"징No me subestimes, Margarita! 징Yo recuerdo cuando las nubes eran de algod처n de az첬car y los polic챠as eran centauros amables!"
Marge rubbed her temples. "Abuelito, eso fue un anuncio de salchichas con forma de pescado."
From the kitchen window, Marge sighed, her blue beehive hair towering like a monument to patience. "Homero, cari챰o, no tenemos una llanta de emergencia para la llanta de emergencia. Y eso es un aro de bicicleta viejo."
A crack of thunder rolled over Springfield as Homero Simpson Jr. ��� a spitting image of his father, but with a slightly more confused look ��� dragged a worn-out tire across the yard.
"Eso no es un problema," Homero said, already running toward his car. "징Eso es un desayuno con pirotecnia!"
Homero's eyes went wide. "쩔Donas? 쩔Cayendo del cielo?"
Behind him, a cloud of exhaust and bad decisions announced the arrival of Homero's battered pink sedan. The door groaned open, and out stepped Bardo Simpson ��� the rebellious teenage version of Homero, complete with a pierced ear, a faded "Los Chavorrucos" T-shirt, and a skateboard covered in stickers of donuts.
Homero patted Abuelito's shoulder. "Tranquilo, viejo. Si viene el diluvio, yo me subo al techo con una hielera llena de cerveza Duff. 징Problema resuelto!"
"No."
"Ah," Homero said, blinking. "Entonces... 쩔puedo com챕rmelo?"
Bardo shrugged, trying to look cool. "Nel, jefa. Yo voy a surfear la marea de donas con mi patineta."
"쩔Qu챕 onda, jefecito?" Bardo said, flicking a cigarette he didn't know how to light. "쩔Sigues batallando con el sistema?"
Fin.
Suddenly, a familiar screech echoed down the street. El Profesor Frink zoomed by on a unicycle with a jet engine, his glasses askew.
