She's just fine. And here's the baby.

Oh, I know how to hold one of these.

Don't!

You're watching The Learning Network, where minds grow.

Stay tuned for Apocalypse Week.

But first, Nostradamus, the man who saw the future.

In 1555, the prophet Nostradamus foretold a terrifying series of predictions.

All of which came to pass.

First, his own death.

Second, large wars in Europe.

But Nostradamus' final quatrain contained one more prediction yet to come.

A flaming mushroom spreads across the sky.

But what does said mushroom signify?

Nothing less than World War III.

Ugh, who'd fall for this malarkey?

Smithers, I'm scared.

Anyone left alive will surely find themselves envying...

Who? Who could we possibly envy?

The dead.

Smithers, the end is nigh and we must prepare.

Round up this town's greatest minds.

Attention, fellow members of the Springfield Chapter of Mensa.

Mr. Burns has called us here to solve an unknown problem of global importance.

I summoned you here because the world is about to end.

No, it isn't. What are you afraid of? Global warming?

I am asking you to help with the Montgomery Burns Doomsday Arc.

This space vehicle will lead humanity's best and brightest to a better life under my stern rule.

I need you to tell me who is worthy of surviving the apocalypse with me.

I only want the sharpest razors in this town's Halloween candy.

It's simple. All we need to do is give everyone in town an IQ test.

Not so fast, Flavin.

Being intelligent people, I am quite sure that you will take this well.

IQs are meaningless.

I see.

I have the ultimate test that measures something far more significant.

Your overall worth as a human.

Your worthiness as a human being is best measured, people, by the personal value quotient.

In order to defuse your obvious hostilities, I will make my presentation entertaining, all right?

Forgive me if it seems like I'm attacking, but I find the old IQ test badly lacking.

If you want to find out just what someone can do, you need to learn that subject's P.V.Q.

It tests for sympathy and empathy and group collaboration.

And every single aspect of a personality.

Hey!

P.V.Q.

It tests for sarcasm and prudence.

Not if you're Isaac Newton.

Confidence, ambition, and the teams for whom you're rooting.

Plus the P.V.Q.

The yardstick for the soul.

Anyone have a song in rebuttal?

You've got to have heart.

Yo, Balderdash.

We're going with this man's test.

Mandatory test. Mandatory test.

What's the point of this test again?

The way I look at it, the more things secret corporations know about us, the better, huh?

Remove all stray marks. Number two pencil only.

This question asked about the price of underwear as if I were some landed aristocrat.

The results are in.

The newest and most accurate measure of our intelligence on a scale from one to five hundred.

Five hundred being best.

Boring.

Don't shut it off. I need my score.

Now we'll run everyone's scores past the screen really fast from best to worst, trusting that you'll pause at only your name.

Pause it!

What? I am one below Ralph?

Keep scrolling.

Ooh, 311.

Ooh, H. Simpson, 265.

Well, that's good. Let's change the channel.

But we don't know your score.

Like I said, that's good.

I refuse to accept that my little guy has no future.

He can learn how to put in adding machine tape. That's how I got through the depression.

We're not giving up on Bart.

Charles, listen to me, Charles.

Not now, Satan.

I'm not Satan. I'm Orson Welles.

Have you taken my warning seriously?

Nobody did. I've already started the arc.

Very good.

Smithers, speed up production on the arc.

Put everyone on it.

Apply them with all the rum and salt it takes.

How can Ralph score higher than me?

That test is wrong.

But all my self-esteem comes from tests.

Should I really be pulling on this string?

I am not worse than Ralph.

Hi, Ralph.

Hi, Ralph.

Hi, Ralph.

All right, Lisa.

Watch, do not judge.

What makes him superior?

What are you doing?

The only thing I'm good at.

Nothing.

That tears it.

We're going to see Professor Smithers.

Nothing.

That tears it.

We're going to see Professor Frank and find out exactly what happened on that test.

Professor Frank, your stupid test ruined my son's life.

Hey, that test is like a son to me.

I've known my son since he was born, and he's not anywhere near as stupid as your stupid test says he is.

All right, all right, let me recheck it.

Ah, here we are.

Uh, Simpson B.

That's not a B.

Well, yes, it is.

You see, the two...

Oh, my garbage!

There was a mistake.

The real unfortunate is H. Simpson.

I mean, what a clod!

Homer, aren't you coming?

I can't.

I'll be a laughingstock when everyone finds out I'm the stupidest man in town.

How are they going to find out?

I just tweeted it.

Hey, Homer, uh, we was watching Jeopardy, but, uh, tell you what, we'll just talk about shapes and colors now.

I like blue rectangles.

Rectangles.

You know, Homer, the ones with four sides.

Listen, you!

I've known my shape since I was 16.

Never thought I'd say this, but I'm too depressed for Mo's.

I'm sorry.

I know I'm taking up too much of the bed.

Oh, sweetie.

What the entire world thinks doesn't affect how I see you.

I won't let you give up.

We're going to start improving you.

Oh, Marge, no one ever did anything useful after the age of 39.

Homie, this whole mix-up happened because of your sloppy handwriting.

We'll start with that, improving your handwriting.

What is his secret?

The beam must have a fulcrum I can move to that would stabilize it.

Professor, how on earth did he get a higher score than me?

Okay, Lisa, I am going to give you ten more points for one of the most important skills of all, discovering huge flaws in my test without telling anyone.

You mean after all this, after all I've gone through, you're just going to fudge my score and I should be happy?

Okay, homie, buckle up, because there's no limit to how neat your handwriting can get.

Marge, I don't know.

You can't teach an old dog new tricks.

I'll help you.

Dearest Marjorie, what words are adequate to describe your beauty?

Like a bowling ball, fresh out of a polisher.

I've always dreamed

Homie would write me cursive love letters.

You are as beautiful as your sisters are hideous.

Oh.

Oh, Homie.

Well, I'm married to a writer.

Welcome, all of you.

You are the chosen people, chosen to be my slaves.

Doesn't matter what you think, the doors are sealed.

Not this one.

Fine, I don't need them, I don't need anyone.

How could you turn on me so quickly?

I don't need them, I don't need anyone.

How could you turn on me so quickly?