Futurama

I'm surprised you didn't call in sick this morning, Fry.

Isn't it a special day?

No, just my birthday.

All I want is to enjoy the quiet desolation of space

for a few peaceful hours.

Surprise!

Uh... 'Kay. This really wasn't...

Happy whatchacallit!

-Surprise! -Surprise!

Happy b-day, Fry.

Geez, how many people did you invite?

Only a few. Less than 40.

Surprise!

Surprise, sailor.

Thanks, everyone.

What's the matter, Fry? You look sick and so darn blue.

Chicken cordon bleu?

I don't wanna talk about it.

Attention, party people.

We got a Code 99: birthday boy unresponsive.

We need backup. So I'm gonna turn the music back up.

Hey, please, just...

All right!

- -

Emergency! All butts to battle cushions.

We're being pulled off course by some huge gravitational force.

A black hole!

Scruffy begs to differ.

I see it as more of a gray brown, or perhaps toasted umber.

Impact in three! I mean, one!

Is everybody okay? 'Cause I'm not.

Coming out.

Ow!

We heard a girlish scream. Are you okay?

Did anyone else see that?

No, I was busy making a tourniquet out of my tiny, tiny shirt.

What kind of hellhole has Leela brought us to this time?

A barren wasteland devoid of life.

Like Fire Island after Labor Day.

There's literally nothing here,

except that tasteless suburban teardown.

That's the tasteless suburban teardown I grew up in!

Whoa.

Weird. I was just repressing a memory of this.

It's set up exactly like my eighth birthday party.

The theme was game night afternoon.

What's wrong, son?

Worried about our boys in Grenada?

No, it's just I'm not very good at games, Dad.

I don't wanna lose on my birthday.

Oh, don't worry. Not everything in life is about winning,

but most things are. Almost everything.

Happy birthday!

Here's Josh Gedgie!

High five, best bud.

Oh, so close.

I can't believe it. Everything is exactly how it was.

Right down to the two-liter bottle of Dr. Peeper.

What kind of weirdos would go to the trouble of recreating

a low budget store brand birthday party?

It was we!

He meant us. It was us!

I don't know, I thought "we" sounded better.

Look, never mind the grammar.

How did you big heads get my old house here?

I'ds likes to hears about the grammars.

Recreating Fry's house was mere child's play,

thanks to the power of our machine.

Behold!

It scours the minds of visitors for powerful memories of conflict.

And recreates those conflicts in every detail.

Today we shall reenact Philip J. Fry's eighth birthday party,

including all the thrilling children's games he played.

I do enjoy Twister.

No Twister!

You wouldn't believe what the mean kids used to twist.

Then we shall begin with the classic yet copyright-free game,

Barrel of Primates!

Who's ready to link monkey parts?

-Me! -I am!

They call me "monkey breath" for a reason.

Longest chain wins.

Players, start your chains!

You shall play as two traditional teams of 17.

Only instead of boring plastic pieces, you shall be the primates.

Kindly enter the barrels when ready.

I'm ready now!

Let the game begin!

Uh, okay.

We should probably obey the heads.

This is kind of fun.

Dang, you must work out a lot.

I'm a leg. Every day is leg day.

-This is the end! -

I don't remember this being so hard when I was eight.

Did we mention there's a twist?

I knew you were twist guys.

Oh, great. A pool of acid?

No, we are not monsters.

It's actually a highly alkaline liquid.

That's the twist.

It'll dissolve you twice as fast as acid!

But I have a fear of dissolving. How do we get down from here?

By falling, of course.

For, in another twist, these party games shall be

to the death!

Although, we kinda guessed that from the bones.

Ooh, and it's a real barn burner.

Phil's the sentimental favorite, but the smart money's on four-eyes.

The name's Gedgie, and it may look close, but I've got the Gedge.

- -Fry's still in it.

Look at him hook!

Impressive. But my superior dexterity will...

I won at something?

I hope my grandma's proud of me down in Hell.

Nice job, Phil, but I'll Gedge you next time.

- -That never gets old.

I say, I say, I don't know how much longer

these old hollow bird bones can hold out.

Why did you monsters dream this up? And are the streaming rights available?

Our motivations are three.

Mine is to gain knowledge by making people crash on our planet

and subjecting them to bizarre experiments.

As for me, I don't have any motivations.

And I have two motivations.

Gambling and making these cool masks.

Let the gambling begin!

50 quids on the red team.

A hundred quids on blue!

Listen up, people!

If we're going to survive, we all need to work together!

Or we can shake the other team's bar and make those losers fall first.

I vote for the shaking thing.

Hey, stop it!

Cut it out, Bender. Cheating is against the rules.

There are no rules.

Oh, wait, here are the rules.

It just says fun for ages three to 99.

No wonder I'm not enjoying it!

Now hold on a minute.

According to the laws of calculus,

we might just be able to link chains to form a stable structure

known as a catenary.

Damn, my dribbling and differentiating arm!

Ugh.

It's okay. It's only water. Just as I foresaw.

Oh, wait.

That game was not fun!

Congratulations to the red team.

I'm sure you'll all want to celebrate with some birthday cake.

My parents and my grandmother are dead.

I'm so sorry for your loss, Leela. Can I have their cake?

Where'd you get the snazzy candles?

Our machine made them.

Oh, right. Right.

The next game is a simple one.

Fry must blow out all the candles

in a single breath.

I can do that.

But there's a twist.

I like a good twist. That's what keeps the audience watching.

For each candle Fry doesn't blow out,

the corresponding player will die.

Wait, what? What?

Don't worry, guys. I'm actually really good at this.

That's a lot of candles, old man. You'll never do it.

Ugh.

You did it!

Good going, brother!

Come on, gas bag! Blow your face off!

No fair. I've got about 12 wicks.

Look! He's still blowing somehow.

It's going out.

My only regret is not getting any cake!

And the winner of the Tri-State Musical Chairs championship

is Philip J. Fry!

Yay!

Ugh, it's been six hours.

Can't you at least play something a little catchier?

No. We have one song and we really like it.

Oh, breadcrumbs.

Nobody panic! Two to a seat!

You heard her, start panicking!

Ow! Mom!

Wait!

Is that the end of the game?

- -