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The Simpsons FamilyGuest StarsThe SchoolTownspeople
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Santa's Little Helper
Santa's Little Helper

Santa's Little Helper may not have been lucky for Homer Simpson at the racetrack one Christmas Eve, but he sure has turned out to be one fortunate dog. Loved and doted on by his owner, Bart Simpson, Santa's Little Helper enjoys the sort of life that most dogs can only dream about: He belongs to a tolerant family who let him tear up the furniture and eat from the table, he enjoyed a brief but fruitful relationship with a lovely greyhound (together they had 25 puppies, all of whom escaped being killed by Mr. Burns) and he earned a degree from one of Springfield's most prestigious canine academies. Of course, life hasn't been all milkbones for Santa's Little Helper: His legs were broken by Mr. Burns, he was abandoned by the Simpson family for Laddie, a better-bred dog Bart bought from a catalog, and he was forced to eat several pounds of fried bacon when Homer briefly flirted with a career in grease harnessing. Santa's Little Helper enjoys long walks with Bart, burying things in the backyard and begging for food.

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This is not a library! Hee, hee. I'm hardly ever sick at sea! Come back, big diaper! I'm gonna sit at home and ogle the ladies in the Victoria's Secret catalog...alright, Sears Catalog Gee, I dunno Way to go, Homer. Bee stings cause me to, uh, die. Release the hounds. Uh, wallet inspector. Who shot who in the what now? Argh! Silence!  You're talking too loud! What about the children! Hi-dilly-ho! This is not a library! We're gonna need pretzels. I'm hardly ever sick at sea! D'oh! My special little guy. What about the children! Ow, my freakin' ears! Happy God! Happy God! Hi-dilly-ho! Oh, I think I'm having a flashback. Yes, mother. We're gonna need pretzels. D'oh! My special little guy. I'm going to my room. suck, suck... Ay Carumba! roof, roof... cough... MacGyver! I do. My story begins in nineteen-dickety-two. We had to say 'dickety' cause the Kaiser had stolen our word  'twenty', I chased that rascal to get it back, but gave up after dickety-six miles. Oh, I think I'm having a flashback. Yes, mother. She's faking it. I 'ate yer dog. Man, my pants are chafing. Huh, huh. Haw, haw! Hey Simpson, tell your mother her cookies suck! Hey, hey! Excelsior! Everything's coming up Milhouse! Fatty, fat-fat-fat! I bent my wookie.