Saying 'it was just a routine day at work' may mean nothing normally at many establishments, but at Planet Express, this would make anyone 'in the know' cringe, and feel utter compassion toward the person explaining their day...
Today, was just a routine day at work.
The Professor had connived his friend John into helping him with an unethical and possibly dangerous experiment.
Like I said, it was just a routine day at work.
“So, Hubert, my good friend? What is it you want me to do again?” the Decapodian made smacking and slurping noises with his mouth. “I will be getting more of that delectable, divine meal if I help, right?”
“No! I told you you'll have to wait nine months!” The Professor fumed. “Just because we have more boxes of 'Placenta Helper' doesn't mean we have more placenta! They don't grow on trees, you know!”
“No, and they come with a terrible side effect,” the Professor shook his head sadly. “the spreading of Fry's DNA. Now if you could just sit right there under that large machine...”
“This one with the ray gun, the probes, syringes, and the glowing, humming 55 gallon drum?”
“That's the one.” the old crackpot smiled, and rubbed his hands together gleefully. Strapping his unwitting accomplice in tightly, he shuffled off behind a large lead barrier and started flipping switches. “Now you may feel a bit of discomfort...”
“Tell me again, old friend, how this will make Zoidberg handsome and... AAAAAIIIIIEEEEE!!!”
The Doctor's shrieking could be heard a block away, as birds took off for shelter, mothers took their children inside for safe keeping, and hydrants burst. As the smoke cleared, the Professor shut down his machine and came out from behind the barrier. Waving a hand before his face to fan the fumes, he looked at the results of his experiment...
“Oh blast you, Buddha! It smells like a crawdad boil gone bad! How do you feel, Johnny?”
“Am I pretty?” a voice buzzed/rasped.
The Professor leaned forward and squinted. He poked Zoidberg cautiously with a finger. An angry sounding buzzing came through the last remaining wisps of smoke.
“That tickled, it did!”
“Aw damn it,” the looney old man muttered. “wrong DNA code. I KNEW I shouldn't have gotten the information from Bing! I wanted the code for Jeff Goldblum, not one of the characters from one of his crappy sci-fi movies! Like the first one would have worked, anyway...”
“Am I at least better looking, Hubert old friend?” The Doctor buzzed/rasped.
“Uh,” he scratched his bald pate and thought quickly of an honest, yet non harsh reply, “You are definitely the best looking one of your kind, I've ever seen?”
Landing the ship in the hangar and walking down it's staircase, the pilot and the delivery boy could be heard bickering once again about 'being a toy prize short of a happy meal' definitely is NOT a compliment, and he only proved their point by thanking them profusely.
“But they said it to me with a smile, Leela!”
“Fry, for the last time, that was SARCASM. And, Oh Lord! What smells like New Jersey in here?” the cyclops wrinkled her nose and made a disgusted face. She eyed the Professor cautiously as he met them at the bottom of the stairs. “Professor, do you have anything to do with this ungodly stench in here?”
“What stench?” he smiled, not so innocently. “nothing going on here! Move along!” he shuffled them over to their lockers.
“Now I KNOW you have something to do with this!” the star ship captain stood in front of her employer, arms akimbo, and tapping a boot on the floor. “Professor, did Zoidberg get electrocuted messing with one of your experiments again?”
“It does kinda smell like a Louisiana boiling pot in here.” The delivery boy sniffed the air. “Now I want cornbread...”
“No accident at all!” the Professor huffed. “Just what kind of mad professor do you take me for?” The two people standing in front of him just stared back at him. Looking at his wrist that was missing a watch, he exclaimed, “Oh my, look at the time! Time for you two to go! Oh my, yes! Go do whatever you two crazy lovebirds do! Bye bye!”
Leela narrowed her eye at the Professor as he closed the door and locked it behind him, after escorting them out of the back exit.
“Fry, I don't know what your nephew is up to, but I know he's up to something.”
The next morning, Fry and Leela were in the kitchen area, nursing steaming mugs of coffee, keeping them close to their faces, so the smell of java helped cover the smell of sickening funk still permeating the building. All three of their eyes rolled, and they added to the collective groan when the words 'BAD NEWS EVERYONE' echoed around them. Walking over to the conference table, they sat down with the Professor, Hermes, Amy, Scruffy, and what they assumed was Zoidberg, hidden under a canvas tarp.
“Bad, bad, terrible news, everyone!” the Professor clucked his tongue. “I almost hate to tell you, for fear of breaking your hearts.”
“Oh no!” Amy said, horrified. “Please don't say our delivery and free time to Sybian 7 has been canceled!”
“Worse, I'm afraid.” the old codger shook his head sadly.
“WORSE!?” the Asian/Martian doctor shrieked.
“Scruffy's heart has nary felt a pain as this. Un uh.” the mustachioed janitor hung his head.
“Aw, man, I was looking forward to Scruffy's and Amy's composition of 'The William Tell Overture' while using the...”
“Can it, Fry.” Leela snapped. “What is it, Professor, and WHY is Zoidberg hiding under a tarp?”
“Oh,” the old man sighed, “THAT'S the bad news. Zoidberg's DNA restructuring went horribly, horribly wrong!” Pulling the tarp back and exposing the Doctor, everyone let out a horrified gasp.
“Hello, friends!” Zoidberg buzzed, and jumped on the table, standing on Hermes' breakfast pastry. “Oooooh! Yummy! Mind if I have some?” He threw up on it, and started sucking up the dissolving goo.
“DAMN IT, mon!” The Jamaican bureaucrat screamed.
“What the HELL!?” Leela leaned back in her chair. “Zoidberg... is that YOU!? How could you let the Professor do that to you?”
“Food.” He answered matter of factly, while cleaning his huge compound eyes. “Placenta helper is my favorite! I couldn't help myself! Leela, do you think maybe I can have more...”
“What? WHAT!? PROFESSOR! You said you wanted that for stem cell study!” she sputtered, as she turned toward the Professor.
“Well, yes,” he held his index finger and thumb up, and held them apart a miniscule distance from one another. “A little.” The employees all started to look like they were going to be ill.
“You bribed the stupid idiot with afterbirth to do what? Turn him into a hemorrhoid infested, pimple oozing, ass smelling, B grade horror monster? Even the Garden State wouldn't want him!”
“Awww.” Zoidberg hung his head and started to sob.
“Way to go, Leela. Now he's ugly, and you've hurt his feelings!” Fry said.
“Fry, LOOK at him! By far, that has got to be the nastiest, ugliest, smelliest pile of crap ever to walk in the entire universe!”
“Well, sure he is, Leela,” the redhead agreed, “But I was at least polite, and didn't say anything in front of him!”
“He was hideous enough before, mon! What did you go and do THAT for?” Hermes asked, holding his nose, and shielding his eyes.
“DNA re-writing is the new fad at the Inventor's Convention, and I figured 'what if I took the most hideous person I know, and improved their looks'...” The Professor rubbed his forehead and then sighed. “Oh, I guess I'll have nothing to show, and be the laughing stock at the convention again, this year.”
“Professor, don't you have any other invention you haven't shown them yet?” Amy thought of things for him. “What if you...”
“Amy! You're a genius!” The old man laid a sloppy kiss on her cheek...
As the humming and the colors faded from the screen on the 'What If” machine, the Professor shuddered.
“Oh, great Cthulhu below! That was HORRIFYING!” Shuffling over to his computer, he turned it on. “I must make sure NEVER to let that happen! Oh, the confusion of too many search bars!” He started deleting search bars. “Now... What can I bring to the convention this year? Oooh, I'm going to need help on this one! Johnny!”