Futurama s09e06 Episode Script

1
[curious music playing]
[theme song playing]
[soap opera organ playing]
[tower rumbling]
♪
ROBOT OFFICIANT:
Do you, Boxy, take this air conditioner
to be your lawfully wedded
CALCULON: You can't go through with it,
Boxy! For she is
your sister!
[all gasp]
[dramatic organ sting]
And my sister!
[dramatic sting]
OFFICIANT: And my wife!
[screaming]
[crash]
HUMAN FRIEND: And my air conditioner!
[Monique gasps]
[crash]
[crew groans]
[glass shatters]
[grunting]
Ah, there you are. Behold!
[rumbling, thud]
[dramatic sting]
What the name of my ass
is going on here?
The Academy of Inventors'
Annual Competition is approaching.
So I've created the world's
most powerful sewing machine!
- That is an amazing invention!
- This isn't the invention, you boob.
Let me just activate it
using my footnological marvel,
- the toe-longer.
- It's glorious!
That's not the invention either.
Stop guessing.
[smack]
[Zoidberg yelps]
[dramatic sting]
[sewing machine whirring]
The theme of the competition is recycling,
so I'm attempting to recycle
old human parts
into a new,
environmentally friendly human.
Hyello, Mr. Professorvich.
Very extremely good catch for you today.
Luckily was big railroad accident.
PROFESSOR:
I'll take a pound and a half of hand.
[whirring]
Wow. Is that a flat-lock seam?
Why, thank you for noticing, Amy.
It looks elegant and minimizes blood loss.
[dramatic music playing]
Now, the easy part.
[electricity crackles]
[thunder cracks]
[gust blows]
[fizzling]
[horror sting]
[all scream]
[dramatic crescendo]
[squishy scratching]
Voilà!
Um, Professor, most people have a head.
- Sure, the "in crowd."
- Look, you've come this far.
You don't wanna lose the contest
over a few style points.
Fine, fine.
Let's fancy it up with a head.
The head is the part with the teeth
and the sneeze-hole, right?
[upbeat music playing]
Any of you presidents need a body?
- Can it hit a no-look jump shot?
- Uh, sure.
Then why does it need me?
[laughter]
- Good one, Mommy.
- Whoa!
The gallery of supermodels!
Ugh. Okay, but remember.
Their eyes are up here.
[glamorous music playing]
Um, do any of you lovely
lady people
Uh Oof!
[thud]
Which of you indistinguishable
human heads wants a body?
Well, is it tall?
I miss doing runway shows
and intimidating short people.
- The left side's pretty tall.
- Trust me, it's attractive.
It's got thick, luxurious hair
all over the place,
and several legs that just won't quit.
- And one that will.
- MODEL HEAD: I'll do it.
[hopeful music playing]
- Really?
- Of course, dear.
It's not the body.
It's how you wear it.
[gasps] That's Cara Delevingne!
She invented eyebrows.
[upbeat music playing]
[squishing]
And finished!
[scoffs] Oh no. This won't do.
That's the only head we got.
- I mean what I'm wearing.
- I'm sorry, Cara,
but due to your various
and unusual proportions,
no clothing will ever fit you.
There's just no possible way to
I've got it!
[whirring, clanking]
Simply step into my 3D clothing scanner.
[heavy footsteps]
You didn't need that hind leg anyway.
Now, we'll take your exact measurements
Good Lord!
[beeping]
Encode them in a strand of RNA
[bell dings]
Inject it into
a giant Bolivian silkworm
[high-pitched yelp]
Let it spin its cocoon.
And six weeks later
Presto!
We have a custom-fitted silk garment.
Thanks, but it's a little
Soviet brutalist for me.
Well, that's because
you're looking at the wrong side.
[majestic flourish]
[gasps] This is spectacular.
I never expected to love something
so much that was excreted from a moth.
[bright music playing]
Scientists and scienticians,
I'm proud to present the finalists
for this year's Inventors' Award.
First up, Dr. Bubblegum Tate
and his postdoctoral fellow,
Sweet Clyde Dixon.
Dr. Dixon and I have devised
a way to generate clean power
from the billions of basketballs
discarded each year
by the Big Twelve.
[inspiring music playing]
[ball whooshing]
[glove humming]
[zap]
Ah!
[shoes squeaking]
[applause]
Next up, last year's winner,
- Professor Ogden Wernstrom.
- Wernstrom!
