Man: It's the futurama holiday spectacular brought to you by...
Ah, the xmas season.
Who wants a delicious unshelled nut?
Ooh, I'll have one.
It's "nut" so good.
What's wrong, fry? Are you regretting another wasted year?
I don't know. Something about xmas
just doesn't feel like Christmas.
Santa's coming! Initiate defenses!
God rest ye merry gentlemen
in peace.
Can someone please explain how you celebrate this crazy holiday?
Preferably in song.
It's the violentest season of the year
when kringle-bot come dispensing mugs ofxmas fear
sugar plummy visions will be dancing in your head
when I cane you from the comfort of my sled
on xmas Eve, we Don our gay apparel
kevlar vests, asbestos stockings and a barrel
and if grandma's xmas fruitcake finally reaches critical mass
it can be re-gifted straight to Santa's ass
but the ornamental armaments are merely superficial
the tinsel and the trappings are just icing on the missile
the one thing that you need to make youeras day splendiferous
is a pine tree a pine tree that's coniferous
we have to have a pine tree that's coniferous
you're welcome.
You know, Santa may have killed scruffy, but he makes a good point.
What we need is an old-fashioned pine tree.
Cram it, Virginia.
Pine trees have been extinct for over 800 years.
Professor, maybe there's some way
to bring the pine trees back to life.
Like we did with the barking snakes.
Pine trees aren't barking snakes.
They won't just turn up in a salad at olive garden.
But there is one hope and, as usual, it's Norwegian.
Behold!
The Svalbard global seed vault.
Since 2008, the vault has preserved seeds of every known plant species,
in case of extinction.
And I brought a few seeds of my own.
Halt! What's your business pokey-poking about the seed vault?
Guardian of mankind's precious botanical heritage there?
We just want to come in and rummage about a bit.
Oh, so... okay.
Yo, abba, what's that next door?
That's the germ warfare repository.
It's so close.
Is there any chance of cross-contamination?
Now, your pine trees were all chopped down
to make emergency toilet paper during the fifty-year squirts.
Lucky the seeds have been preserved here in the vault there.
What's that splork on them?
It's not germs, is it?
Now that's a tree worth chopping down.
Indeed, 'tis a lovely tree.
'Twill truly be my finest xmas ever.
That's what my poll numbers need.
Happy voters enjoying some holiday cheer.
As your vice-president, I order you to steal that tree.
My fellow earthicans,
welcome to the annual white house xmas-tree lighting,
brought to you by gunderson's nuts.
Woman: Gunderson!
Oh, no! Could the seed have been contaminated
by a virus from the germ vault?
Yeah, I suppose.
Wait. This could be a good thing. That weaponized virus
made the sickly, little tree grow big and strong.
Wait. This could be a good thing.
Reforestation has begun.
Geez, with these...
Arguably, this could be a good thing.
The planet has returned to its primeval state.
Earth is just the way it was before the white man came.
Good news.
All these pine trees are fighting global warming
by producing oxygen.
Happy now, Gore?
Yeah.
But I'd be happier if I had a set of lungs.
Wait a second. Oxygen levels are rising too rapidly.
10%, 20%, 60%.
As long as it doesn't hit 70.
80%.
You know, I don't recall having done anything for a while,
but I still feel I deserve a smoke.
Hey, cool. The air is on fire.
Ho, ho, ho.
Everyone's dead.
Stay tuned for another tale of holiday hilarity.
Man: Now back to the gunderson's nuts
holiday spectacular featuring futurama.
Okay, crew. Xmas break is over.
It's time to destroy these gifts we forgot to deliver.
Whoa, whoa, whoa!
How come we get off for every dumb human holiday,
but not for robot holidays?
Oh, lord. Not robanukah.
I'm talking about robanukah,
the holiest six and a halfweeks in the robot calendar.
That's just a fake holiday you make up every year to get out of work.
Yeah. If it's real,
how come there's no song that explains how to celebrate it?
Because there is.
Hit it. Hit what?
I placed instruments under your seats.
Play them or I'll break them over your heads.
Robanukah may sound as if it's Jewish
but its ancient-sounding customs are exceptionally newish
so take a hearty swallow from your robo-kiddush cup
which will give me time to quickly make them up
Do you spin a dreidel made from Clay?
Mine is called a droid-El and it's rigged to make you pay
do you eat these yummy, tin-wrapped chocolate coins?
