Futurama (1999–2013): Season 1, Episode 8 - A Big Piece of Garbage - full transcript
When a big ball of garbage from the 21st Century returns to threaten New New York, Philip is the only expert on making the weapon to fight it.
Good news, everyone.
Tomorrow,
you'll be making a delivery...
to Ebola 9, the virus planet.
Why can't they go today?
Because tonight's
a special night...
and I want all of you
to be alive.
It's the Academy of Inventors
annual symposium.
Wow, I love symposia.
It's the event
of the scientific season.
Every member presents
an invention...
and the best one
wins the academy prize.
Sounds boring.
Oh, my, yes,
but not this year...
because my latest
invention is unbeatable.
Behold...
the death clock.
Simply jam your
finger in the hole...
and this readout tells you...
exactly how long you
have left to live.
Does it really work?
Well, it's occasionally
off by a few seconds...
what with free will and all.
Sounds like fun.
How long do I have to live?
Ooh, dibs on his CD player!
Who's the gross nerd?
That's me,
at the very first symposium.
I'm the academy's
oldest living member, you know.
These youngsters
all look up to me.
Well, well, well...
Iook who decided
to show his wrinkled face.
Why don't you
just leave me alone, Wernstrom?
Face it, Farnsworth,
you're over the hill.
It's time to leave science
to the 120-year-olds.
You young Turks think
you know everything.
I was inventing things...
when you were barely
turning senile.
Go home before you embarrass
yourself, old man.
Now, if you'll excuse me...
I'm going to take a nap
before the ceremonies.
Who's that jerk?
A hundred years ago...
he was my most promising
student at Mars University...
but then,
after one fateful pop quiz...
"A-minus"?
No one gives Ogden Wernstrom
an A-minus.
I'm sorry,
but penmanship counts.
I swear I'll have my revenge...
if it takes me
a hundred years.
And here it is...
slightly over 99 years later
and still no revenge.
I'm essentially in the clear.
I've been perusing
your fortified wine list...
and I've selected
the '71 Hobo's Delight...
the '57 Chateau Part-Ay and
the '66 Thunder-schewitz.
Exquisite choices, sir.
And mix them
all together...
in a big jug.
Welcome to this year's
academy symposium.
I'm your host, Ron Popeil...
inventor of Mr. Microphone,
the spray-on toupee...
and, of course, the technology...
to keep human heads
alive in jars.
But wait, there's more!
We've got a whole lineup
of inventors tonight...
starting with
that up-and-coming young star...
Ogden Wernstrom.
Boo!
More wine!
Distinguished members
of the academy...
I present to you
the reverse scuba suit.
Observe.
Fetch.
Now sit.
I said, "Sit."
Bad fish!
Oh.
Don't worry, Professor.
It's no competition
for your death clock.
And what will you be presenting
this evening, Grandpa?
Let's just say...
it'll put you young
whippersnappers...
in your place.
I just hope it's not as lame...
as that death clock
you presented last year.
Eh, "last year," you say?
That's right.
Oh, my.
Did it put you young
whippersnappers in your place?
Hardly.
We laughed
until our teeth fell out.
Come along, Cinnamon.
Oh, dear.
I'll have to invent something new...
in the next ten minutes...
perhaps some sort
of death clock.
Uh, Professor?
Our last presentation comes
from our oldest member...
Professor Hubert Farnsworth.
Professor?
Just a second.
Just a second.
Pencils down, prune face.
Oh, yes, here I am.
Okay, now. Hello there.
Now, we all know telescopes
allow us to see distant objects...
but what if we want
to smell distant objects?
Well, now we can...
thanks to my new invention...
the smelloscope.
The odor travels past
this coffee stain here...
around the olive pit and
into this cigar burn...
and this appears
to be a-a...
doodle of myself
as a cowboy.
But the smelloscope
is brilliant, I tell you!
Think of the astronomical odors
you'll smell, thanks to me!
Oh, my.
I've waited a hundred years
for this, Farnsworth.
I give your invention
the worst grade imaginable...
an A-minus-minus!
