Disclaimer: I don't own Futurama. The Hypnotoad does. All glory to the Hypnotoad…
God, my head hurts, thought Fry. The only other time my head hurt this bad was the morning after I drank the fermented remains of a Horrible Gelatinous Blob. Actually, now that I recall that, my head doesn't hurt so much anymore.
"The pain is a result of being knocked unconscious," uttered a gruff, yet familiar voice. "Hopefully it will linger for a great while."
"M-Morbo?" said Fry, astonished and frightened.
His vision blurred but semi-reliable, he began to take stock of his whereabouts. A cold, dingy room with bare stone walls, a rat or two scampering on the ceiling, Morbo standing upside-down before him with an uncharacteristic smile on his face. On top of that, his blood was somehow rushing upwards and collecting in his head, as if drawn by reverse gravity.
"Pitiful human," snarled the alien with the throbbing veins. "Perhaps you can deceive all of the Earth people all of the time, but you cannot deceive me, for I, Morbo, am Morbo!"
"Is this part of the game?" asked Fry innocently.
Morbo's smile morphed into a frown, and the walls echoed with his riotous laughter. How do his feet stick to the ceiling like that? Fry wondered.
"During my time on your wretched world, I have meticulously studied the weaknesses of humans," said Morbo, opening up a compact disc box. "Three primary ones emerged—compassion for weaker beings, fear of physical pain, and an inability to endure the songs from Bob Dylan's Jesus years."
"No!" cried Fry. "NOOOO!!! AAAAAAAAAARRRGHH…"
"The torture has not yet commenced," said the bemused Morbo.
"It's the anticipation!" wailed the redhead. "It's more than I can stand!"
"Excellent," said Morbo. "Then perhaps you are ready to tell me how you cheated."
"Wha…?" Fry nearly swallowed his tongue. "Cheated? Me? Never! I only cheat at poker and taxes! I wouldn't know how to begin to cheat at Cool Million."
"I warn you, Philip J. Fry," said Morbo, grasping the young man's chin tightly with his clammy fingers, "if you do not respond to the standard torture, I will not hesitate to employ the super torture."
"Uh, I'll take the soup," said Fry.
Geez, my ankles are killing me, he thought. Feels like ropes are digging into my flesh. Maybe not enough blood's going to them…?
"Your level of intelligence is far below the average for your pathetic species," grumbled the alien. "You spent one thousand years in cryogenic suspension, learning nothing of that period's history, culture, technological advances, and celebrity pairings. You even lack a delta brain wave! Yet here you are, two questions away from winning a million dollars and universal fame. How did you do it, Fry? Telepathy? Brain steroids? Notes written on the insides of your eyelids using invisible ink? Communication with an audience member by way of intestinal emissions? Or another method entirely, one which my scanners can't detect?"
"Hmm," said Fry. "I just figured something out. I'm the one who's upside-down, not you!" Explains why my arms have been dangling over my head all along.
"Silence!" roared Morbo. "You will reveal your method of cheating to me, now!"
"How can I do that when I'm silent?" Fry asked him.
Morbo narrowed his eyes. "Very well, don't be silent…but do not speak unless you are telling me how you cheated, or complimenting my handsome forehead bumps."
Fry cleared his throat. "I didn't cheat," he said with conviction. "I knew the answers."
How did Fry know the answers? Find out in the next thrilling chapter!