Örnek Ürün Sayfası – 8

I’ll need accomplices. A sexy vamp to distract and tie up the guard. Never. A claw man to slip past the metal scanner And cut the alarm wires. Sorry, I’m set for life after that last job. And finally, a chump To be caught on video and later arrested. As I told you on sucker-punch day, I’m through being a chump. Of course, it would all require split-second, robotic timing. That’s where I come in. You see, I own a watch. There. This time I’m sure I’ve fixed the mind-switcher.

It’s gone! Yes, fellow patriots! I ate your flag! And I did it with pride. For to express oneself by doing a thing, is the very essence of Freedom Day! Bless this planet and all its wonderful people! Kill him! Kill the traitor! that desecrated our flag! Stop that red menace! My planet’s embassy? They’re paid to not kill me! I thought I understood this world. I thought I was fitting in. But I guess I don’t belong here any more than I do on our crappy home planet. Sorry. What sorry? Our planet stinks.

Stupid electro-matter. That was my best trash can. Pain sensor overload. Misfile me under UFor euphoric. You get an infinite number of meat dishes, and a free refill on the soda. Eureka. Another elementary proof of the Goldbach conjecture. And that’s what’s wrong with heaven. It’s boring. There’s no sleaze. It time snu-snu. Me like snu-snu. Last one to mattress island is a rotten egg. Why were we so angry and jealous back in our universe? I don’t know. It was all so childish.

So, hey, Calculon, I know I’m the new guy, and, pardon my ignorance, but when do we kill all humans? Never. But what about our motto? Doesn’t it mean anything? Oh, Bender, your idealism is heartwarming. hasn’t killed a human in over 800 years. And that was a very sick girl scout. Quite sick indeed. Sweet, innocent Bender. I declare my impenetrable diamondillium sphere complete! Now look here, Wernstrom. You’re making it sound as if the sphere was your idea when we both know. All credit to my colleague, Ogden Wernstrom! It’s horrible! I can’t make it! Go on without me! I’m trying! Go on without me faster! Sweet squid of Madrid! The tentacle got Fry! Quick, hand me my machete! We can still save his legs! Silence! I have traveled far and seen deep, and I have come to know the purpose of our existence.

While l, in a simultaneous blunder, created a box containing your universe. This is getting confusing. Why don’t we call our universe Universe A and this universe Universe B. Hey! Why can’t we be Universe A? We want A! It’s the best letter! We called it first. Besides, this place kind of feels like a B, you know? All right, you can be crummy Universe A. And we’ll be Universe One. Or the Mongooses. That’s a cool team name. The Fighting Mongooses. Wait a second! lf everyone is identical.

It’s the price of a pizza and soda- You know what needs to be done. Get his PIN number, you idiots! Now I’m off to some charity B. S. for knocked-up teenage sluts. Mr. Fry, it’s those three plumbers you called for. We’re here to tighten your drains. I didn’t order any- Quick! Give him the tranquilizer! Wake up, Mr. Fry. Where am l? You’re in the good old year 2000, working at Pinucci’s Pizza. You fell asleep on the job. That sounds like me. But I thought I got frozen. Wasn’t I in the future? No.

Big whale over there. I saw it first. Wait! That no white whale! It gray thinkie whale! Farewell! You will all be trapped in this dense symbolist tome forever! Follow him! It’s our only way out! Have you seen a giant brain? Yep. I let him help with the fence. Tom Sawyer, you tricked me. This is less fun than previously indicated. Let this corny slice of Americana be your tomb for all eternity. Come on! Mr. Fry? Mama says you’re quite the oddity. A bachelor at your age. I’m an oddity? Wait till.

You mind rubbing it for me? Sure. A little lower. Lower. That’s it. A little lower, though. I can’t get any lower. You’re rubbing my ass! They know what you like, and they do it to within one micron. Spin those fans, baby. All right, mama! Spin it, baby. Gyrate it, honey! I don’t like this place. It’s 120 with little oxygen. Shut up and hoot. All right! In Mexico, I believe. And that ain’t silicon. It’s tungsten, and plenty of it. Look at that exhaust fan. Pervert. Thanks, moderate spender.