FUTURAMA: "Does This Look Like The Face OF Evil?"
Chapter 1: "Any Other Day..."
Everyone sits around the apartment doing nothing.
The door to another room slides up and in walks a restless Fry. He looks at them all.
"I'm board. I need something to do. Come one you guys, let's go do something fun."
"You can help me look through these Doctor Phil Medical Encyclopedias to help me find out what I have. My skin is wrinkled, "I have trouble pooping and my libido is as limp as a Terrellian snail," says the Professor.
"Professor, those aren't symptoms - you're just getting old."
The Professor throws the book he is holding at Fry's head.
"I know that damnit, but I want to look through them anyway in case I have something I didn't know I had."
"Osteoporosis..." comments Fry.
"I heard that!" he throws another book at him.
"You can help me," says Amy.
"All right ... ah, what are you doing?"
I'm labeling all the labels. These are for the refrigerator and these are for the medical syringes."
Fry rubs his head, "Ah ... no thanks. Leela! How about you? You must want to do something."
"Gee, I don't know Fry. If I don't clip these toenails I may end up having to do it later. And you know how I feel about procrastination."
"Okay, we can do something later," says Fry.
"I order you to go do what ever it is you were going to do."
"Have fun?"
"Exactly. I order you to have fun," orders Leela.
"What is it with you people? Doesn't anybody in the future have fun?" he asks.
"Doctor Zoidberg has fun," says Doctor Zoidberg.
"Don't any of you just want to go out and experience life? Live it to the fullest?"
"I do. I like to live life. I'm a life liver," Zoidberg tries again.
"I don't know, I've experienced life before. It wasn't that great if you ask me," comments Leela.
"Amy?" asks Fry.
"I'd like to, but the labels."
"Professor?" Fry keeps trying.
"Oh my no, I've already experienced a decade and a half of life. No more for me thank you. Cold, shakes ... The Plague! I knew I had something!"
Amy walks over and injects him with a syringe.
"Awww ... now how will I make people feel sorry for me?"
"Where's Bender?" asks Fry.
"He's out buying more alcohol," answers Leela.
"Fine. I don't need any of you to have fun. If that's the way you're all going to be, then I'll leave you to your research books, labels and toenails."
"Bye," says Leela.
Fry leans in quickly to Leela and says, "Please come with me."
"Haaayah!" and she thrusts the toenail clipper out, squeezing the handle repeatedly. He cringes in fear.
Fry walks outside the Robot Tower Housing Complex. Se sees a phone booth and opens it.
"Pft - who needs them. I can have fun all by myself. I do it all the time! Points Of Interest ... hummm .... the head museum! Oh snap! I can see Conan O'Brian's head. Old Tekwar Avenue. I wonder how far that is," he looks out and asks someone passing by, "hey, can you tell me how far Old Tekwar Avenue is?"
"About five clicks that way," the person responds.
"Oh, cool, clicks. Just like on Star Trek. How far is a click anyway?"
"0.62, nearly a mile."
Fry drops the phone book.
Fry enters the museum. The entrance in lights up with a force field. An automated computer voice speaks.
Hello and welcome to the New York Museum of heads. How are you today?"
"I'm doing fine, thanks," replies Fry.
"Entrance into the museum is free of charge."
"Okie dookie."
"Donations are generously accepted."
"Well, gosh, I forgot my wallet today."
"No problem. Donations are an at will gift."
"Maybe next ti..." ZAP! His hair stands on end and the force field goes off.
"Have a nice visit."
Fry walks past rows of shelves with glass jars and heads. he sees a door marked:
"Head Repair Room - Authorized Employees Only"
"Hey - I wonder what's in there," he opens the door. An old lady with two glass jars containing Lewis Black and Colin Quinn sit at the table top work bench.
"this area is for designated employees only," she says.
"Cool. What's wrong with these two?" Fry asks.
"What the hell is wrong with these people?!" says Black.
"And so I'm driving along in this taxi in New York and the Cabbie turns to me and says..." Quinn talks.
"They aren't funny anymore. I think they're broken," says the old lady.
"Oh, these two? Nah. They're not broken. They were never funny," he walks out of the room.
She picks the head jars up and tosses them up into a dumpster. You can hear the jars shatter.
Fry peaks back into the room entrance.
"Can you tell me which way it is to Conan O'Brian's head?"
"The 20th Century comedian, or the 22nd Century Antichrist?"
"The comedian."
"I'm pretty sure it's the third floor. You might want to use the Digital Catalogue Filing System to make sure."
