Original subtitles

[♪ theme music playing]

Do you, Boxy, take this air conditioner to be your lawfully wedded...

You can't go through with it, Boxy.

For she is your sister.

[all gasp]

And my sister.

And my wife!

-[all gasp] -[thudding]

And my air conditioner!

[all yell]

Oh, there you are. Behold.

What in the name of my ass is going on here?

The Academy of Inventors' Annual Competition is approaching.

So I've created the world's most powerful sewing machine.

That is an amazing invention.

This isn't the invention, you boob.

Let me just activate it using my footnological marvel,

the toelonger.

It's glorious!

That's not the invention, either. Stop guessing.

The theme of the competition is recycling.

So I'm attempting to recycle old human parts

into a new, environmentally-friendly human.

Hyello, Mr. Professorvich.

Very extremely good catch for you today.

Luckily was big railroad accident.

I'll take a pound and a half of hand.

Wow. Is that a flatlock seam?

Why, thank you for noticing, Amy.

It looks elegant and minimizes blood loss.

Now, the easy part.

[crackling]

[lightning strikes]

[all scream]

Voilà!

Um, Professor? Most people have a head.

Sure. The in-crowd.

Look, you've come this far.

You don't wanna lose the contest over a few style points.

Fine. Let's fancy it up with a head.

The head is the part with the teeth and the sneeze hole, right?

Any of you presidents need a body?

Can it hit a no-look jump shot?

-Uh, sure. -Then why does it need me?

[presidents laughing]

Good one, Mommy!

Whoa! The Gallery of Supermodels!

Ugh. Okay, but remember: Their eyes are up here.

Um, do any of you lovely lady... People...

[Fry groans]

Which of you indistinguishable human heads wants a body?

Is it tall?

I miss doing runway shows and intimidating short people.

The left side's pretty tall.

Trust me, it's attractive.

It's got thick, luxurious hair all over the place,

and several legs that just won't quit.

And one that will.

[woman] I'll do it.

Really?

Of course, dear, it's not the body, it's how you wear it.

[gasps] That's Cara Delevingne. She invented eyebrows.

And finished!

[chuckles] Oh, no, this won't do.

That's the only head we got.

I mean, what I'm wearing.

I'm sorry, Cara. But due to your various and unusual proportions,

no clothing will ever fit you.

There's just no possible way to... I've got it!

Simply step into my 3D clothing scanner.

You didn't need that hind leg anyway.

Now, we'll take your exact measurements.

Good Lord! Encode them in a strand of RNA.

Inject it into a giant Bolivian silkworm.

Let it spin its cocoon.

And six weeks later, presto!

We have a custom fitted silk garment.

Thanks, but it's a little Soviet brutalist for me.

That's because you are looking at the wrong side.

[gasps] This is spectacular.

I never expected to love something so much

that was excreted from a moth.

Scientists and scienticians,

I'm proud to present the finalists for this year's Inventors' Award.

First up, Dr. Bubblegum Tate,

and his postdoctoral fellow, Sweet Clyde Dixon.

Dr. Dixon and I have devised a way to generate clean power

from the billions of basketballs discarded each year by the Big 12.

[crowd applauding]

Next up, last year's winner, Professor Ogden Wernstrom.

Wernstrom!

Discarded doomsday devices pose a grave environmental risk.

So I've invented a way of reprogramming them

into lovable companions for the elderly.

[whining]

[all] Aww!

Come along, Explodey.

[crowd applauding]

And last up...

...Professor Hubert J. Farnsworth.

Colleagues, you witness history tonight.

The technology to recycle the dead back to semi-normal life.

[all exclaiming]

It's a scientific leap for humanity.

Questions?

Who made that dress? It's fabulous.

Did you not hear what I said? I brought a human back to life!

But that gown brings sexy back to science.

Are there any questions about my invention and not the damn dress?

And now, to announce the winner.

In the spirit of recycling, we're reusing last year's envelope.

And the winner was Ogden Wernstrom.

[crowd applauding]

[sighs]

[cameras clicking]

Cara! Over here. Show us the dress.

Oh, what's going on? The photon pressure is knocking me over.

Who are you wearing? You look incredible.

It's a brand new designer.

-The Professor. -Wha...

All my life, I've pursued my first love, science.

But my career has come to naught.

It's time to admit I should have pursued my first love,

fashion.

[♪ upbeat music playing]

-Oh, my. -That'll look better on me.

I've got a midlife crisis ponytail for a Hubert Farnsworth.