[beeping]
Discarded doomsday devices
pose a grave environmental risk.
So I've invented a way
of reprogramming them
into lovable companions
for the elderly.
[dog whimpering]
ALL: Aw!
Come along, Explodey.
[panting]
[audience applauds]
And last up
[explosion]
[Wernstrom screams]
Professor Hubert J. Farnsworth.
Colleagues, you witness history tonight.
The technology to recycle the dead
back to semi-normal life!
[soft music playing]
[shocked exclamations]
[neck cracks]
It's a scientific leap for humanity!
- Questions?
- Who made that dress? It's fabulous!
Did you not hear what I said?
I brought a human back to life!
But that gown brings
sexy back to science!
Are there any questions
about my invention
and not the damn dress?
And now, to announce the winner.
In the spirit of recycling,
we're reusing last year's envelope.
And the winner was
Ogden Wernstrom!
[applause]
[sighs]
[melancholy music playing]
[shutters snapping]
Cara, over here. Show us the dress!
Oh, what's going on? The photon
pressure is knocking me over.
Who are you wearing?
You look incredible!
It's a brand-new designer.
- The Professor.
- Uh-whuh
[echoing shutter snap]
[melancholy music playing]
All my life,
I've pursued my first love, science.
But my career has come to naught.
It's time to admit I should've
pursued my first love.
Fashion.
[upbeat glamorous music playing]
- Oh, my!
- That'll look better on me.
♪
[upbeat stylish music playing]
[cat meows]
I've got a midlife crisis ponytail
for a Hubert Farnsworth?
- It's pronounced "Hugh-bear."
- It is?
Woo!
Gorgeous!
Like a desiccated Zac Posen.
Hugh-bear,
I'm going to make you a star.
I've made a few calls.
You're on a magazine cover, baby!
Oh my!
I'm on the cover of Vague!
My mother would be so confused.
[doorbell rings]
It's Gladys Lennox,
the world-famous paramecium!
Star of Mitosis, Lies, and Videotape!
Is there something we can
help you with, Ms. Lennox?
GLADYS: I saw the dress you made,
and I must have one.
I just love the stitch work.
Thank you.
It's holding my neck on.
Cara's one of a kind,
not like those mass-produced
Frankensteins you see nowadays.
GLADYS: Being boneless,
clothing never fits me.
It's like trying to put pants
on a waterbed.
I once got the pants off a
waterbed, but that's a very long,
very dirty story. [laughs]
I can make you an outfit, Ms. Lennox,
but it's a slow, meticulous process.
Also expensive.
GLADYS: Money's no object.
I have contractile vacuoles full of it.
Gol'durned cytoplasm.
[zapping]
Yeah, that's it.
Make sweet asexual love to the scanner.
No, don't shake your moneymaker!
Give me less of that!
Don't work it, baby!
[lively music playing]
[crowd cheering]
Ooh, I want to give myself an award
for looking at that dress.
Who are you wearing, Gladys?
GLADYS:
Oh, what, this little thing?
- It's from the House of Professor.
- Get me the Professor!
- Get me The Professor!
- Get me The Professor!
[beep beep] the Professor!
[lively music playing]
[shutters snapping] Tim Gunn
here at Milan Fashion Week.
Today, the hot new old designer
whose name is on everyone's
silicone-filled lips,
Hugh-bear Farnts-virt.
[shutters snapping]
Please, no photons.
[indistinct chatter]
- [knocking] Two minutes!
- I-I-I'm so nervous!
And I can barely move in
these high-heeled slippers.
How am I supposed to walk Marcelle?
[slurping]
Not to worry.
Zoidberg will walk your leggy snake.
[Marcelle hisses]
[Zoidberg hisses]
[intense music playing]
Welcome to the fashion event
of the millennium.
We call it Haute Cocoon,
by The Professor. Enjoy.
[audience oohing and aahing]
[applause]
[cheering]
[shutters snapping]
[sighs] Shock me back to life
with a defibrillator
because I am dead.
[muffled music blasting]
I'm Zoidberg. I'm on the list.
Sorry, we're full.
The anteater can come in though.
But I'm on the list!
Right there!
[pen scratching] Now you're not.
You're dressed like
some sort of underpaid
lobster doctor from outer space.
- But I can't afford nicer clothings!
- Then beat it.
[somber music playing]
[sniffles] I've never felt so worthless.
I'll just throw myself in the garbage.