And now for the presentation
of the award.
Listen, folks...
I'm practically giving
this prize away...
to Dr. Wernstrom
for his fish thingy.
Oh.
Perhaps 149 is just too
old to be a scientist.
Yep.
No, Professor.
Don't give up.
There were plenty of times
in my century...
when I was going to give up,
but I never did. Never.
Hey, are you even
listening to me?
Oh, I give up.
By God, you're right!
I'm going to build
that smelloscope.
Eureka!
Did you build
the smelloscope?
No. I remembered
that I built one last year.
Go ahead, try it.
You'll find
that every heavenly body has...
its own particular scent.
Here, I'll point it at Jupiter.
Smells like strawberries.
Exactly.
And now Saturn.
Pine needles.
Oh, man, this is great.
As long as you don't make me
smell Uranus.
I don't get it.
I'm sorry, Fry...
but astronomers
renamed Uranus in 2620
to end that stupid joke
once and for all.
Oh. What's it called now?
Urectum.
Here, let me locate it for you.
How about...
No, no, I think I'll just smell
around a bit over here.
Hmm.
Hmm.
What is it?
Oh, jeez, oh, man!
Remarkable!
A stench so foul,
it's right off the funk-ometer.
I daresay,
Fry may have discovered...
the smelliest object
in the known universe.
Ooh! Ooh!
Name it after me!
I think it's moving.
Hmm. Perhaps the computer
can calculate its trajectory.
My God!
Whatever it is,
it's headed straight for us...
with enough force
to reduce this entire city...
to a stinky crater!
We have less than 72 hours.
Well, let's get looting.
So this thing's going
to destroy the whole city?
What the heck is it?
Ah, just as I thought.
The answer lies in this movie
I found on the Internet.
The year 2000.
The most wasteful society
in the history of the galaxy...
and it was running
out of places...
to bury its never-ending
output of garbage.
The landfills were full.
New Jersey was full.
And so, under cover of darkness...
the city put its garbage
out to sea...
on the world's largest barge.
The repulsive barge circled
the oceans for 50 years...
but no country
would accept it...
not even that really filthy one.
You know the one I mean.
Finally, in 2052, the city
used its mob connections...
to obtain a rocket
and launch the garbage...
into outer space.
Some experts claim the ball
might return to Earth someday...
but their concerns
were dismissed...
as depressing.
Wow, you got that
off the Internet?
In my day, the Internet
was only used...
to download pornography.
Actually, that's still true.
Now that the garbage
is in space, doctor...
perhaps you can help me
with my sexual inhibitions.
With gusto.
Aw.
So that's the situation.
Due to the shortsightedness
of Old New York...
New New York is going
to be destroyed...
by a giant ball of garbage.
Fry, what the hell
were you people thinking back then?
How could you just
throw your garbage away?
Hey, hey, give me a break.
What do you do with it?
We recycle everything.
Robots are made
from old beer cans.
Yeah, and this beer can...
is made out of old robots.
And that sandwich
you're eating...
is made from old
discarded sandwiches.
Nothing just gets
thrown away.
The future is disgusting.
Typical 20th-century attitude.
Hey, you have no right...
to criticize the 20th century.
We gave the world
the light bulb, the steamboat...
and the cotton gin.
Those things are all
from the 19th century.
Yeah, well,
they probably just copied us.
Please, there's no time
for this now.
This is an emergency.
We must warn the mayor.
Garbage ball, huh?
That sounds serious.
Very serious,
Mayor Poopenmeyer.
I got be sure this isn't
another scientific fraud...
like global warming
or secondhand smoke.
Send in my science advisor.
Wernstrom!
Well, well, well.
Come to present your latest
napkin, Professor?
No, I'm here because
a giant trash ball...
is heading straight for us.
Smell for yourself.
Holy... Gee!
That smell could
be anything...
a faulty stench coil, some
cheese on the lens, who knows?
Mr. Mayor, we just got this
transmission from Neptune.
Giant garbage ball...
passed close by.
Horrible stench!
The transmission
cuts out there, sir.
