Original subtitles

Hold still, Dwight.

Who taught you how to tie a tie?

No one! That's the problem!

I swear, that tie is longer than a steamrolled green snake!

Allow me.

Yum.

It's Dwight's first day at the Young Bureaucrats Club.

He's a real check off the old box.

Yum again.

You have no idea how proud I am

that you want to follow in my compulsively even footsteps, son.

Eh, your fax made it pretty clear.

Bye-bye!

People! In honor of my son's first step

on the bureaucratic treadmill,

I'm takin' you all out for pizza.

One topping, no tippin'.

Welcome, old friends!

We make-a you the nice table.

It's great. Very flat.

Wow. Business is booming.

Yes-a, everybody going a-mentally ill for our pepperoni.

It's-a so tender, you don't even gotta chew!

Oh, good! My battery was running low.

How y'all doin'?

Our server will be right-a with you.

Let's see... pepperoni, or pepperoni?

Would you like to hear today's special?

It's pepperoni.

-Hi. -Sweet coconut of the shogunate!

Why aren't you at the Young Bureaucrats Club?!

I'm sorry, Pops, but...

I don't want to be a bureaucrat.

I didn't know how to tell you.

Well, you found the worst possible way.

By tellin' me!

How will we break this to your poor mother?

Eh, she's known for years.

That's right, son.

Never let anyone tell you what to do.

And go and get us some refills on them Arnold Palmers, chop chop.

I like working here.

Blecch and Blazucchi are really nice bugs.

Dwight work-a real hard, even during the school hours.

-What?! -Don't worry, Hermes.

I used to work in a pizza parlor,

and I turned out.

We interrupt this pizza menu to bring you breaking news.

Billionaire fast-food magnate Fishy Joe Gilman

has thrown his hat into the upcoming city council election,

District 97.

Stay tuned for our hard-hitting, unbiased report,

after this word from... Fishy Joe's.

It's fish-licking good!

♪ Force a fish stick in your mouth ♪

♪ When you come to Fishy Joe's ♪

♪ Where the fish is never frozen and the 'frigerator broke ♪

♪ Well, they're yummy in your belly and they're greasy and they're smelly ♪

♪ And they're mostly made of batter ♪

♪ But they still have lots of bones ♪

Yecch.

I don't wanna hear-a Fishy Joe,

I don't wanna see-a Fishy Joe.

Look! It's Fishy Joe!

For too long, District 97 has been hostile to the international chain restaurants

that give this and every other neighborhood in the world

their unique local character.

I won't stand by as greedy mom-and-pop joints--

like that one--

serve better food at lower prices.

Boo!

If elected, I pledge to impose a punitive tax

on these quaint eateries,

and funnel it to faceless big money interests.

This year, make sure the election results are Fishy.

Vote Fishy Joe!

Ooh, I hate-a his face.

I'd like to shove a fish stick

where the star of this-a solar system don't-a shine.

We can't-a pay-a new tax!

We struggle for years just to find-a pizza recipe

that doesn't make-a human metabolism say,

"Get it outta me!"

Mm, mm!

The struggle paid off.

You have the tenderest pepperoni I've ever gummed.

This Fish-a Joe gonna ruin us.

I wish-a there was a better candidate

or literally any other candidate.

How about you?

You're literally any other candidate.

Me? A humble alien with legislative experience on her home planet,

and a can-do spirit?

I can-a no do.

Oh, come on, that's not the Blazucchi I barely know.

I don't know you either.

I'll do it!

I promise to make-a good government

the same way I make-a good pizza,

with lots-a hard work,

and whatever kinda mushroom is-a the cheapest.

With the candidates running neck and thorax...

we welcome you to the first of 15 live debates

between city council hopefuls

Fishy Joe Gilman,

Blazucchi Nolastname,

and latecomer Boxy Robot.

You and me both.

Candidates, start your blathering.

Thank you, laughing lady.

My husband and I infested this-a district with a big dream,

to make-a the pepperoni pizzas.

And everybody love them!

Now hang on, hang on.

Let's talk about your pepperoni.

It's-a very tender, yes?

Yes... suspiciously tender.

And you wanna know why it's so tender?

Many people are saying it's because it's made from...

human babies!

Don't try to defend her.

They're fattening up babies in the basement

and choppin' up the chubbiest ones

to make that sweet, innocent pepperoni!

People are saying.

-How many people? -A lot.

One of the biggest numbers.

This is-a crazy!

I don't even know how to hatch a baby!

Wow, Fishy Joe just sank his own campaign.

No one could believe such insane lies.

You'd have to be a gullible, deranged moron!

Yee-haw!

Let's go mob! Let's go mob!

Let's go mob!

How do ya like my mob?

Boo!

We demand you show us the basement!

Here's your slice, sir.

Sir, you seem to be yelling the loudest.

Can you tell us why you're protesting?

