Futurama

7x10 - Near-Death Wish -

Welcome back to the clippie awards,

honoring the year's most accomplished delivery boys.

Our next category is best newcomer on a bicycle.

Good luck, Dwight.

And the nominees are

Johnny Jensen from rent-a-cat,

Nezzbin Zalgabarg, ten-minute underwear,

and Dwight Conrad, speedy wig.

And the clippie goes to...

Little Johnny Jensen!

Oh, don't feel bad, son.

We couldn't be more proud of you.

Unless, of course, you had won the award.

Man, you're so lucky to have your family here.

The stupid Professor didn't even show up for me.

I'd just like to thank my awesome parents.

We love you, Johnny!

Shh!

Now to get all serious.

It's time to pay tribute to the brave delivery boys

who gave their lives this past year

in the line of duty.

Gene Tinker, bus.

Charles Kiley, train.

Mike Pisarik, lion.

They're on the truck to heaven now.

Up next, the award for best delivery boy:

Newspaper, phone book, or miscellaneous.

Miscellaneous, that's me.

The nominees are:

Gene tinker,

Charles kiley,

Mike Pisarik,

and Philip J. Fry.

And the clippie goes to...

Philip J. Fry!

Sign here.

- Wow. - Uh,

I'd like to thank the academy of delivery sciences,

my lovely robot, Bender,

and most of all, my dear nephew,

Professor Farnsworth.

He always has time for me,

whether it's sending me on a delivery,

or just pulling me aside to tell me I'm doing a bad job.

And why?

Because he's family,

and family is always there for each other.

I'm sorry,

but I can't keep reading this tissue of lies.

The truth is,

Professor Farnsworth is a cold, heartless jerk!

And the fish sticks were limp!

Ooh, hefty.

You could really bash in a skull with this thing.

I know, right?

What?

Oh, your awards show.

I'm sorry I couldn't make it,

but I had a very good reason.

Perhaps you'd favor us with it?

My pleasure.

You see, I came down with a searing case

of who gives a crap.

Oh, I wish I had more living relatives.

What about the Professor's parents?

They're still alive?

Sure, they exhibit all the telltale signs...

toenails growing, hearts pumping fluid,

the whole shmagoigle.

So where do these fossils live,

in sedimentary rock?

No.

According to his next of kin file,

they live in a virtual retirement home

on the near-death star.

I've been there.

Let's boldly go

where we've gone before.

Halt!

Visitors are forbidden.

Oh, really?

Does that rule apply to...

Clippie winners?

I'm sorry, sir.

Go right in.

That's Philip J. Fry.

Ned and velma Farnsworth,

423 Shadybrook Lane.

Let's hover-roll.

Fry, you're so confident and take charge on this trip.

It's kind of a turn-on.

Not now, Leela, I'm trying to meet old people.

My God...

It's full of geezers.

Hey, why are they hooked up like that?

Is it some kind of craft-matic adjustable death bed?

Don't be ridiculous.

Their bodies are being used to generate electricity.

The idea came from an old movie called the matrix.

But-but wouldn't almost anything

make a better battery than a human body?

Like a potato?

Or a battery?

Plus, no matter how much energy they produced,

it would take more energy than that to keep them alive.

I know, I know.

It sounds absurd.

In fact, when the matrix first came out,

it seemed like the single crummiest, laziest,

most awful, dimwitted idea

in the entire history of science fiction,

but it turned out to be true. Who knew?

Good work, writer of the matrix.

This is it, room 1119.

Aw, it's my relatives.

I'm gonna call them Gram-Gram and Shabba-doo.

They look just like you, Fry.

Arms, legs, ugly.

Too bad we can't visit them in their virtual world.

We can. Just moisten your heads

and put on these real-to-virtual adapter caps.

Hmm, electricity plus hats with wires on them.

Are you sure this is safe?

It's not just safe, it's 40% safe.

Told you it was safe.

Wow, so this is my relatives' virtual old-folks home.

There's only one word for it: Terrible.

And also horrible.

This is their room.

They're gonna be so excited to meet me.

Hi.

I'm your distant relative.

Forget it, you flimflammer.

I can smell a scam a mile away.

Reverse mortgages.

Get your reverse mortgages here.

Oh, come in, come in.

So, you're really my grandson, huh?

Well, it's not quite that simple.

See, I got frozen, and your son,

Professor Farnsworth, is my great-great-great-great-great...

Huh? What?

Yep, I'm your grandson all right.

A grandson?

My, you're a big boy.

What are you, a...

A junior in high school?

Most recently, yes.

Oh, you look so thin.

Can I offer you some virtual ham casserole?

Sounds delicious.

Mmm.

Nobody's eaten my food like that in ages.

I don't cook much since we moved out of reality.

And that's how I got this scar above my eye,

and this fork inside my lung.

That's a doozy.

Hey, look at this.

I can pull my thumb off.

Oh, stop, Shabba-doo, you're freaking me out.

Don't let him get your nose.

Oh, lord.

It's so nice to have more family.

All I had was the Professor,

and he's kind of crotchety and moldy.

You should have seen him when he was little.

My golly, he was crotchety and moldy.

We miss him terribly,

but it sure has been nice spending time with you.

It gets lonely and depressing around here,

with no entertainment except the rigged bingo!

Prove it, loser!

Well, we should get going.

It was great to meet you, though,

and hear about how bursitis transcends physical existence.

Keep up with your studies, huh?

What?

Oh, God, I'm still here?

I'll miss you guyyyyys...

I don't think Gram-Gram likes that place,

and I know Shabba-don't.

I sure wish they could come with us.

Elder abuse! Elder abuse!

Go it! Fastly!

It won't start.

The batteries are dead.

I'm about to lose history's greatest life

all because of some useless old people.

They're not useless.

They can cook ham casserole...

And watch TV at incredible volume...

And they generate electricity...

That's it!

We can cut them off.

Turn left at Miriam Feinberg.

I meant Feingold!

It's so nice to meet the Professor's parents.