No, I guess it keeps going.
There we go.
My God!
The senile old man is right!
Do you mean him or me?
- Him.
- Oh.
New New York in crisis.
Morbo?
Thanks, human female.
Puny earthlings
were shocked today...
to learn that a ball
of garbage will destroy...
their pathetic city
of New New York.
Makes me glad we live
here in Los Angeles.
Morbo agrees.
Can't we just...
shoot a missile at it?
We've simulated that
on a supercomputer...
but the ball is just
too damn gooey.
A missile would go
right through it.
But suppose we sent a crew
to plant an explosive...
precisely on the fault line...
between this mass
of coffee grounds...
and this deposit
of America Online floppy disks.
In theory, it could work.
Uh, in theory, perhaps...
but you'll never find a crew
willing to take on a mission...
so suicidally dangerous.
Aw, crap.
Now you'll only have one chance...
to destroy the ball.
After that...
it will be so close to Earth
that blowing it up...
would cause garbage to rain
over the entire planet...
killing billions.
Aw, boo-hoo.
Now here's the bomb
I've prepared.
Once you activate it...
you'll have 25 minutes
to get away.
That's all? But...
Now, now.
There'll be plenty of time
to discuss your objections...
when and if you return.
Odor at magnitude eight.
Magnitude 12.
Magnitude 31.
We're breaking up.
Turn on the anti-smell device.
Hmm, sporty.
Wow!
Look at all this filth.
It's not filth.
It's a glorious monument...
to the achievements
of the 20th century.
Look, a real beanie baby.
Oh, a Mr. Spock
collectors' plate.
Some Bart Simpson dolls.
Eat my shorts.
Okay.
Mmm, shorts.
Fry, this stuff was garbage
when it was new.
Let's blow it up already.
This junk isn't garbage.
I can dig in any random pile...
and find something great.
All right, let's get to work.
Let's see.
If that's Hypodermic Ridge...
then the bomb must go right here.
Get ready to run.
We've got 25 minutes.
Uh, 15 minutes.
Five minutes.
Six-h minutes?
Hmm.
There's your problem.
The professor put
the counter on upside down.
That idiot.
It wasn't set for 25 minutes.
It was set for 52 seconds.
We're going to die!
- Right?
- Right.
It's going to blow!
Hey, watch it!
You'll put somebody's eye out!
Okay, okay,
keep your space pants on.
I'll take care of this.
We're saved.
Yeah, but this garbage ball's
unstoppable now.
New New York is done for.
All in all, this is one day...
Mittens the kitten
won't soon forget.
Kittens give Morbo gas.
In lighter news...
the city of New New York
is doomed.
Blame rests with known human
professor Hubert Farnsworth...
and his tiny inferior brain.
Oh, how could I have put
that bomb timer on upside down?
I could swear I followed...
the manual precisely.
I'm a dried-up husk
of a scientist.
This is all my fault.
No, it's my fault, too.
I'm sure I threw out...
more than my share
of that trash up there.
Also, one month,
my toilet broke...
and I just went
straight in the garbage can.
Aw!
Leela was right.
The people of the 20th century
were idiotic slobs.
Especially me.
Enough. You all failed miserably.
It's time to put
a real scientist in charge.
Wernstrom!
The very same.
Dr. Wernstrom,
can you save my city?
Of course, but it'll cost you.
First, I'll need tenure.
Done.
And a big research grant.
You got it.
Also access to a lab...
and five graduate students...
at least three of them Chinese.
All right, done.
What's your plan?
What plan?
I'm set for life.
Au revoir, suckers.
That rat.
Do something.
I wish I could,
but he's got tenure.
Eww!
It's time to take action.
Stephanie,
cancel the maid for today.
Have her come tomorrow.
Well, I'm out of ideas.
Anyone?
Wait.
If we could build an object...
the exact size, density...
and consistency
of the garbage ball...
it might just knock
the ball away...
without smashing
it to bits.
But where can we
find a substance...
the exact density and
consistency as garbage?
Alas, I don't know.
Uh, what about garbage?