Better. We got fem-bots with illegal five-speed groins
shalom, Ruth and Esther.
Why with the music soloud?
Would it kill him to turn up the heat a little in here?
By far, the most important thing is oil
to keep the lamp light burning or to help the latkes broil
no, we pour the holy lubricant out from this sacred vessel
into this blessed pit so they can wrestle
the extra made-up touch that makes robanukah so special
is the oil in which the nasty fem-bots wrestle
we shall now begin the traditional oil wrestling.
Will the referee bring out the ceremonial cruse of petroleum oil?
Thank you, Abraham.
Not in the hair, please. I just had it did.
Oh, no.
These broads are supposed to wrestle for six and a halfweeks,
but there's only enough petroleum oil for four and a half weeks.
We're still getting paid, right?
I told you it's an audition!
Bender, four and a halfweeks of oil wrestling sounds like plenty.
This isn't a lousy reform robanukah.
We need more petroleum oil!
I got me some whale oil, some squirrel oil.
Not kosher! It has to be petroleum oil!
Do you not give a damn about the hallowed traditions of robanukah?
I reckon I do not.
Anyways, earth done run out of petroleum oil.
I tried to warn you.
One unit of free, limitless solar power, please.
That'll be, I don't know, 10 bucks.
Can you make change for a nobel prize?
Man, can't we just make more petroleum oil?
I'm afraid not, son.
Petroleum only forms when organic matter
is subjected to intense pressure for hundreds of millions of years.
I can't wait that long. I've got add.
This is so unfair.
I don't wrestle dry, bender. I went to vassar.
Professor, I want you to look these poor floozies in the eye
and tell them their oil-wrestling days are over.
I suppose there could be a minute quantity of petroleum left,
but it would be insanely deep within the earth
at pressures so dangerously high...
Let's go, already!
Setting bachman turners to overdrive.
We're getting pretty deep. Look! Mole coffins.
Amy: Oh, no. We tunneled into a tunnel.
What's that loud, boring sound you'll hear when I stop talking?
Farnsworth: It's an albino humping worm.
Why do they call it that?
Because it doesn't have any pigment.
What's our depth, captain?
Forty kilometers, 50.
There must be petroleum oil down here somewhere.
Go deeper. Deeper!
No, bender. The ship can't withstand this much pressure.
Sometimes it falls apart just sitting in the hangar.
Professor, I've never asked for anything before,
but seeing those fem-bots glistening
with oil means more to me than life itself.
Call me an old fool, but I believe the lord is speaking through you.
Brace yourselves, everyone.
One hundred kilometers.
Two hundred.
I hate to complain about the heat,
but the air conditioner's on fire.
My ice cream manwich!
What the hell are we doing?
We're all gonna die so this junkyard golem can celebrate robanukah.
You vile racist.
Haven't my people suffered enough?
Now keep drilling for that petroleum oil, you selfish cowards.
Although, then again, I guess any kind of oil would be just as...
Not my fault.
I am so great. Bender is great
bender, bender, bender
man, where'd the time go?
Hey, you guys wanna... Oh. Right.
They turned into petroleum oil.
I thought they were selfish, yet in the end,
it turns out it was I who thought they were selfish.
Hey, ladies, I found some. What the...
There was only enough petroleum oil
for four and a half weeks of oil wrestling,
but it lasted 500 million years.
It's a miracle.
Happy robanukah, everyone.
Coming up next, more thoughtful, interfaith hijinks.
Man: And now, the unrelated conclusion.
Hello, fry. Hey, fry!
How you doing? What's up?
Labarbara, hermes, happy kwanzaa.
We brought a chocolate cake,
but now I'm worried that might be offensive in some way.
Just sit down.
Happy kwanzaa, brother men and sister men.
Well, look at the cat the cat dragged in.
Kwanzaa tradition encourages educational gifts.
So I brought Dwight my book on mathketball.
Whoa! Let me see that.
I'll sign it for you later.
Man, it's a cold one out there.
Barbados slim?
Come in, Barbados.
Look at yourself, all throbbing and shirtless for the holiday.
I hope you're ready to celebrate.
All night long, woman.
I'm glad you all could be here with my family.
Kwanzaa traditions are quite ancient, dating back over 1,000 years.
Whoa!
If only someone could tell us more about these traditions.
Oh, yeah.
Hey, kool-aid's here.
No, child. That's not a made-up character.
It's kwanzaa-bot.
And I'm gonna tell you all how we celebrate kwanzaa.