It's pronounced Hugh-bear.

It is?

-[exclaims] -Gorgeous, like a desiccated Zac Posen.

Hugh-bear, I'm going to make you a star.

I've made a few calls. You're on a magazine cover, baby.

Oh, my.

I'm on the cover of Vague. My mother would be so confused.

[doorbell rings]

It's Gladys Lennox, the world-famous paramecium,

star of Mitosis, Lies and Videotape.

Is there something we can help you with, Ms. Lennox?

I saw the dress you made and I must have one.

I just love the stitch work.

Thank you. It's holding my neck on.

Cara's one of a kind.

Not like those mass-produced Frankensteins you see nowadays.

Being boneless, clothing never fits me.

It's like trying to put pants on a waterbed.

I once got the pants off a waterbed,

but that's a very long, very dirty story.

[laughs]

I can make you an outfit, Ms. Lennox, but it's a slow, meticulous process.

Also expensive.

Money's no object. I have contractile vacuoles full of it.

Gol'durned cytoplasm.

Yeah! That's it!

Make sweet asexual love to the scanner.

No, don't shake your money maker.

Give me less of that. Don't work it, baby.

-[cameras clicking] -[people cheering]

Ooh. I want to give myself an award for looking at that dress.

Who are you wearing, Gladys?

What, this little thing? It's from the House of Professor.

-Get me the Professor. -Get me the Professor.

Get me the Professor.

The Professor.

Tim Gunn here at Milan Fashion Week.

Today, the hot, new, old designer

whose name is on everyone's silicone-filled lips:

Hugh-bear Farntsvirt.

Please, no photons.

[crowd murmuring]

Two minutes.

I'm so nervous, and I can barely move in these high heeled slippers.

How am I supposed to walk Marcelle?

Not to worry. Zoidberg will walk your leggy snake.

-[snarls] -[snarls]

Welcome to the fashion event of the millennium!

We call it Haute Cocoon, by the Professor. Enjoy.

[crowd exclaiming]

I'll be...

[♪ upbeat music playing]

Shock me back to life with a defibrillator because I am dead.

I'm Zoidberg. I'm on the list.

Sorry, we're full. The anteater can come in, though.

But I'm on the list. Right there.

Now you're not.

You're dressed like some sort of

underpaid lobster doctor from outer space.

But I can't afford nicer clothings.

Then beat it.

I've never felt so worthless. I'll just throw myself in the garbage.

You can't come in our dumpster what looking like that.

Not during Fashion Week.

[all cheering]

You're a hit, Professor!

You'll be invited to every party, every soirée, every orgy.

And I'll stay home napping. Who's gonna stop me?

Zoidberg! What are you doing?

Jumping.

[Leela gasps]

-No, stop. -You don't get it.

Your fabulous clothing just makes the other 99% of us sad and jealous.

[sniffles]

I'm sick of dressing in factory reject chef's jackets

and children's flip flops.

Goodbye, fancy friends.

No!

Don't do it!

Zoidberg, don't kill yourself!

What? No, I'm just going underwater where the fashion standards are lower.

Excuse me, the fashion standards aren't lower.

Why, look at the flatlock seam on my clam shells.

[sighs]

[grunts]

Professor, when you started your line,

you were proud the clothes could fit anyone.

But it's only the wealthy who can enjoy them.

I feel for you, Zoidberg.

But there's simply no way to mass produce my cocoon patterns.

And moth chow isn't free.

But isn't the difference between couture

and ready-to-wear just a matter of technology?

Well, I suppose it is.

I've never told anyone this,

but it's been my lifelong dream to be a famous scientist.

Perhaps I could use science to bring fashion to the masses,

but no, I'm afraid it's completely...

Eureka!

Bender, hand me that hat from my new October line.

[laughing maniacally]

Fly, fly, my pretties!

[continues laughing]

Welcome to Good Morning Tonight. Or as I like to say, Good Mor-night.

[laughs]

I will destroy you and your entire species

if you continue to combine those words.

This mor-night, we have a very special guest in the studio.

Legendary fashion designer, Hugh-bear Farntsvirt.

-[♪ upbeat music playing] -[crowd applauding]

Morbo has heard through his earpiece that this wrinkly human

now offers a clothing line for a broader audience.

Indeed I do.

You see, I've created a variant on the giant moth

I use for my couture line.

For a low monthly price, you get a hanger moth for your closet.

And it extrudes a bespoke tailored outfit every day.

They're essentially high-speed 3D silk printers.