Good lord!
A second ball of garbage.
That just might work.
But garbage isn't something...
you just find lying
in the streets of Manhattan.
This city's been garbage-free
for 500 years.
Well, then it's time
to make some more.
Make garbage?
But how?
Stand back and watch the master.
This slurm can...
now it's garbage.
These papers...
garbage.
This picture of your wife...
pure garbage.
Now you try it.
By God, I think
the boy's got something.
Come on, everyone.
The fate of the city's at stake.
Good.
Don't finish that cruller.
Throw it away.
Bender, drink that beer...
and drop the bottle
on the ground.
Very nice.
Get that robot
some more beer.
Hmm?
We've trashed this room...
but that's just a start.
We've got to get Fry's...
message to the people.
People of New New York...
take a lesson
from the 20th century...
stop all this
pain-in-the-ass recycling...
and throw your garbage
on the floor.
Go ahead, just chuck it
any old place like I used to.
Your city is counting on you.
If my calculations are correct...
this garbage ball will knock
the other garbage ball...
directly into the Sun.
And if my calculations
are correct...
we're all going
to die horribly.
All right, places, everyone.
Prepare for launch.
Five, four, three, two...
three, four, five, six...
Just fire the damn thing.
Oops.
Burning garbage.
It worked!
And so, on behalf
of the entire city...
I thank you,
Professor Farnsworth.
I now present you
with the academy prize...
which we confiscated
from Dr. Wernstrom...
after it became apparent
that he was a jackass.
Yes! In your face,
Wernstrom!
I'll get you, Farnsworth...
even if it takes another
hundred years.
And, Fry, we owe you
a tremendous debt as well.
Were it not for your 20th-century
garbage-making skills...
we'd all be buried
under 20th-century garbage.
Should we really
be celebrating?
I mean, what if
this second garbage ball...
returns to Earth
like the first one did?
Well, who cares?
That won't be for
hundreds of years.
Exactly. It's none
of our concern.
That's the 20th-century spirit.
# We'll meet again #
# Don't know where #
# I don't know when #
# But I know
we'll meet again #
# Some sunny day #
# Oh, keep smiling through #
Tomorrow,
you'll be making a delivery...
to Ebola 9, the virus planet.
Why can't they go today?
Because tonight's
a special night...
and I want all of you
to be alive.
It's the Academy of Inventors
annual symposium.
Wow, I love symposia.
It's the event
of the scientific season.
Every member presents
an invention...
and the best one
wins the academy prize.
Sounds boring.
Oh, my, yes,
but not this year...
because my latest
invention is unbeatable.
Behold...
the death clock.
Simply jam your
finger in the hole...
and this readout tells you...
exactly how long you
have left to live.
Does it really work?
Well, it's occasionally
off by a few seconds...
what with free will and all.
Sounds like fun.
How long do I have to live?
Ooh, dibs on his CD player!
Who's the gross nerd?
That's me,
at the very first symposium.
I'm the academy's
oldest living member, you know.
These youngsters
all look up to me.
Well, well, well...
Iook who decided
to show his wrinkled face.
Why don't you
just leave me alone, Wernstrom?
Face it, Farnsworth,
you're over the hill.
It's time to leave science
to the 120-year-olds.
You young Turks think
you know everything.
I was inventing things...
when you were barely
turning senile.
Go home before you embarrass
yourself, old man.
Now, if you'll excuse me...
I'm going to take a nap
before the ceremonies.
Who's that jerk?
A hundred years ago...
he was my most promising
student at Mars University...
but then,
after one fateful pop quiz...
"A-minus"?
No one gives Ogden Wernstrom
an A-minus.
I'm sorry,
but penmanship counts.
I swear I'll have my revenge...
if it takes me
a hundred years.
And here it is...
slightly over 99 years later
and still no revenge.
I'm essentially in the clear.
I've been perusing
your fortified wine list...
and I've selected
the '71 Hobo's Delight...
the '57 Chateau Part-Ay and
the '66 Thunder-schewitz.
Exquisite choices, sir.
