Good morning, Arnold. My muse.
My inspiration.
May this day be the day
that you see me
with love's eyes,
as I sees you.
Oh, flaxen haired angel.
Flaxen haired angel?
That's good.
(SCHOOL BELL RINGS)
Here you go,
football head.
Thanks.
(GROANS)
(LAUGHS) Sucker.
Man, seems like Helga's
always picking on you
in particular, Arnold.
I don't know why.
I just try to
ignore her.
Doesn't seem
to be working.
But at least I still
have my dignity, Gerald.
Whatever you say, Arnold.
Again, again
I have the perfect chance
to be kind to Arnold
and yet I always turn it
in a childish
and humiliating prank.
Why do I only show
him my cruel side?
Why not reveal
the tender love I feel?
(HEAVY BREATHING)
(GLASSES BREAKING)
What?
Class, settle down, please.
I'm handing back last week's
creative writing assignments.
And before I do,
I wanna read one paper aloud.
(GASP)
This student chose
to write a poem.
A love poem, actually.
I can't tell you who wrote it
because it's signed anonymous.
"Each morn I see you
bend to drink
"from love's own crystal pool
"I tremble near you,
try to think
"Will I forever say you stink?
"Am I bound
by this tragic rule--"
Hey, Phoebs.
Hello, Helga.
(ARNOLD SIGHS)
There goes the last
of the tapioca.
(SIGHS)
You really want this, Arnold?
Well, yeah,
if you don't want it.
Then why don't you have mine.
Whoops, how clumsy of you.
(LAUGHING)
Why, why, why? (SOBS)
Why can't I show
my kinder gentler side? (SOBS)
I love him
and yet I just dumped
a dish of tapioca on him.
I gotta talk to someone
here about this thing.
So, Phoebe, got a minute?
Certainly, Helga.
Oh, not like it's some
big deal or anything
(STAMMERING) but I
was just thinking...
Is something
bothering you, Helga?
Quiet! What is this?
The Spanish Inquisition?
Oh, sorry, Phoebe.
So, just hypothetically,
let's just say
that I'm obsessed with,
hopelessly focused
on a certain b-bo
a, a thing.
Let's call it ice cream.
Well, maybe you should
put ice cream behind you.
Try to forget about ice cream
and get on with your life.
I mean, there's a lot
of other food groups, Helga.
So, what you're saying is
I should just totally
forget about Arno... Uh--
I mean, ice cream.
Right.
Thanks, Phoebe.
Oh, and, Phoebe.
Yes?
This conversation
never happened.
Right. Forgetting.
(BELL RINGS)
(BUS ENGINE HUMMING)
(CHATTERING INDISTINCTLY)
I know what I have to do.
I have to forget
about ice cream.
Uh, I mean Arnold.
(BUS DOOR CLOSES)
But how?
(SIREN BLARING)
(BOAT WHISTLES)
Arrgh.
He's everywhere.
I, I can't stop seeing him.
I want to forget him
but I can't.
I gotta get rid
of this obsession.
I wish I was out of love.
Madame Blanche's Love Potions?
Wait a minute. If Madame
Blanche sells love potions
then maybe she sells
"out of love" potions.
(DOOR BELL RINGS)
Urm, Madame Blanche?
What can I do for you, honey?
I, I want to be out of love.
Is that possible?
Oh, yeah.
Okay, describe
the person or thing.
Well?
He's a boy.
A weird kind of quiet,
kind of stupid amazing boy.
With a big heart
and no sense of reality.
Oh, and a football
shaped head.
Here you go, toots.
Drink this tonight right
after you say the name
of the one that you wish
to love no more.
Really? That's all
I have to do?
Yeah, that's all... Oh, oh.
Pay me ten bucks, of course.
Oh, thank you.
Thank you. Oh.
(LAUGHING)
Cute kid, crazy as a loon.
My books of
Arnold-inspired poetry.
Volumes one through fourteen.
My Arnold shrine, and finally,
my locket.
Farewell and be done with you.
Cursed symbols
of my misspent youth.
And now, the magical potion
what will free me
from this blasted longing.
With this potion
may I love Arnold no more.
(THUNDER AND LIGHTNING)
Ice cream?
(SCREAMING) No!
(SNORES)
MIRIAM: Honey, wake up!
Okay, okay, I'm getting up.
Criminy, man, what a night.
I feel like
I got hit by a truck.
The potion,
I gotta see if it worked.
I gotta give myself a test.
"Oh orzo-shaped Prometheus
"wondering dim
hallways of my..."
What is this crap?
I'm over it.
He's no longer my muse.
I don't love Arnold.
(LAUGHING)
(BELL RINGING)
Oh, go ahead, Arnold.
Huh.
MR. SIMMONS: Each person
is a unique individual,
because that's who they are.
All right, class,
I'll be coming around
to pick up today's
creative writing assignment.
(WHISPERS) I look
forward to reading
yours first, Helga.
Getting to know you through
your writing assignments
has been one of the joys
of my teaching career.
"Morning,
I put on a pink dress
"I eat oatmeal for breakfast
"The news is on
"Mom isn't listening
"My dad reads the paper
"I got to school"
Not much of a poem.
Oh, well.
Helga, are you all right?
(CHATTERING INDISTINCTLY)
(BOTH GROAN)
Are you okay?
I'm fine.
I didn't feel a thing.
Uh, Helga.
What?
This is gonna sound dumb
but I noticed that you didn't
t*rture me at all today.
And I just wondered
if you're sick or something.
No. I'm okay, Arnold.
Thanks for asking.
Well, see you tomorrow.
Arnold. So normal, so average
and yet what a regular guy.
(HEAVY BREATHING)
Oh, hey, Brainy.
(GLASSES BREAKING)
Oh, this is okay, I guess.
Don't feel anything.
Except I'm bored.
Hey, Phoebs.
How are things
proceeding, Helga?
I'm okay.
Not high, not low.
I'm empty of feelings.
That's it Phoebe, I'm empty.
Something's missing.
You mean ice cream?
Huh?
You know, ice cream.
Your obsession.
You're right.
Maybe I need
my obsession, Phoebe.
I need to feel longing,
and passion
and be all mad
and mixed up
all the time.
Maybe I need Ar--
I mean, ice cream.
To love, to hate, to inspire.
But I'm under a spell.
Madame Blanche.
She's got to reverse
the spell.
It's my only hope.
(DOOR BELL RINGS)
Please, please,
Madame Blanche.
Take the spell off me
and let me love again.
Honey, relax, relax.
That potion was nothing
but grape juice,
chamomile and a little
ginseng for flavor.
Huh?
It's just a home
made concoction.
There's nothing keeping you
from loving anybody.
You mean I paid you
ten bucks
for some grape pop?
And a little chamomile.
Uh-huh.
Then I want my money back!
Hey, wait a minute,
it was just grape juice.
There's no spell.
I get to be in love
with Arnold again.
Oh, joy!
Oh.
Oh, blessed placebo
that restored my faith in you.
Arnold, my love.
(HEAVY BREATHING)
(HUMMING A TUNE)
(BOTH GROAN)
Arnold.
Hey! Watch where
you're going you
little yellow-haired shrimp.
Oh, sorry, Helga.
(SIGHS IN RELIEF)
That's more like it.