Futurama

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7x02- A Farewell to Arms

Oh, my hair!

Lot of weather we're having.

Allow me, m'lady.

Shall we go a-trousering?

Fry, I appreciate the gallantry, but isn't this a bit much?

You're right. I'm sorry for showing my love.

Okay. Fine.

Here, take my hand.

News and weather, everyone!

I'm sure you've all noticed

the bizarre atmospheric conditions of late.

Come to mention it, yes.

It seems something ain't right in the magnetosphere,

so I'm launching this high-altitude weather balloon

to gather more data.

My pants! My lucky pants!

They don't look so lucky to me.

They are, too!

I was wearing them that time I found a dime in my ear.

I was wearing them when I won a subscription to Redbook.

And I was wearing them when I first met Leela,

so yeah, they're lucky.

Aw... also, oh, Lord.

Plus, they're my only pants.

You've worn the same pants for a thousand years?

No wonder they made a run for it.

Soon your trousers will slip the surly bonds of Earth

and ascend to the heavens.

I'm gonna blast that balloon!

No way will I let God get my pants!

Nobody messes with my pants!

Not even the holy one, blessed be he.

Look out! A Central Park badger!

I'll save you, pants!

Scruffy, do you have any varmint grease?

What viscosity you need?

Whoa, there's writing in here!

Also, this grease is flammable.

Incredible! Who could have done this, the sewer mutants?

No, this isn't Mutant language.

We use a lot more profanity. Son of a bitch...!

Leela, take my hand!

I'm slipping!

The one time your hands aren't sticky, they're greasy!

Oh, sorry. Normally I would've wiped them on my pants, but...

Are you okay?

I... ow! My leg, it's broken.

How'd you get down here?

We made a rope from my shirt and jacket

and an expedition flag from my underpants.

I'll help you up. Here, take my hand.

Stop telling me to take your hand.

Look, Fry, your noble gestures keep making things worse.

Can't you just be a rude, unhelpful jerk like Bender?

When I use up the toilet paper, I don't put on a new roll.

Fry, my friend, I found your pants.

And no sign of that crafty badger.

All right! Lucky pants!

Oh, my God! Look what my flashlight found!

A huge pyramid under New New York?

What badger could've built this?

And look at this intricately carved disk.

It merits years of study.

But how can we move such a fragile, precious...

Ancient history coming through!

No, no, no, no, no!

Amazing!

It appears to be some kind of extremely ancient calendar,

predating even the "Girls of Sumeria. "

Of course. It's a Mayan calendar.

No, wait. There's some dried-up old stew on the screen.

Sorry. I was eatin' a can of breakfast and lookin' at porn.

It's not Mayan, it's Martian!

Amy, you grew up on Mars, right?

- Can you read Martian? - A little.

I only learned enough to yell at my nanny. Let's see.

I think it means... "The sun will erupt...

all shall perish," blah-blah-blah.

Get to the point! What does it say about me, Bender?

Nothing! But it does say

a great cataclysm will destroy the world in the year 3012!

The world? That's where I live!

Told you it'd say something about me.

So the world will end in 3012.

Why does that year sound so familiar?!

Because that's the year that's this year! See?

So, uh, you all done with the computer?

Is it just me, or is the world ending more often these days?

The calendar predicts fires, earthquakes,

sharksplosions, then it just ends!

Exactly as the weather balloon foretold.

Before Fry blew his pants out of the sky,

it detected the onset of a catastrophic sunspot cycle.

It's starting. This is the end of the world.

Coward Man away!

Some of us were crazy before it was cool.

Evacuating the planet in three, two...

So long, Earth. Thanks for nothing.

It's not starting.

Come ons, comes on!

Let me try, Headless Clone of Agnew.

Damn thing just won't turn over.

It's like Pat on a Sunday morning.

Oh, the Marconi is on the fritz, too!

The electromagnetic storm is disabling all electronics on Earth.

Hi, there.

Well, it wasn't a bad life.

If only I could get back that time I spent watching TRON: Legacy.

Leela, I've made up my mind.

Before we die, I'm gonna find and destroy

every remaining copy of TRON: Legacy.

It may take a couple of hours, but...

Fry, stop trying to do things for me.

Whatever time we have left, just live it with me.

So... you wanna join the Balcony Club?

The Balcony Club? I have an individual membership.

- Zoidberg, get lost. - I am lost. So long.

Stop the end-of-the-world sex. We might survive after all.

All right, Amy, what's so important that you interrupted my embalming?

I translated more Martian symbols. There's a way off this planet.

That underground pyramid isn't a pyramid...

it's a rocket ship!

It was worth waiting five hours to hear you finish that sentence.

A spaceship made of stone? With no electronics, it just might work!

I'll stick with wind-up power, thank you very much.

Hmm, I've never flown a pyramid before,

but I used to drive around town in a mausoleum.

How many people can this thing carry?

Well, the mausoleum held ten horny teenagers, so...

maybe 30,000.

It's our moral duty to save as many lives as possible.

They had their chance. Let's go!

Mind if I appear?

Welcome to the Hidey House.

Brannigan, tell me about this freaky-deaky escape pyramid.

I can fly it, sir. I just need to know where, and how.

The obvious destination is Mars.

It's close, with lots of open space and no Woodward or Bernstein.

That's a plus.

But we can only save 30,000 people. How do we choose who goes?

Well, let's see now. We'll need leaders...

...scientists, doctors, bureaucrats, pilots,

valuable appliances... even janitors.

But that's it. No one else.

I'll miss you, Leela.

But it's okay, 'cause then I'll die.

Cut the waterworks, hippie!

The final decision will be made not by me,

but by a cold, logical machine.

Who shall live and who shall die?

Step right up to the contrabulous choose-matron!

I hate waiting in line to die.