[grunts]
You can't come in our dumpster
what looking like that.
Not during Fashion Week.
[electronic music playing]
[cheering and applause]
[cork pops]
You're a hit, Professor!
You'll be invited to every party,
every soirée,
- every orgy.
- And I'll stay home napping.
Who's gonna stop me?
[dramatic music playing]
- LEELA: Zoidberg! What are you doing?
- Jumping!
[gasps]
- [monotone] No, stop.
- You don't get it!
Your fabulous clothing
just makes the other 99%
of us sad and jealous.
[somber music playing]
[sniffles] I'm sick of dressing
in factory reject chef's jackets
and children's flip-flops!
Goodbye, fancy friends.
[dramatic sting]
- Noooooo!
- [monotone] Don't do it.
[dramatic music playing]
Zoidberg!
Don't kill yourself!
What?
No! I'm just going underwater,
where the fashion standards are lower.
Excuse me,
the fashion standards aren't lower.
Why, look at the flat-lock seam
on my clam shells.
[groans]
[gurgling]
[somber music playing]
[footsteps squelching]
[door opens, shuts]
Professor, when you started your line,
you were proud the clothes
could fit anyone.
But it's only the wealthy
who can enjoy them.
I feel for you, Zoidberg,
but there's simply no way
to mass-produce my cocoon patterns.
And moth chow isn't free.
[chomping]
But, isn't the difference
between couture
and ready-to-wear
just a matter of technology?
Uh, well, I suppose it is.
You know, I've never told anyone this,
but it's been my lifelong dream
to be a famous scientist.
Perhaps I could use science
to bring fashion to the masses.
But no, I'm afraid it's completely
[echoing] Eureka!
Bender, hand me that hat
from my new October line.
[evil cackle]
[dramatic music playing]
[fluttering]
Fly! Fly, my pretties!
[evil cackle echoing]
[bright jazzy music playing]
Welcome to Good Morning Tonight.
Or as I like to say, good mornight.
[laughs]
I will destroy you
and your entire species
if you continue to combine those words!
This mornight, we have a very
special guest in the studio.
Legendary fashion designer,
Hugh-bear Farntsvirt.
[applause]
[upbeat music playing]
Morbo has heard through his earpiece
that this wrinkly human
now offers a clothing line
- for a broader audience.
- Indeed, I do.
You see, I've created a variant
on the giant moth I use
for my couture line.
[squishing]
For a low monthly price,
you get a hangar moth for your closet.
And it extrudes a bespoke
tailored outfit every day.
They're essentially
high-speed 3D silk printers.
Morbo demands a demonstration!
[bright jazzy music playing]
[slithering]
This just in.
I look fabulous!
These slacks really flatter
Morbo's pulsating buttocks.
How do I wash them?!
Oh, no need to wash anything.
The outfits fall apart
after one day's use,
but they'd be out of fashion
by then anyway.
Each night, just dispose of them
in my patented fash-can.
[mysterious whirring]
[whoosh]
It's fast-fashion at its fastiest!
- Where do the clothes go?
- Who knows? Who cares?
Tell us, Professor Farntsvirt,
how can our viewers get
your new clothing line?
Just leave the window open
and the light on.
Starships were meant to fly ♪
Hands up and touch the sky ♪
Can't stop 'cause we're so high ♪
Let's do this one more time ♪
Starships were meant to fly ♪
Hands up and touch the sky ♪
Let's do this one last time ♪
Can't stop, we're higher than ♪
♪
[music fades out]
Great look, Zoidberg. Very today.
Thank you.
Though to be honest,
I liked yesterday's even better.
Would it be possible
- to get those pants back?
- No!
ZOIDBERG: They made my
hips look like I had hips,
but I threw them in the fash-can.
Forget it. Yesterday's pants
are completely out of date.
Hugh-bear, Zoidberg knows what he likes,
and that means he has something
even better than fashion.
- He has style.
- Uh-whuh?
Plus, isn't it more environmental
to wear a piece of clothing twice
before you throw it away?
[vortex whirring]
I would gladly crawl in after them,
but I can't fit in the fash-can.
Anything can fit! The
fash-can is a multi-dimensional
wormhole through space and time
and probably some other things.
Allow me to demonstrate.
Jessica. Oh, Jessica!
[heavy footsteps]
Go on, girl. Get your peanut.