And mix them
all together...
in a big jug.
Welcome to this year's
academy symposium.
I'm your host, Ron Popeil...
inventor of Mr. Microphone,
the spray-on toupee...
and, of course, the technology...
to keep human heads
alive in jars.
But wait, there's more!
We've got a whole lineup
of inventors tonight...
starting with
that up-and-coming young star...
Ogden Wernstrom.
Boo!
More wine!
Distinguished members
of the academy...
I present to you
the reverse scuba suit.
Observe.
Fetch.
Now sit.
I said, "Sit."
Bad fish!
Oh.
Don't worry, Professor.
It's no competition
for your death clock.
And what will you be presenting
this evening, Grandpa?
Let's just say...
it'll put you young
whippersnappers...
in your place.
I just hope it's not as lame...
as that death clock
you presented last year.
Eh, "last year," you say?
That's right.
Oh, my.
Did it put you young
whippersnappers in your place?
Hardly.
We laughed
until our teeth fell out.
Come along, Cinnamon.
Oh, dear.
I'll have to invent something new...
in the next ten minutes...
perhaps some sort
of death clock.
Uh, Professor?
Our last presentation comes
from our oldest member...
Professor Hubert Farnsworth.
Professor?
Just a second.
Just a second.
Pencils down, prune face.
Oh, yes, here I am.
Okay, now. Hello there.
Now, we all know telescopes
allow us to see distant objects...
but what if we want
to smell distant objects?
Well, now we can...
thanks to my new invention...
the smelloscope.
The odor travels past
this coffee stain here...
around the olive pit and
into this cigar burn...
and this appears
to be a-a...
doodle of myself
as a cowboy.
But the smelloscope
is brilliant, I tell you!
Think of the astronomical odors
you'll smell, thanks to me!
Oh, my.
I've waited a hundred years
for this, Farnsworth.
I give your invention
the worst grade imaginable...
an A-minus-minus!
And now for the presentation
of the award.
Listen, folks...
I'm practically giving
this prize away...
to Dr. Wernstrom
for his fish thingy.
Oh.
Perhaps 149 is just too
old to be a scientist.
Yep.
No, Professor.
Don't give up.
There were plenty of times
in my century...
when I was going to give up,
but I never did. Never.
Hey, are you even
listening to me?
Oh, I give up.
By God, you're right!
I'm going to build
that smelloscope.
Eureka!
Did you build
the smelloscope?
No. I remembered
that I built one last year.
Go ahead, try it.
You'll find
that every heavenly body has...
its own particular scent.
Here, I'll point it at Jupiter.
Smells like strawberries.
Exactly.
And now Saturn.
Pine needles.
Oh, man, this is great.
As long as you don't make me
smell Uranus.
I don't get it.
I'm sorry, Fry...
but astronomers
renamed Uranus in 2620
to end that stupid joke
once and for all.
Oh. What's it called now?
Urectum.
Here, let me locate it for you.
How about...
No, no, I think I'll just smell
around a bit over here.
Hmm.
Hmm.
What is it?
Oh, jeez, oh, man!
Remarkable!
A stench so foul,
it's right off the funk-ometer.
I daresay,
Fry may have discovered...
the smelliest object
in the known universe.
Ooh! Ooh!
Name it after me!
I think it's moving.
Hmm. Perhaps the computer
can calculate its trajectory.
My God!
Whatever it is,
it's headed straight for us...
with enough force
to reduce this entire city...
to a stinky crater!
We have less than 72 hours.
Well, let's get looting.
So this thing's going
to destroy the whole city?
What the heck is it?
Ah, just as I thought.
The answer lies in this movie
I found on the Internet.
The year 2000.
The most wasteful society
in the history of the galaxy...
and it was running
out of places...
to bury its never-ending
output of garbage.
The landfills were full.
New Jersey was full.
And so, under cover of darkness...
the city put its garbage
out to sea...
on the world's largest barge.
The repulsive barge circled
the oceans for 50 years...
but no country
would accept it...
not even that really filthy one.
You know the one I mean.