Morbo demands a demonstration!

This just in. I look fabulous.

These slacks really flatter Morbo's pulsating buttocks.

How do I wash them?

Oh, no need to wash anything.

The outfits fall apart after one day's use.

But they'd be out of fashion by then anyway.

Each night, just dispose of them in my patented fash-can.

It's fast fashion at its fastiest.

Where do the clothes go?

Who knows? Who cares?

Tell us, Professor Farntsvirt,

how can our viewers get your new clothing line?

Just leave the window open and the light on.

Great look, Zoidberg. Very today.

Thank you.

Though, to be honest, I liked yesterday's even better.

Would it be possible

-to get those pants back? -No!

They made my hips look like I had hips.

-But I threw them in the fash-can. -Forget it.

Yesterday's pants are completely out of date.

Hugh-bear, Zoidberg knows what he likes,

and that means he has something even better than fashion.

He has style.

-Wha... -Plus, isn't it more environmental

to wear a piece of clothing twice before you throw it away?

I would gladly crawl in after them, but I can't fit in the fash-can.

Anything can fit.

The fash-can is a multi-dimensional wormhole through space and time

and probably some other things.

Allow me to demonstrate.

Jessica. Oh, Jessica.

Go on, girl. Get your peanut.

[trumpeting]

Professor! That's horrible!

Relax. I get a new pet every day to go with my outfits.

That's slightly worse.

It's simply too dangerous to pass through

a trillion light-year wormhole for a pair of pants.

Why, the temporal distortion alone could render you...

Whoa.

That's what I was gonna say.

We're coming out of the wormhole.

[gasps] There's a planet ahead!

Shmoly-moly!

If any civilization was here,

it's been smothered by the Professor's clothes.

The devastation is too much. It's beyond comprehension.

My pants!

All right, let's snag Zoidberg's pants and get out of here.

Bender, deploy the space hooker.

Deploy her? I barely know her.

[laughing]

Just kidding. I'm a regular customer.

It's a total shirt storm.

What do we do? Panic?

[beeping]

A flock of Canadian bras got sucked into the engine.

We'll have to crash land.

[all screaming]

And we're fine.

I believe we were spared for one reason, and one reason only.

To save Zoidberg's pants. Come on.

-Wuzzat? -Moths! Huge ones!

They must be feasting on high-protein sportswear.

Actually, it's not the moths that eat clothes. It's the caterpillars.

People don't know that because they're tiny and hard to see.

[all screaming]

[growling]

And we're fine.

What's this metal thing we're cowering behind?

Some sort of abandoned structure.

The Professor really did destroy a civilization.

It's history's most brutal crime of fashion.

Ah, my pants! There, in that pile of crisp whites.

Oh, to wear them just once more!

-[snarling] -[gasps]

The Professor's garbage pets.

Run for your lives.

No. I am a professional fashion model.

We do not run. We strut.

And we do not leave our comrades' fallen pants behind.

Sounds good. We'll meet you in the ship. And by meet you, I mean, ditch you.

[panting]

[cat hisses]

Cara, look out!

[grunts]

[Cara grunting]

Everybody on board. Before we get buried.

Jump!

[yelps]

-Hang on. You'll be okay. -But my grip is crumpling the pants.

So I'll iron them.

No, the material's too cheap.

It won't stand up to even the lowest setting.

I'll wear them wrinkled. I can pull it off.

Don't be a fool.

What is one life against a completely decent pair of pants?

Goodbye.

Cara. No!

[sobbing]

Oh, good, you're back.

I can toss yesterday's conquistador ensemble without damaging the ship.

Stop! We saw where the clothes are going.

You've wiped out an entire planet.

Wiped out, you say?

Well, if everyone is already dead, I don't see the problem.

Someone might still be alive under all those vegan leather pants.

Those are not breathable. You gotta do something!

[sighs] Very well.

The ship's log should hold the space time coordinates

of the planet you came from.

I'll send them a jaws of life or something.

-[gasps] -What is it? Something surprising?

The planet you went to was...

...was Earth!

But that's our planet, right?

And we're not buried under miles of laundry.

Don't you see, you imbecile?

No, sir, I'm afraid I don't.

It's Earth in the future.

We sent the clothes to our own future!

[gasps]

You finally did it, you fast fashionistas!

Damn you all to TJ Maxx!

What kind of world have we left for our children?

Or their children?

Or their children's children?

Wait, how far into the future did we send the clothes?

What time is it?

[thunder rumbling]

[♪ theme music playing]