you say we freshen up our little drinkie-poos? Homer: Don't mind if I do. Burns: Well, Simpsie, up for another wave? Homer: All right, Burnsie.