The next day, Bart smiled mischievously as he dialled the number for Moe's Tavern. He was making another phoney call to the barman. The ten-year old troublemaker listened to the ringing of the bar telephone before it was picked up by the usual victim of his prank calls.

"Hello, Moe's Tavern?"

"Hey, is Jack there?" Bart asked.

"Jack?" Moe muttered. "Jack who?"

"Jack Ass."

"Just a sec, I'll check." Moe held the receiver away from his ear as he called out to his patrons. "Is there a Jack Ass in here?!"

The entire tavern went silent as all of the drinkers stared in bewilderment at what the bartender had said aloud.

"C'mon!" Moe demanded. "There must be a Jack Ass in my bar!"

Every one of the customers exploded into laughter.

"Sure there is, Moe!" Lenny snickered. "You just have to look in the mirror!"

"Then you'll find the jackass in this bar!" Carl added.

"Oh, why, you-" Realising he'd been pranked over the phone yet again, Moe glared as he held the receiver back to his ear. "It's you, isn't it?! When I get a hold of you, I'm gonna paint the town red - in your blood!"

Moe pulled the receiver away, catching a snippet of the caller's laugh, but failing to realise it was Bart as he furiously slammed the phone down.

"Someday, you'll get that little bastard, Moe," Homer said assuringly, oblivious that it was his son he was referring to. "And when you do, I hope I'm there to see you let him have it."