Futurama s03e13 Episode Script

Bendin' in the Wind Froggy Went a-courtin'|And he did ride, uh-huh Froggy Went a-courtin' and he did ride|Blah, blah, Bender's great Froggy Went a-courtin'|And Bender is great, uh-huh Oh, my God! They dug up a bag|of olestra chips from my time! There must be layers and layers|of old stuff down there.
- Is that one of those Led Zeppelins?|- No, it's an old Volkswagen van! Mind if I take this old van? Sure.
You wanna dump|the corpses out of there, it's yours.
Yeah, I've gotten used cars before.
What's that?|One of those Jefferson Starships? It's called a van.
And in light of the fact it's not|rocking, I invite you to come knocking.
- Ooh.
|Neat.
It's a triumph of German engineering! The speedometer only goes up to 80.
|It can't go faster than 80,000 mph? No, but it's got a driver's-side floor|and an eight-track player! Where's the device that lets you|speed or slow the passage of time? Under the seat.
- Why won't it start?|- It needs gas.
Wrong again, idiot.
There is no gas.
|Petroleum reserves ran dry in 2038.
Gas was an environmental disaster.
|We use alternative fuels.
- Like what?|- Whale oil.
- Bender, lift it up to the can opener.
|- Oh, no! Last time, that magnetic psycho|nearly cut my head off! Plus the magnet impairs your inhibition|unit and makes you sing folk songs.
What? Who said anything about me|secretly wanting to be a folk singer? If you don't open that can now, your|fear will own you, and nothing's worse! Okay! Okay, I can do this.
It's time to take life by the cans.
- Come on, you can do it!|- Go on, you dummy! Jimmy cracked corn and I don't care|Ah! Jimmy cracked corn and I don't care|Ah! Oh, no! 'Cause the master's gone aWay It's toe-tappingly tragic! Doc, I can't move my arms and legs!|What's wrong with me? - This is the worst part of the job.
|- Good news? Bender, your hydraulics are shot.
|You'll never move again.
- You mean-?|- Sorry, you'll have to get a new one.
Oh, no! - Poor Bender!|- Well, let's drag him to the curb.
Wait! Bender is my best friend.
We can't just dump him in the gutter|like Grandma's ashes.
Oh, my life is over.
|I'll never know happiness again! - Hello, there.
|- Look! It's Patch Cord Adams! - He heals with the power of laughter.
|- Come on, take it.
- Can't move your arms?|- No, or I'd be strangling you right now! Here's a giggle! Why do they use Windows 3000|as a prison guard? - Why?|- Because it always locks up.
- For God's sake, somebody kick his ass!|- Well, so long.
Get well soon.
Oh, well, so long anyway.
I'm doomed.
|Everybody leave me alone! I don't want to be seen this way.
You look so sad.
Do you want me|to send Patch Cord Adams back in? Hey, the blues! The tragic sound|of other people suffering.
That's kind of a pick-me-up.
- That was great!|- Thanks.
Are you a fan? I don't know.
Let me see.
Oh, my God, you're Beck! I'd get up to shake hands and steal|your wallet, but my body crapped out.
I used to miss my body too but then I fished this mannequin|out of the 92c Store dumpster.
We've got a lot in common.
I always|dreamed of being a musician-poet who transcends genres even|as he reinvents them.
- So do it.
It's easier than it looks.
|- Thanks, but it's hopeless.
- I'll never be a musician now.
|- Or maybe you'll be the best musician ever.
What's this for? Try and scrape it across your chest|like a knife on burnt toast.
Move those arms! Use the power of|mental thinking.
Make it dynamic! Yeah! Congratulations, my friend.
- Why, 'cause I made an annoying noise?|- I use those all the time in my music.
Bender, I want you to be|my new washboard player.
All right! Go Bender!|Go Bender! Go Bender! That's my good friend Beck.
I'm off|to rock a series of midlevel venues.
Kudos, Bender! You got mangled,|and now you're a singer.
Both our dreams came true.
Who wants to cram in my van, follow|Bender on tour and live in the van? I don't know, Fry.
I think I'm too|poor to follow a band around in a van.
Move it! We gotta get to the concert|and make the audience wait! - Bad news, friends.
My shell ran.
|- Zoidberg, you idiot! - My outfit! It's-|- Kind of cool! - I like it!|- Me too, now that I'm used to it.
Then it was all on purpose!|You're lucky to have me as a friend.
But cross me,|and I'll turn on you like that! There's a destination|A little up the road From the habitations|And the toWns We knoW A place We saW the lights turn loW The jigsaW jazz and the get-fresh floW Pulling out jives and jamboree handouts TWo turntables and a microphone Bottles and cans|Just clap your hands Just clap your hands Where it's at Got a Washboard stomach|And a microphone That Was a Washboard break One bowl of Jell-O knuckles.
That'll be three pictures|of George Washington.
- Oh, no! My beautiful money!|- It got ruined in the wash! - Mine too, even my change.
|- Get lost, you moneyless hippies! You heard him, freaks!|We don't like your type around here! These are the types we like.
That was the best 40-minute|washboard solo I've ever heard.
The parts when I was awake|blew my mind! Check out all those broken robots.
|Howdy, fellas! I don't believe my broken eyes!|It's Bender, the washboard player! - We caught your concert from here.
|- You rock! Bender, sign my chest!|It's in that bin behind me! Thanks for showing|that broken robots are still useful.
Hang in there, folks.
I bet|before you know it, you guys will be- That's so wrong! They can't|just melt down broken robots! - Not right when they're kissing my ass.
|- Just cold chill.
When I'm upset, I write a song.
|I wrote "Devil's Haircut" when I was feeling-|What's that song about? Yeah, I could write a song! With real|words, not phony ones like "odelay.