First of all, I need the exercise.

But also, they're making babies into pepperoni!

Down in their basement slaughterhouse.

We don't even a-have a basement!

Come in and a-look!

See?

No basement, no bathroom.

Not even a ceiling in-a some places.

You think you can cover up the truth

with a bunch of obvious facts?

Well, I got a mob who says otherwise!

Let's go mob!

How-a we gonna prove-a we don't got a basement?

We can't even prove we don't-a got a restaurant a-license!

Easy! I'll just check the city building records.

Do that thing I said.

File not found.

I tried my best!

Huh. This building must be too old to have its blueprints online.

Then we're a-ruined.

We'll have-a to go out-a from-a business.

Guess I'm doomed to join the Young Bureaucrats.

I won't let this happen!

I mean, I'll let the second part happen.

Yeah, right. What are you gonna do?

Stamp some stupid form?

Actually, son, we're going on a thrillin' adventure!

Which might involve a few forms being stamped.

Let's get this party authorized!

Now serving 18,307.

Finally, I can get my birth certificate!

Uh, I believe that's us.

Now serving 18,308.

What's the holds-up with my pizza?

I'm-a sorry, we're a-short mandibled.

We lost our cheap child labor human.

I'm a cheap, childish human!

You haven't worked at a pizzeria in a thousand years.

It requires zero skill!

That's why I'm so good at it.

Hot! Hot, hot, hot, hot, hot!

You forgot-a the holding disc!

My pants!

My beautiful pants!

So... wash 'em.

You think they'll be okay?

-I've never washed them before. -Ew!

-Yuck! -Blecch!

-Why not? -It's just...

I couldn't bear to part with them.

Not even for 45 minutes.

They're one of the only things I have left from my old life

before I got frozen.

Aww.

Wash your damn pants!

There, see?

You're good to go for another thousand years.

No!

The stains was all there was!

Whoa! Whoa!

Whoa!

Who goes there?

And do you have any sea-sickness medicine?

Heck, I'd drink nail polish.

I am Hermes Conrad,

Bureaucrat Grade 37.

Oh, Hermes! My eyes must be goin'.

I thought you were Zsa Zsa Gabor.

-Who? -I don't know. Just laugh.

That wasn't a joke.

How can I help?

We're looking for some ancient city building plans,

from before the Great Digitization.

On paper?!

Hmm, must've blown a fuse or somethin'.

You may proceed to the Labyrinth of Documentation!

Whoa... it's a total no-man's land.

Sounds like my weekend.

I didn't know there was this much paper in the entire world!

It's like a vast paper forest.

What's a forest?

We're lookin' for some really old records.

Let me carbon-taste this ink.

Hmm. Only a hundred years old.

We'll need to go deeper.

Oh frack, a fork!

How do we know which way to go?

See these little black dots?

They're paper mites.

Ugh!

Ah, these are bigger.

We'll take this path.

The bigger the mites, the longer they've been feedin'.

You want a granola bar or somethin'?

How are you supposed to find anything?

Seems like the papers are just scattered randomly.

It may look that way to the uninitiated,

but to a seasoned bureaucrat,

this is art... borderin' on the erotic.

-Dad! -I said bordering!

It's arranged according to a mysterious, ancient filing system

devised by the father of modern bureaucracy,

the great Bureaucrates.

A true organizational genius.

What happened to him?

He got lost in his own files and died.

And alas, the secrets of his system died with him.

Whoa.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!

Careful, son! It's a Shredlacc pit.

I should never have brought you here.

-It's too excitin'. -It really isn't.

Shelfilanche!

-We're trapped! -Not yet, we're not.

Grab on, boy!

We're getting close.

I can tell because the paper mites are getting larger.

-How large? -That large.

Cowardly screams won't be enough, son.

We'll have to best this bug in combat!

But that thing's gonna inflict at least 2d12 damage.

We'll never survive without armor!

How about chain mail?

We're not complacent.

Show us the basement!

We're not complacent. Show us the basement!

Told ya it rhymed.

Man, protestin' really works up an appetite.

Wow, you're a hungry, hungry hypocrite.

Hey, a guy's gotta eat!

Actually, you don't.

Aw. How are you dealing with the loss of your pants?

You know how these things go.

I'm taking it day by day.

So, you got new pants?

No, it's too soon.

Wow, that took a really long time.

Thank you, son.

That's music to a bureaucrat's ears.

Now, let's slay that paper mite!

Huh. Guess we can just walk around it.

No way!

I didn't put nine hours into these paper-clip codpieces for nothin'!

You won't be comin' in on Monday!

It's hopeless!

We have no weapon now!

Incorrect. In the hands of a bureaucrat,

paperwork can be lethal.

Why are you shiverin'?

It's not even cold in here. It's kinda hot.

I know, but it just looks really cold.

Man, it's blinding!

I lost track of which direction we were gettin' lost in.