Zoidberg, lay down a beat.
How about I just lay down?
There's seven basic principles that go to make up kwanzaa
so sit your asses down and have some knowledge dropped upon ya
kufichaguha
and umoja. And the rest!
Now we get it
sit back down there's gonna be a test
my favorite's ujamaa
cooperative economics
yo, bulldog, I'm talking here put away the comics
ku'umba is another one it stands for creativity
like the ever-changing nature of my sexual proclivities
I think there's one called Nia but I don't speak Swahili
something about a pine tree and an oil-wrestling deal-y?
That's from xmas and robanukah you plagiarizing lout
yeah, I'm kind of losing interest here 1 best be rolling out
but before I go, the most important thing
what's that, black Santa?
You need seven kwanzaa candles that you light up every night
but they best be made of beeswax
or you all might as well be white
they must be made of beeswax or we might as well be white
well, we got no beeswax candles,
but these scented regular wax candles will do just fine.
Girl, those stink sticks are for single women who take baths.
If your kwanzaa candles ain't 100% beeswax,
you bring shame on your people.
Well, now that won't do.
Husband, show a little ku'umba
and fetch some beeswax before kwanzaa ends.
Sweet candelabra of la habra, labarbara.
Isn't this the last night of kwanzaa?
Who the hell knows?
Finally, a bee farm that's open late on kwanzaa.
Madam, I need beeswax.
You sure you don't need a little honey, handsome?
Maybe a taste of sweet nectar straight from the hive?
I just need some beeswax to make kwanzaa candles.
Well, that's too darn bad.
There ain't no beeswax in the whole world.
Oh, no. This could be the year without a kwanzaa,
like every year before 1966.
The bees are acting all crazy
like they been drinking tang and cough syrup,
or as I call it, my Friday night.
My god.
It's colony collapse syndrome. The bees are swarming with parasites.
They're all dying.
Yeah, but what a way to go.
"Die young, leave a pretty corpse," that's what I say.
You should say something else.
Wait. I know where we can get beeswax.
From those giant space bees who nearly killed us,
and we swore we'd never go back there.
Let's go back there.
To communicate with the bees,
we'll need to use these trans-bumbleators.
Benden say something in bee talk.
I'm sorry, bender. What do you want me to put on the glass?
Okay, if we survive.
Something's wrong. It's way too quiet.
Like the deadly prius.
Farnsworth: Ah, here they come.
They're in attack formation. They're gonna kill us.
That was weird.
It's like the Jagermeister air show all over again.
According to Google hive,
we are at the exact center of the honeycomb.
And there's a jamba juice 0.2 miles that way.
Does that thing tell you where the queen bee is?
The big, fat, ugly, compound-eyed, hairy-thoraxed...
Don't be applying your eurocentric
standards of beauty to me, fool.
What's with the kamikaz-bees?
Man, my hive's been going buck-wild
since these blood-ganking butt crabs moved in.
Been there, done that.
They're all infected, just like the bees on earth.
Brother-sucking parasites gone and disrupted our hive mind.
Now, instead of working in Harmony,
my bees just talk smack to each other.
Are you all black with yellow stripes
or are you yellow with black stripes?
Yellow with black stripes, man.
Why don't you just move along?
Let me ask you something, you sting my wife?
What kind of buzzing question is that?
Where do you get the wings big enough to ask me that?
Okay, gang. We have plenty of beeswax. Let's get back to the ship.
No, we are not going anywhere.
I can't abide all this bee-on-bee conflict.
It's time to African-americanize these honeybees.
Listen up, bees. It's kwanzaa, a time of umoja.
It means "unity".
You have to learn to work together again.
The crazy tablecloth man is right.
It's time to set aside our differences.
Black stripe, yellow stripe.
At the end of the day, we're just a couple of dam talking space bees.
Hey, forget about it.
Come here and give me a sting.
Look. The spirit of kwanzaa is killing the parasites.
Fry: Yuck!
But, yay!
Thank you, my human brother.
Your message of unity has touched our souls.
We are once again of a single hive mind.
Kwanzaa-bot: Oh, yeah.
Hurray! Kwanzaa-bot's here to save...
They killed him.
Joyous kwanzaa, everybody.
Don't worry. The futurama crew will be back next year
with all new episodes featuring bender, Leela and me, al Gore,
as captain Lance starman.
And from all of us here at gunderson's nuts, happy holidays.
English - us - psdh