"Now you're talking!" Moe hung up the phone and turned to the Time Detectives. "I've been getting these prank calls for years. YEARS! Hey, let me see that photo again!" He looked closer at the file Mobius held up again. "Hey, yeah, I seen that guy! I've seen him with… uh, Homer, only he wasn't pale like he is in that photo, and he snubbed his British-accented nose at my beer!"

"Homer Simpson?" Mobius asked. "I definitely know that name!"

"Yeah, he's a regular of mine. You should ask him."

"Where does he live?" Loki inquired.

"742 Evergreen Terrace. It's a house with a brown roof and green windows. He should be outta work by now."

"Thank you, my disguntled, jaundiced acquaintance." Loki somewhat courteously thanked Moe when he finished his drink, raising it in the air. "Anoth-"

"Oh no you don't!" Sylvie grabbed Loki's wrist before he could slam down the empty glass, as per Asgardian custom, much to Mobius's relief. "You're on duty, 'Mr. Ouroboros;' remember, the mission should always come first."

"Oh, very well." The trio paid the tab and departed the bar.

"Uh-oh, looks like somebody's whipped!" Barney teased as they crossed the exit threshold. Moe and the other patrons started laughing; Loki glanced backward irritably, but he didn't bother responding. Instead, with a quick wave of his hand, Barney's beer magically splashed fully into his face. "WHOAAA!" The two Loki lovers smirked upon hearing his surprised reaction, though Barney just shrugged it off as if he spilled the beer himself. Mobius was just glad he didn't turn the alcohol into snakes this time, and they headed towards the Simpsons' house for their interrogation.

"He's still got that stupid grin on his face." Grievance noticed. "Want to turn around and let me bite off his head?"

"Don't bother, a brain his size wouldn't even whet your appetite." Loki answered.

Mobius rang the doorbell of the brown house, and a woman with tall, curly blue hair in a green dress answered. In her arms was a baby girl in a light blue dress.

"Can I help you?" She asked them in an even more scratchy-sounding voice than Moe's.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Simpson." Mobius greeted. "Is your husband home?"

"No, he's picking our son up from school. Who are you?"

"We're detectives, and we'd like to ask him some questions. I'm called Mr. Paradox; this is Mr. Ouroboros and Ms. Lushton."

"Oh for heaven's sake, what has he done this time?" Mrs. Simpson muttered.

"He's done nothing that concerns us." Loki assured her. "We'd like to speak with him merely because he was seen hanging around a suspect we're searching for." Mobius showed her Loki's file, and Marge Simpson's face brightened at the photo.

"That looks like Loki. Goodness, he's not a criminal, is he?"

"More of a delinquent: a prank caller, to be precise. You know him well?"

"Well yes, my son Bart invited him to dinner a while back, and ever since he's been a regular here, especially on pork chop night, like one of the family! Though he's so polite, quite the gentle Englishman, hardly anyone would believe he's one of us. Mmm, would you like me to give my husband a message, or do you want to wait for him?"

"We'll wait, if you'll pardon our directness."

Mrs. Simpson looked at Loki. "You're also very polite. Are you from England too?"

Loki fought the urge to roll his eyes at the assumption. "Further. Much further."

"Mmm, well as long as you're waiting for my husband, come in the house. I'll make you some tea and cookies." Marge began to lead them into the house, suddenly looking back at Loki. "Or would you call them biscuits?"

Loki gave her a slightly confused look. "Whatever you call them, we don't have any back where I come from."

"Oh, then you're in for a treat." She went to the kitchen while the detectives sat down on the couch.

"Why do people assume I'm British?" Loki spontaneously pondered. "The English were the ones who copied our Asgardian accents!" Mobius just shrugged.

Meanwhile, at the Springfield Elementary School, the principal in a blue suit sat at his desk across from a fat, balding man in a white t-shirt and blue jeans, a serious and concerned look clouding his face.

"Mr. Simpson, your son Bart has always been one for petty acts of vandalism and rule-breaking, but this morning he transformed the dissection frogs into inter-dimensional monsters, and when I confronted him about it, he told me to, quote, eat his trousers."

Homer narrowed his eyes. "What, are you saying my boy's trousers aren't good enough for you?"

"No, that's not-" Principal Skinner put a hand to his forehead and sighed. "Your son's antics have shifted spontaneously from childish pranks to feats of transmogrification and life-threatening sorcery. In short, he's gone from annoying to dangerous with no explanation as to why. Besides which, he wears shorts, and I doubt he's even heard the word 'trousers' used in a real sentence before."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying your son is obviously troubled: he needs guidance from his father."

"Oh, you know my boy, Principal Skinner: he's always been an encouragable little troublemaker."

"I think you mean 'incorrigible,' Mr. Simpson."

"Heheheh, now now, I never said I incorriged this sort of behavior. Just to be clear though, what do you think is troubling him?"

"Well, his bus driver believes young Bart has been replaced by some sort of spellcasting alien, but between you and me, he's a bit of a-" Skinner gave a two-syllable whistle and twirled a finger around the side of his head. "-I believe something's going on with Bart, something serious, something bringing about a change for the worse in him. Now, I've already given him a stern talking-to, but this seems to be more of a domestic matter, and frankly, he's beginning to give me the creeps. I'd like you to straighten him out tonight."

"Don't you worry. In fact, I'm going to steam his little hams as soon as we get home!" Skinner raised his eyebrows while Homer Simpson went to get the boy and led him out of the school, but as they disappeared from view, young Bart's form changed from a blond child in an orange t-shirt into a yellow fully-grown Loki, adorned in black and green Asgardian leather and a small horned golden headband, who promptly shuddered.

"Bah, those dim-witted bureaucrats think I need help?" The Jokey Loki shook his head. "That principal is almost as bad as Odin. I was just having a bit of fun."

"But they don't suspect a thing!" Homer exclaimed gleefully. "It's a great system: you get to learn at school about Earth things and play as many pranks as you want, the real Bart gets to skip school and skateboard to his little heart's content, and I get all the magically-duplicated pork chops I can eat! It's a win-win-win!"

"No, they are beginning to suspect me: I might have to hold back the amount of magic I use from now on."

"And cut out the proper English words, like 'tRoUsErs.'" Homer emphasized mockingly.

"Right. I'll pretend I'm an imbecile, until it becomes abundantly clear that I'm truly your son."

"That's my boy!" Homer ignorantly complimented, clapping a hand on the banished prince's shoulders.

As they pulled in their driveway, after picking up the youngest son, Homer gave the boys another piece of advice. "Now Loki, I want you to watch how Bart behaves at the table until you can act just like him! And Bart, you get to be your misbehaving, authority-hating little self tonight, so milk it up while you can!"

"Heck yeah, man!" Bart cheered.

"Marge, Loki the magic-man is coming over for dinner tonight!" Mr. Simpson called as he entered his front door.

"Oh Homer, what a coincidence: you have guests here that want to talk to you two." His wife told him.

"What? Who?"

"That would be us." Detective Loki introduced as his team stepped in together. "The Time Detectives."