Finally, in 2052, the city
used its mob connections...
to obtain a rocket
and launch the garbage...
into outer space.
Some experts claim the ball
might return to Earth someday...
but their concerns
were dismissed...
as depressing.
Wow, you got that
off the Internet?
In my day, the Internet
was only used...
to download pornography.
Actually, that's still true.
Now that the garbage
is in space, doctor...
perhaps you can help me
with my sexual inhibitions.
With gusto.
Aw.
So that's the situation.
Due to the shortsightedness
of Old New York...
New New York is going
to be destroyed...
by a giant ball of garbage.
Fry, what the hell
were you people thinking back then?
How could you just
throw your garbage away?
Hey, hey, give me a break.
What do you do with it?
We recycle everything.
Robots are made
from old beer cans.
Yeah, and this beer can...
is made out of old robots.
And that sandwich
you're eating...
is made from old
discarded sandwiches.
Nothing just gets
thrown away.
The future is disgusting.
Typical 20th-century attitude.
Hey, you have no right...
to criticize the 20th century.
We gave the world
the light bulb, the steamboat...
and the cotton gin.
Those things are all
from the 19th century.
Yeah, well,
they probably just copied us.
Please, there's no time
for this now.
This is an emergency.
We must warn the mayor.
Garbage ball, huh?
That sounds serious.
Very serious,
Mayor Poopenmeyer.
I got be sure this isn't
another scientific fraud...
like global warming
or secondhand smoke.
Send in my science advisor.
Wernstrom!
Well, well, well.
Come to present your latest
napkin, Professor?
No, I'm here because
a giant trash ball...
is heading straight for us.
Smell for yourself.
Holy... Gee!
That smell could
be anything...
a faulty stench coil, some
cheese on the lens, who knows?
Mr. Mayor, we just got this
transmission from Neptune.
Giant garbage ball...
passed close by.
Horrible stench!
The transmission
cuts out there, sir.
No, I guess it keeps going.
There we go.
My God!
The senile old man is right!
Do you mean him or me?
- Him.
- Oh.
New New York in crisis.
Morbo?
Thanks, human female.
Puny earthlings
were shocked today...
to learn that a ball
of garbage will destroy...
their pathetic city
of New New York.
Makes me glad we live
here in Los Angeles.
Morbo agrees.
Can't we just...
shoot a missile at it?
We've simulated that
on a supercomputer...
but the ball is just
too damn gooey.
A missile would go
right through it.
But suppose we sent a crew
to plant an explosive...
precisely on the fault line...
between this mass
of coffee grounds...
and this deposit
of America Online floppy disks.
In theory, it could work.
Uh, in theory, perhaps...
but you'll never find a crew
willing to take on a mission...
so suicidally dangerous.
Aw, crap.
Now you'll only have one chance...
to destroy the ball.
After that...
it will be so close to Earth
that blowing it up...
would cause garbage to rain
over the entire planet...
killing billions.
Aw, boo-hoo.
Now here's the bomb
I've prepared.
Once you activate it...
you'll have 25 minutes
to get away.
That's all? But...
Now, now.
There'll be plenty of time
to discuss your objections...
when and if you return.
Odor at magnitude eight.
Magnitude 12.
Magnitude 31.
We're breaking up.
Turn on the anti-smell device.
Hmm, sporty.
Wow!
Look at all this filth.
It's not filth.
It's a glorious monument...
to the achievements
of the 20th century.
Look, a real beanie baby.
Oh, a Mr. Spock
collectors' plate.
Some Bart Simpson dolls.
Eat my shorts.
Okay.
Mmm, shorts.
Fry, this stuff was garbage
when it was new.
Let's blow it up already.
This junk isn't garbage.
I can dig in any random pile...
and find something great.
All right, let's get to work.
Let's see.
If that's Hypodermic Ridge...
then the bomb must go right here.
Get ready to run.
We've got 25 minutes.
Uh, 15 minutes.
Five minutes.
Six-h minutes?
Hmm.
There's your problem.
The professor put
the counter on upside down.
That idiot.
