Futurama

Good news, everyone!

We've been hired to make our 100th delivery.

One hundred!

That's almost ten per year.

This calls for a party, baby.

I'm ordering a hundred kegs, a hundred hookers

and a hundred Elvis impersonators who aren't above

a little hooking, should the occasion arise.

Be very gentle, folks.

This is the soufflé you're delivering to Mrs. Astor.

Oh, my God, it's Elzar!

Hi, Elzar! Ooh, great soufflé, Elzar!

Whatever you do, don't drop it.

See, Mrs. Astor takes nitroglycerine for her heart,

and being a class act,

she prefers it in soufflé form.

Bam.

To prevent the soufflé from exploding,

Bender will carry it.

He's gyroscopically stable.

Look!

Mrs. Astor's mansion,

just across that rickety rope bridge.

Wow, it's ricketier than it looks.

You better try to jump it, Bender.

Okay, let me back up for a running start.

Here I go!

I shall inform Mrs. Astor that the circus is in town.

Your soufflé, madam.

I shall take it here, under my fork.

Mmm.

Where's the exploding?

One does not explode in Mrs. Astor's face.

I couldn't eat another bite.

Hobbsy?

Well done, sir.

Have you a name?

Hubert Farnsworth, at your service.

A Farnsworth, you say?

Well, if I'm not mistaken, the Farnsworths have been

in New New York for almost 200 years.

Yes, I have.

And I'm his uncle.

How charmingly unconventional.

I can eat a hot dog underwater.

Say, would you Farnsworths care to be my guests tomorrow

at the Astor endowment fund-raiser?

All the best families will be there.

We can take them.

On April 10, 2912, my late husband and I

set off down fifth Avenue aboard the Land Titanic,

the largest street-going vessel ever built.

Just four days into her maiden voyage,

as we approached 32nd street,

the land liner struck a mailbox and went down.

2,000 souls were lost that day,

including my dear husband.

In loving memory, I established

the Mr. Astor endowment, which this year

supports the united mutant scholarship fund.

Mutants? That's the kind of thing you are.

Shh. You know mutants aren't allowed on the surface.

If anyone asks, say I'm an alien, remember?

Oh, right. You gonna finish that roll?

Shh.

Now, a short film

about those pitiable creatures so in need of our charity.

Far beneath the everyday rumble

of limousines and poodle feet,

there toil a downtrodden people even less well off

than the upper-middle class: The noble sewer mutants.

For, you see, generations of exposure to toxic sewage

mutated them into horrific monsters!

- Ooh! - Shut up.

These industrious, uh, "people," I guess,

maintain the various pipes and poop chutes

that keep decent, above-ground society functioning.

And where do these proud toileteers

learn their menial skills?

At brown university,

the nation's premiere institution of lower learning.

So please, give generously,

knowing some poor helpless mutant will thank you.

Not in person, thank God.

Well, that was disturbing.

Oh, I understand, dear.

They are hideous.

Look, I guess you mean well, but isn't that university

just a tax-deductible sewer-cleaning service?

My dear, that school is about much more than sewer pipes.

- Really? - It's also about keeping

those filthy things busy.

There are thousands of them down there, breeding like rats.

My great Uncle once saw a rat.

If we don't keep them busy, they'll start jabbering about

equal rights in their ill-bred manner.

Let's go.

If I say one more thing,

I might say it with my evening boot.

Well! Rarely have I never!

Please, don't blame Leela.

She's just a little, uh, ill-bred.

You know how mutants are.

Your companion is a mutant?

But if anyone asks, say she's an alien.

Help! Police!

You may have eluded the authorities,

but don't nothing get past Mrs. Astor.

What's going to happen to me?!

Permanent deportation, you mutant.

You going downtown, baby.

Way down.

Incoming!

Thanks, Colonel.

Just doing my job, ma'am.

Oh, mom, dad, I can't believe

I have to spend the rest of my life in this hellhole.

I'm sorry.

It's okay, sweetie.

Now that you're here,

this hellhole feels more like a nice, regular hole.

What do you say we go get some sewer coffee,

sewer cake and safeway ice cream.

Well, the bottom's all stocked with cheap stuff.

Who's in the mood to party?

Whoo!

Poor Leela.

I feel like I ruined her life.

You did ruin her life.

You might be right, Hermes.

I am right.

I almost feel like we should

do something to help her.

We should do something!

I don't care what you say, Hermes.

Let's go.

Oh, mighty Mayor,

we're here about Turanga Leela.

You mean Leela?

Right.

I mean, sure she's a mutant,

we've known that for years,

but we kept it secret 'cause she's a fine, upstanding...

Wait. You knowingly attempted to harbor a mutant?!

We did harbor a mutant!

Uh-oh.

Look, Leela, there's old filthful.

And there's the West Side pipeway.

If those guys slack off for even a second,

it could explode.

Hey, guys!

This is my daughter Leela.

- Yeah. Oh, hey. - How you doing, Leela?

Well, they're with the chuds now.

These conditions are deplorable.

I swear, I hate every single person

on the surface for making us live like this.

Leela.

What are you doing here?

We were sentenced to two weeks in the sewer

for harboring a mutant.

Three dollars at the drug store.

I'm so sorry I ratted you out,

but, you know, after two weeks down here,

I'll truly understand the plight of the mutant people.

How dare you.

You want to understand something?

Look at that lake.

One dip in that toxic muck

and your DNA will be permanently mutated.

You'll grow a camel hump or a Zoidberg face.

You want to know what it's like to be a mutant?

Jump in and go for a swim.

Um, I would, but I j... I ate a bunch of potato salad, so...

Yeah, that's what I thought.

You are all surface.

Fry, Hermes.

Where my humans at?

Ah, who cares?

It is on.

Hey, hey, hey.

I trust the orgy pit has been scraped and buttered?

You know it, and there's mini-quiches, too.

It's getting cold and smelly.

My odor eaters are going critical.

Maybe we could plotz in that giant cockle.

Shmeepers, it's the Land Titanic,

the biggest and onlyest land boat ever constructed.

This was one hell of a bus.

Well, everyone debone a bunk and get some shut-eye.

Zoidberg, show some respect.

This is a sacred shrine

to the thousands who lost their lives.

Hey, I found a safe.

It's coming loose.

Hand me some more of that cruise director.

The original passenger manifest.

Spreadsheets were so elegant back then.