This is how they say Bureaucrates died,

lost in a whiteout of his own paperwork.

I'm sorry, Dwight.

All I wanted was to share my love of bureaucracy with you.

Instead, I'm fillin' out our death certificates.

Initial here and list the cause of death as "stupid father."

It's okay, Pops.

At least we had a great adventure together.

The best thing to do now is lie down and freeze to death quickly.

You alive?

You hear somethin'?

Slower! Slower!

The storm's getting worse!

Get in quick before you die of heat stroke!

I don't believe it.

Are you... Bureaucrates?

All questions must be submitted in writing.

It is you!

But the history books say you were lost in a whiteout.

I still am!

Please, make yourselves uncomfortable.

How may I impede you?

We seek an ancient floor plan predating the digital records.

But so far, we've been unable

to crack your legendary filing system.

Can you at least give us a hint?

You want a hint?

Here's a hint.

There is no system!

Can we get another hint?

I'm a fraud!

I just kept piling things up, deeper and deeper.

I said I'd get to it on Monday, but Monday never came...

'cause my calendar was under one of the piles!

But according to legend, you could find anythin'.

I could because I had a general idea of which pile to look in.

But no one else stood a chance!

So you created a filing system so unsystematic

that literally nothing could be done without you?

You truly are the greatest bureaucrat who ever lived.

Your pandering hero worship has moved me.

I thought I was a failure,

when all along I was a bottleneck!

Oh, a huge one!

Now, this is the buildin' address we're lookin' for.

Ah, yes.

I remember filing this in Column Gamma.

Hmm, uh, no.

Uh, uh, must be this one.

Or, uh, maybe... this one?

No, it was-- it was the first one I grabbed earlier.

Here.

You have found your treasure,

but at great cost.

For alas,

there is no way out of this labyrinth.

I've been searching for 500 years.

Have you tried this door?

You can't use that! It's for emergencies.

Come with us, friend.

No. My place is here,

filing a false alarm report that no one will ever see.

You are as a god.

Show us the attic!

Wait, we mean the basement!

Look here, Fishy Jerk!

These official records will prove once and for all

that there is no basement!

There's a basement?

I knew that stuff I made up was true.

What you are about to see may be disturbing.

It better be!

A secret basement has been discovered

beneath Family Brothers Pizzeria,

the once-popular eatery rumored to make pepperoni

from tender human babies.

Let us see what horrors lie below!

But they didn't even know they had a basement!

What a crock of malarkey.

Leela, watch your language!

There's no baby butcher down there.

And, uh, let's arm ourselves just in case.

I'm not scared.

Lead the way, somebody else.

I'll do it.

Without my pants, life isn't worth living anyway.

Ew!

Get a shot of that.

What happened to your underpants?

There's nothin' here.

But it's filthy!

No self-respecting devil worshiper would sacrifice babies in this dump!

Oh, my God!

Don't you mean, "Oh, my Satan"?

It's the ruins of Panucci's Pizza!

Where I worked a thousand years ago.

Really? Directly under the other pizzeria?

It makes sense.

This address has been zoned as a pizzeria for a millennium.

They must have just kept building them

one on top of another, on top of another,

until they built the second one, and they were done.

So, my old locker must be right...

here!

Ah! My spare delivery pants!

Should I put them on?

I think I speak for everyone when I say,

yes, dammit, yes!

And so, despite the overzealous reporting of my colleague...

...there is no baby-murdering pepperoni operation

in this filthy basement.

We sincerely apologize for any excitement we may have caused.

Well, I'm a sleazebag,

and the people of District 97 deserve better.

Congratulations, Blazucchi.

I'm droppin' outta the race

to focus on my presidential ambitions.

Hello...

Blecch?

What are you a-doing in mystery basement?

And where did you get that pepperoni?

Eh...

Well, I...

I a-show you.

This is-a where I get my melt-in-you-face pepperoni.

It's been a-dry aging for a thousand years.

Wow, since Fry worked here!

I remember it like it was yesteryear...

only, we didn't hang pepperoni from the ceiling.

We just stuck it on a high shelf to keep the laziest rats away.

The only thing hanging from the ceiling

was fly paper.

So where'd the pepperoni come from?

It's a log of dead flies!

At least it's not babies.

Uh...

Do you, Boxy Robot, solemnly swear to uphold the obscure

and trivial ordinances of District 97?

Well, you may not have gotten elected,

but at least your reputation is, uh...

never mind.

So, you think you might follow in my footsteps,

now that you've seen how thrillin' bureaucracy can be?

No. I still find bureaucracy super boring.

But...

I think you're pretty cool.

That's 92.5% of all I could ask for.

Hey, it's our handsome waiter!

And he's wearing pants!

I swear before God almighty

that these pants will never see the inside of a washing machine.

No. No, no, no, no!

What is it?

Pineapple!