Clone of My Own Good news! The university is bringing me up|on disciplinary charges.
Wait, that's not good news.
Whatever you did, I'm sure|there's a good explanation.
Yes, but they won't listen.
Everyone's always in favor|of saving Hitler's brain.
But when you put it in the body|of a great white shark? Suddenly you've gone too far! Professor Farnsworth, do you know|why we've called you here today? Listen to me, you pompous frauds! If I'm going down,|I'm taking you all with me! Dean Vernon, I know the truth! It was you driving your hover car|that night, not your horse.
Dean Epsilon I know all about your|"Department of Pool Boy Studies".
And Dr.
Wernstrum? Wernstrum! Actually, professor,|we merely called you here to say surprise.
- Happy birthday!|- Surprise! And you, Coach Smalley! Or should I say, "Coach Hairpiece"? No, professor.
|It's a surprise party for your 150th birthday! Good evening, I'm Sorry.
I'm Bender, and I'll be|emceeing this roast.
They say you can judge a man|by the company he keeps.
So here's the professor's oldest|friend, a grotesque, stinking lobster! Good evening, ladies and germs.
That wasn't a joke.
|I was talking to Dean Streptococcus.
Now I'm not saying|Professor Farnsworth is old but if you consider his age,|he's likely to die soon.
Hey, Ringo? That was the joke.
It's ShoWtime at the Apollo|all over again.
Where would a professor be without|students who love and respect him? Right there! But seriously, of all the former crew|members of his delivery ship our next speaker is by far|the most alive.
Captain Musky? I wouldn't want to follow that guy.
And now, a man who needs|no introduction.
Fry, get up there! Thank you.
When I was first asked to make a film|about my nephew, the professor I thought, why should I?|Then later, Leela made the film.
But if I had made it, there would be|more topless women on motorcycles.
Roll film.
Hubert J.
FarnsWorth Was born|April 9th, 2851 in NeW NeW York's nerdiest slum,|Hell's Laboratory.
A precocious child, he learned to read|While he Was still in diapers at age 8.
Soon he became a greasy teenager.
Dork alert! After 14 years of graduate school he settled into the glamorous life|of a scientist.
Fast cars, trendy nightspots beautiful Women.
The professor designed them all,|Working out of his one-room apartment.
For 50 years, he Worked at|Mom's Friendly Robot Company Where he created the first robot|capable of qualifying for a boat loan.
And noW, even as he nears|his 150th birthday the professor retains|the fiery passion of youth.
Listen to me, you pompous frauds! If I'm going doWn,|I'm taking you all With me! How about a few words, professor? I said, words.
What a pleasure it is to see|my lifetime of accomplishment summed up in a 3-minute film.
My best years are behind me.
So much left undone.
So little time.
Funny, funny stuff! My life is over.
No, it isn't.
|You have another 10 years left.
Leela, he could live|another 100 years! No, he couldn't.
When you turn 160 robots from the Sunset Squad|take you to a mysterious planet and you never return.
Wow, a whole planet of old people.
|Where is it? Nobody knows.
So many loves half-loved.
So many inventions half-invented.
That damn time machine alone|set me back 15 years.
If only it'd work, you could go back|and not waste your time on it.
There's no one to carry on|after I'm gone.
No one to take over my work and|my research and my fabulous fortune.
By God, that's it! I've got to name a successor! A successor? A successor to the professor? There's no time to lose.
I'm off to my lab to build|a successor-naming machine! The professor's been in his lab|for days! I hope he didn't die.
|Unless he named me his successor.
Then I hope he did die.
You, the successor?|Over my empty shell! The professor will pick me.
|Only I have his lobster-like tenacity.
Up yours, Zoidberg! Up wherever your species|traditionally crams things.
The only sensible way to pick|a successor is with a limbo contest.
- What?|- Kingston rules.
Two men go down, one comes up.
Look, the professor trusts me|with a giant spaceship.
He wouldn't trust you|with his dentures.
Yes, he would.
Sorry, everyone.
But need I remind|you, blood is thicker than water.
Blood.
Thicker.
Water.
Everyone, I have a very|dramatic announcement.
So anyone with a weak heart|should leave now.
Goodbye.
Professor? Oh, yes! The announcement.
As you all know,|I am not long for this world.
- Yes, we know.
|- One foot in the grave.
So I've picked my successor.
It's someone in whom|I have great faith though his mind is undeveloped|and he's accomplished nothing.
My closest living relative my clone, Qbert Farnsworth.
He's horrible! Crud.
Can I at least be in charge|of your dentures? You wish.
Where did he come from? by removing skin cells from one|of the shapelier growths on my back.
If he's your clone, why doesn't|his nose look like yours? I left him in his first tube too long|and he got squished against the side.
Is he dumb or just ugly? Let's find out.
What? You've never seen|a genius's wiener before? - No.
Never.
|- Well, once in the park.
Since I'm going to be in charge let me examine my so-called crew.
If it can so be called.
First of all, Dr.
Zoidberg do you even have a medical degree? I lost it.
In a volcano.
And why do we need a bending robot|around here anyway? What possible use do we have for you? Me no speak-a the English.
And why does our space pilot|have only one eye? There's someone I'd like you to meet.
|His name is depth perception.
Why, you little Wow, that hurt the air! Him pending para un bending.
Qbert, come in here.
I'll show you something amazing.
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