Fry walks down a long circular hall past rows of heads. Cobwebs line the ceiling and he jumps when he hears a noise. He turns around to see nothing.
"Whew. Just my imagination," he turns back around and continues slowly through the darkness. A giant three foot, three eyed spider crawls across the ceiling, stops, blinks it's three eyes and scurries along.
Suddenly a light comes on and there is a floating head in it straight in front of Fry.
It speaks, "In the year 2,000 ... in the year 2,000!!!"
Another flash light comes on.
"Stop it Labamba. For the last time, it's 3,003. That bit stopped being funny over 900 years ago."
"Oh neat - Conan O'Brian! I used to watch your show all the time! Hey, how come your jar is so much bigger than everyone elses?"
"Gee, thanks kid. If you must know it's because of my freakishly large Irish head. Are you happy now? Now that I've explained to you about my big Irish noodle? Please, no pity applause."
"No," replies Fry.
"Well, you shouldn't be. What did you want anyway?" asks Conan.
"I just wanted to see you guys. Where's Max?"
"Ow, poor Max. Things just weren't the same after that freak cantaloup accident."
"What about Andy Richter?"
"Who? Oh, you mean Judas. He's over there on his TV show display case."
Fry looks over at the case after Conan nods his head.
"Andy Richter Controls The Universe? I never saw that show. where are all your fellow cast mates?"
"There's supposed to be others?" asks Andy.
"So, is my head all you thought it would be and more?" asks Conan.
"If you mean by girth, yeah. Say, what's down that hall?" Fry inquires. At the end is a door.
"Famous body parts."
"Cool! Like what?"
"Pamela Anderson's breasts, Tommy Lee's Penis and Melosavitch's forehead among others," replies Conan.
"I can't believe they kept her breasts. Who would have thought silicon lasted that long? What else?"
"Well," says Conan, "they do have a pair of Bullet Proof Legs..."
"Eh ... what's behind that door?" asks Fry.
He points to a lone door with warning stickers al over it, a "Do not Cross" line and black and yellow slanted lines painted all around it.
Conan starts, "They say pure madness lurks behind that door. And that anyone who should open it will unleash insanity upon the land..."
"Oh, cool," and Fry opens the door.
"No! Don't! Ah! Labamba! Click the light on and off!" orders Conan.
Labamba does so.
Chapter 1: "Any Other Day..."
Everyone sits around the apartment doing nothing.
The door to another room slides up and in walks a restless Fry. He looks at them all.
"I'm board. I need something to do. Come one you guys, let's go do something fun."
"You can help me look through these Doctor Phil Medical Encyclopedias to help me find out what I have. My skin is wrinkled, "I have trouble pooping and my libido is as limp as a Terrellian snail," says the Professor.
"Professor, those aren't symptoms - you're just getting old."
The Professor throws the book he is holding at Fry's head.
"I know that damnit, but I want to look through them anyway in case I have something I didn't know I had."
"Osteoporosis..." comments Fry.
"I heard that!" he throws another book at him.
"You can help me," says Amy.
"All right ... ah, what are you doing?"
I'm labeling all the labels. These are for the refrigerator and these are for the medical syringes."
Fry rubs his head, "Ah ... no thanks. Leela! How about you? You must want to do something."
"Gee, I don't know Fry. If I don't clip these toenails I may end up having to do it later. And you know how I feel about procrastination."
"Okay, we can do something later," says Fry.
"I order you to go do what ever it is you were going to do."
"Have fun?"
"Exactly. I order you to have fun," orders Leela.
"What is it with you people? Doesn't anybody in the future have fun?" he asks.
"Doctor Zoidberg has fun," says Doctor Zoidberg.
"Don't any of you just want to go out and experience life? Live it to the fullest?"
"I do. I like to live life. I'm a life liver," Zoidberg tries again.
"I don't know, I've experienced life before. It wasn't that great if you ask me," comments Leela.
"Amy?" asks Fry.
"I'd like to, but the labels."
"Professor?" Fry keeps trying.
"Oh my no, I've already experienced a decade and a half of life. No more for me thank you. Cold, shakes ... The Plague! I knew I had something!"
Amy walks over and injects him with a syringe.
"Awww ... now how will I make people feel sorry for me?"
"Where's Bender?" asks Fry.
"He's out buying more alcohol," answers Leela.
"Fine. I don't need any of you to have fun. If that's the way you're all going to be, then I'll leave you to your research books, labels and toenails."
"Bye," says Leela.
Fry leans in quickly to Leela and says, "Please come with me."