[dramatic music playing]
[Jessica trumpets]
[deep whoosh]
- Professor! That's horrible!
- Relax.
I get a new pet every day
to go with my outfits.
That's slightly worse!
It's simply too dangerous
to pass through
a trillion-light-year wormhole
for a pair of pants.
Why, the temporal distortion
alone could render you
[mysterious whirring, beeping]
- Whoa!
- That's what I was gonna say.
We're coming out of the wormhole.
[gasps] There's a planet ahead!
[mysterious music playing]
[clothes flapping]
[ship roaring]
AMY: Shmoly moly!
If any civilization was here,
it's been smothered
by the Professor's clothes.
The devastation is too much.
It's beyond comprehension.
[dramatic crescendo]
My pants!
[fantastical music playing]
[thunder cracking]
[beeping]
Alright. Let's snag Zoidberg's
pants and get outta here.
Bender, deploy the space hooker.
Deploy her?
I barely know her!
[cackling]
Ah, just kidding.
I'm a regular customer.
[dramatic music playing]
[thunder rumbling]
- It's a total shirt storm!
- What do we do? Panic?
[thudding]
[engines powering down]
[beeping]
LEELA: A flock of Canadian bras
got sucked into the engine!
We'll have to crash-land!
[all screaming]
[soft, gentle bumping]
And we're fine.
I believe we were spared for
one reason, and one reason only.
To save Zoidberg's pants.
Come on!
[wind howling]
[fluttering]
- Wuzzat?
- FRY: Moths! Huge ones!
They must be feasting
on high-protein sportswear.
Actually, it's not the moths
that eat clothes.
It's the caterpillars.
People don't know that because
they're tiny and hard to see.
[rumbling]
[crew screaming]
[ferocious roar]
[dramatic music playing]
[rumbling]
[roaring]
[peaceful chomping]
And we're fine.
What's this metal thing
we're cowering behind?
Some sort of abandoned structure.
The Professor really did
destroy a civilization!
It's history's most
brutal crime of fashion.
Ah, my pants!
There, in that pile of crisp whites!
Oh, to wear them just once more.
[dramatic sting]
[screeching, roaring]
[Zoidberg yelps]
The Professor's garbage pets!
- Run for your lives!
- No! I am a professional fashion model.
We do not run. We strut.
And we do not leave our
comrades' fallen pants behind.
Sounds good!
We'll meet you in the ship.
And by meet you, I mean ditch you.
[Bender panting]
[tense music playing]
[cat yowling]
Cara, look out!
[cat screeches]
[grunting]
[dramatic sting]
Ah! Hiya!
[yowls]
[electric guitar riff]
Everybody on board
before we get buried!
♪
[Zoidberg and Cara panting]
Jump!
[both grunt]
Ah!
Hang on! You'll be okay!
But my grip is crumpling the pants!
- So I'll iron them!
- No! The material's too cheap!
It won't stand up to
even the lowest setting.
I'll wear them wrinkled!
I can pull it off!
Don't be a fool!
What is one life
against a completely decent pair of pants?
[gasps] Goodbye.
Cara, nooo!
[somber music playing]
[sobbing]
[vortex whirring]
[dramatic sting]
Oh, good! You're back!
I can toss yesterday's
conquistador ensemble
without damaging the ship.
[vortex whirring]
Stop! We saw where
the clothes are going!
- You've wiped out an entire planet!
- Wiped out, you say?
Well, if everyone is already dead,
I don't see the problem.
Someone might still be alive
under all those vegan leather pants!
Those are not breathable!
You gotta do something!
[sighs] Very well.
The ship's log should hold
the space-time coordinates
of the planet you came from.
I'll send them a jaws of life
or something.
- [beeping] Aah!
- What is it? Something surprising?
The planet you went to was
was [beeping]
Earth!
[dramatic sting]
But that's our planet, right?
And we're not buried
under miles of laundry.
- Don't you see, you imbecile?
- No, sir, I'm afraid I don't.
It's Earth in the future!
We sent the clothes
to our own future!
[bleak music playing]
[wind blowing]
[gasps]
[dramatic sting]
You finally did it,
you fast-fashionistas!
Damn you all to TJ Maxx!
What kind of world
have we left for our children?
Or their children?
Or their children's children? Wait.
How into the future
did we send the clothes?
What time is it?
[thunder cracking]
[dramatic music playing]
[vortex whirring]
[clothes fluttering]
[eerie crescendo]
♪