" Odelay is a word.
|Look it up in the Becktionary.
Ooh.
I'm working on my song.
|Hand me the Becktionary.
No, the rhyming Becktionary.
I'd like to raise awareness|about broken robots but what can I do?|I only weigh 8 pounds.
Wait! You know lots of rock stars,|and they like to look like they care.
We can all do a big benefit concert|in San Francisco! - We can call it "Bend-Aid, " after me!|- And you can sing your song! And I'll let you sing backup! But|remember who the star is.
Me, Bender.
All right.
"Hands in the air" rhymes|with " just don't care" and finished! - Smells like something died in here.
|- Surprise! Can we crash here?|The colors in the van keep us awake.
All right, but hands off the minibar.
I forgot about TV.
Living on the road,|you realize life is better without it.
Well, let's see what's on.
Tuesday, Golden Gate Park!|Monsters of folkish alterna-rock Will strum your brains out|at Bend-Aid! Featuring: Beck, Wailing Fungus,|and special guest, Bender! A portion of the proceeds might go|to help broken robots.
- Yeah!|- Hooray, robot! Bender, you're famous! Yeah.
This coming together of superstars|really means a lot to you, doesn't it? Uh-huh.
Helping my defective brothers is the|first thing I've ever cared about.
You know, when I first got broken,|I thought my life was over.
But look at me now.
|I've got fame, money, groupies and it's all thanks|to being completely immobilized.
That's why I'll be proud to go up|on stage and say, "Look at me I am a broken robot!" - Bender! You can move! You're cured!|- Oh, crap! It's a miracle.
I can move again.
My music career is over.
I don't understand the biz,|but wouldn't being able to move help? No! Don't you see? I was a hero|to broken robots.
I was one of them.
How can I sing about being damaged|if I'm not? That's like Christina Aguilera|singing in Spanish.
Wait! That's it! I'll fake it! - Don't do that at the concert.
|- I can't stop.
When I eat too much dirt,|I get stuff in my throat.
You are so disgusting! I- - They're beautiful!|- Ew.
You're touching them! I've never seen pearls like this.
|You're amazing! I am? At last! Recognition! Put your hands together|for the folk stylings of Cylon and Garfunkel! Here's a song that was beautiful|when performed by my ancestor Art.
Are you going|To Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme Remember me to one Who lives there She once Was a true love of mine - We're home.
|- Let's earn some bread.
Get your love beads! Can't journey|to your mind's center without them! Look at the colors!|These will go great with my soul.
Glad you like them.
I've been making|fine jewelry for years, apparently.
- I'll take three!|- Give me one, man! I'll trade you a bad poem! And noW, stand up and turn on|your hidden tape recorders for Beck! With special guest,|Bender, the broken robot! - Bender rules!|- Groove on, man! Rock it, Bender! Can't you hear those cavalry drums Hijacking your equilibrium? - Whoa-oh, yah!|- Midnight hags in the mausoleum That song doesn't usually|last three hours but we got into a serious thing,|and then I forgot how it ended.
Anyway, one last item|of business before we go.
Bender, to start your foundation|for broken robots here's a big cardboard check|for $14,000.
- It's been an emotional day for me.
|- I don't know what to say.
Then maybe you should sing it.
|Lay it down, boys.
Ladies, gentlemen,|smoking heaps of machinery Whoo! this is a song called|"My Broken Friend.
" People say my broken friend is useless|But I say his mind is free There's lots of things|My mangled robot friend could be Kick it.
- He could make a good hatrack|- He only has to stand there - Or a cheap doorstop|- He doesn't need to move - Or a great big, giant thermos|- Giant thermos With a tWist-off top - That Would be good for soup|- He could be a storage closet For outdated pants I like 'em tight My broken friend could do it all Just give him a chance That robot has a tragic secret|That I'd like to share - For real?|- My broken friend is closer to me - Than an ass to a chair|- Hm.
- That robot's name I never told you|- Who's that? - You could not foresee|- Give it up.
I'll say it loud and sing it proud His name is you and me - Don't melt me into a croWbar|- It suffers alone Just 'cause I can't move|my arms and legs Hey.
Or toss me into a trashcan|- What are you doing? - Because I can't cook eggs|- What are you doing?! - Don't crush me into an anchor|- What's up? - Because I can't dance and sing|- Hold it! - I'm telling you, my broken friend|- Bender Put your hands in the air Like you just don't care|I'm telling you, my broken friend - Can do most anything|- Cut it! Cut it! - Yeah!|- Cut it! - Curse my natural showmanship!|- You big fat fraud! - You're not really broken!|- But you will be! Bum rush the stage! Get him!|Get him! Whoa! Oh, harsh!|I didn't get my beads! You, minion, lift up my arm.
|After him! Everyone, prepare to get your guts|kicked out by folk singers.
What is this, the Year of the Jerk?! The Golden Gate Bridge! Put the metal|to the pedal to the other metal! Oh! I forgot it's a hoverbridge! - I forgot this isn't a hover car!|- Is that a problem? Not if you've lived a life|without regret.
- I'll save me!|- Quick, grab his foot cuffs! Whew.
|- Phew.
Bummer.
Someone fat, get in my way! Ah.
I'm broken again.
|I can't move any part of me! - Good!|- I'm sorry I lied, Beck.
I just wanted to make music with you.
|I never meant to hurt anyone - or help anyone.
|- That's some played-out horsecrap! But I know you don't mean it.
|Apology accepted.
- So I can keep the check?|- Over my dead career.
Well, it was worth a shot.
If you're done scamming Beck,|we're heading home! All right.
Let me just do one thing|to cheer myself up.
Fry crack corn|And I don't care Leela crack corn|Still don't care Bender crack corn, and he is great|Take that, you stupid corn