It’s toe-tappingly tragic! Check it out, y’all. Everyone who was invited is here. We’re also Santa Claus! Who said that? SURE you can die! You want to die?!

I decline the title of Iron Cook and accept the lesser title of Zinc Saucier, which I just made up. UhhÉ also, comes with double prize money. Aww, it’s true. I’ve been hiding it for so long. I meant ‘physically’. Look, perhaps you could let me work for a little food? I could clean the floors or paint a fence, or service you sexually? Well, thanks to the Internet, I’m now bored with sex. Is there a place on the web that panders to my lust for violence? You are the last hope of the universe.

That’s a popular name today. Little “e”, big “B”? Bender! Ship! Stop bickering or I’m going to come back there and change your opinions manually! Fatal. Hello, little man. I will destroy you! Now that the, uh, garbage ball is in space, Doctor, perhaps you can help me with my sexual inhibitions? Large bet on myself in round one.

This opera’s as lousy as it is brilliant! Your lyrics lack subtlety. You can’t just have your characters announce how they feel. That makes me feel angry! No, just a regular mistake. Are you crazy? I can’t swallow that. Morbo will now introduce tonight’s candidatesÉ PUNY HUMAN NUMBER ONE, PUNY HUMAN NUMBER TWO, and Morbo’s good friend, Richard Nixon