It wasn't set for 25 minutes.
It was set for 52 seconds.
We're going to die!
- Right?
- Right.
It's going to blow!
Hey, watch it!
You'll put somebody's eye out!
Okay, okay,
keep your space pants on.
I'll take care of this.
We're saved.
Yeah, but this garbage ball's
unstoppable now.
New New York is done for.
All in all, this is one day...
Mittens the kitten
won't soon forget.
Kittens give Morbo gas.
In lighter news...
the city of New New York
is doomed.
Blame rests with known human
professor Hubert Farnsworth...
and his tiny inferior brain.
Oh, how could I have put
that bomb timer on upside down?
I could swear I followed...
the manual precisely.
I'm a dried-up husk
of a scientist.
This is all my fault.
No, it's my fault, too.
I'm sure I threw out...
more than my share
of that trash up there.
Also, one month,
my toilet broke...
and I just went
straight in the garbage can.
Aw!
Leela was right.
The people of the 20th century
were idiotic slobs.
Especially me.
Enough. You all failed miserably.
It's time to put
a real scientist in charge.
Wernstrom!
The very same.
Dr. Wernstrom,
can you save my city?
Of course, but it'll cost you.
First, I'll need tenure.
Done.
And a big research grant.
You got it.
Also access to a lab...
and five graduate students...
at least three of them Chinese.
All right, done.
What's your plan?
What plan?
I'm set for life.
Au revoir, suckers.
That rat.
Do something.
I wish I could,
but he's got tenure.
Eww!
It's time to take action.
Stephanie,
cancel the maid for today.
Have her come tomorrow.
Well, I'm out of ideas.
Anyone?
Wait.
If we could build an object...
the exact size, density...
and consistency
of the garbage ball...
it might just knock
the ball away...
without smashing
it to bits.
But where can we
find a substance...
the exact density and
consistency as garbage?
Alas, I don't know.
Uh, what about garbage?
Good lord!
A second ball of garbage.
That just might work.
But garbage isn't something...
you just find lying
in the streets of Manhattan.
This city's been garbage-free
for 500 years.
Well, then it's time
to make some more.
Make garbage?
But how?
Stand back and watch the master.
This slurm can...
now it's garbage.
These papers...
garbage.
This picture of your wife...
pure garbage.
Now you try it.
By God, I think
the boy's got something.
Come on, everyone.
The fate of the city's at stake.
Good.
Don't finish that cruller.
Throw it away.
Bender, drink that beer...
and drop the bottle
on the ground.
Very nice.
Get that robot
some more beer.
Hmm?
We've trashed this room...
but that's just a start.
We've got to get Fry's...
message to the people.
People of New New York...
take a lesson
from the 20th century...
stop all this
pain-in-the-ass recycling...
and throw your garbage
on the floor.
Go ahead, just chuck it
any old place like I used to.
Your city is counting on you.
If my calculations are correct...
this garbage ball will knock
the other garbage ball...
directly into the Sun.
And if my calculations
are correct...
we're all going
to die horribly.
All right, places, everyone.
Prepare for launch.
Five, four, three, two...
three, four, five, six...
Just fire the damn thing.
Oops.
Burning garbage.
It worked!
And so, on behalf
of the entire city...
I thank you,
Professor Farnsworth.
I now present you
with the academy prize...
which we confiscated
from Dr. Wernstrom...
after it became apparent
that he was a jackass.
Yes! In your face,
Wernstrom!
I'll get you, Farnsworth...
even if it takes another
hundred years.
And, Fry, we owe you
a tremendous debt as well.
Were it not for your 20th-century
garbage-making skills...
we'd all be buried
under 20th-century garbage.
Should we really
be celebrating?
I mean, what if
this second garbage ball...
returns to Earth
like the first one did?
Well, who cares?
That won't be for
hundreds of years.
Exactly. It's none
of our concern.
That's the 20th-century spirit.
# We'll meet again #
# Don't know where #
# I don't know when #
# But I know
we'll meet again #
# Some sunny day #
# Oh, keep smiling through #