"Haaayah!" and she thrusts the toenail clipper out, squeezing the handle repeatedly. He cringes in fear.
Fry walks outside the Robot Tower Housing Complex. Se sees a phone booth and opens it.
"Pft - who needs them. I can have fun all by myself. I do it all the time! Points Of Interest ... hummm .... the head museum! Oh snap! I can see Conan O'Brian's head. Old Tekwar Avenue. I wonder how far that is," he looks out and asks someone passing by, "hey, can you tell me how far Old Tekwar Avenue is?"
"About five clicks that way," the person responds.
"Oh, cool, clicks. Just like on Star Trek. How far is a click anyway?"
"0.62, nearly a mile."
Fry drops the phone book.
Fry enters the museum. The entrance in lights up with a force field. An automated computer voice speaks.
Hello and welcome to the New York Museum of heads. How are you today?"
"I'm doing fine, thanks," replies Fry.
"Entrance into the museum is free of charge."
"Okie dookie."
"Donations are generously accepted."
"Well, gosh, I forgot my wallet today."
"No problem. Donations are an at will gift."
"Maybe next ti..." ZAP! His hair stands on end and the force field goes off.
"Have a nice visit."
Fry walks past rows of shelves with glass jars and heads. he sees a door marked:
"Head Repair Room - Authorized Employees Only"
"Hey - I wonder what's in there," he opens the door. An old lady with two glass jars containing Lewis Black and Colin Quinn sit at the table top work bench.
"this area is for designated employees only," she says.
"Cool. What's wrong with these two?" Fry asks.
"What the hell is wrong with these people?!" says Black.
"And so I'm driving along in this taxi in New York and the Cabbie turns to me and says..." Quinn talks.
"They aren't funny anymore. I think they're broken," says the old lady.
"Oh, these two? Nah. They're not broken. They were never funny," he walks out of the room.
She picks the head jars up and tosses them up into a dumpster. You can hear the jars shatter.
Fry peaks back into the room entrance.
"Can you tell me which way it is to Conan O'Brian's head?"
"The 20th Century comedian, or the 22nd Century Antichrist?"
"The comedian."
"I'm pretty sure it's the third floor. You might want to use the Digital Catalogue Filing System to make sure."
Fry walks down a long circular hall past rows of heads. Cobwebs line the ceiling and he jumps when he hears a noise. He turns around to see nothing.
"Whew. Just my imagination," he turns back around and continues slowly through the darkness. A giant three foot, three eyed spider crawls across the ceiling, stops, blinks it's three eyes and scurries along.
Suddenly a light comes on and there is a floating head in it straight in front of Fry.
It speaks, "In the year 2,000 ... in the year 2,000!!!"
Another flash light comes on.
"Stop it Labamba. For the last time, it's 3,003. That bit stopped being funny over 900 years ago."
"Oh neat - Conan O'Brian! I used to watch your show all the time! Hey, how come your jar is so much bigger than everyone elses?"
"Gee, thanks kid. If you must know it's because of my freakishly large Irish head. Are you happy now? Now that I've explained to you about my big Irish noodle? Please, no pity applause."
"No," replies Fry.
"Well, you shouldn't be. What did you want anyway?" asks Conan.
"I just wanted to see you guys. Where's Max?"
"Ow, poor Max. Things just weren't the same after that freak cantaloup accident."
"What about Andy Richter?"
"Who? Oh, you mean Judas. He's over there on his TV show display case."
Fry looks over at the case after Conan nods his head.
"Andy Richter Controls The Universe? I never saw that show. where are all your fellow cast mates?"
"There's supposed to be others?" asks Andy.
"So, is my head all you thought it would be and more?" asks Conan.
"If you mean by girth, yeah. Say, what's down that hall?" Fry inquires. At the end is a door.
"Famous body parts."
"Cool! Like what?"
"Pamela Anderson's breasts, Tommy Lee's Penis and Melosavitch's forehead among others," replies Conan.
"I can't believe they kept her breasts. Who would have thought silicon lasted that long? What else?"
"Well," says Conan, "they do have a pair of Bullet Proof Legs..."
"Eh ... what's behind that door?" asks Fry.
He points to a lone door with warning stickers al over it, a "Do not Cross" line and black and yellow slanted lines painted all around it.
Conan starts, "They say pure madness lurks behind that door. And that anyone who should open it will unleash insanity upon the land..."
"Oh, cool," and Fry opens the door.
"No! Don't! Ah! Labamba! Click the light on and off!" orders Conan.
Labamba does so.
