Homer: Someday you'll thank me for this, son.
Bart: Not bloody likely.
Homer: No, it's true. When I was a boy, I wanted a catcher's mitt, but my dad wouldn't get it for me. So I held my breath until I passed and hit my head on the coffee table. The doctor thought I might have brain damage.
Bart: Dad, what's the point of this story?
Homer: I like stories.