If A Picture Paints A Thousand Herds
“I wonder what the Professor wants to show us this time?” Leela mused.
“He said something about wildebeest,” said Fry.
“That’s ridiculous,” Leela told him. “Wildebeest became extinct in 2126. Nobody even preserved any photos.”
Fry pouted. “Aww, shame. They were dumb ugly animals, but cute.”
“It was nothing to do with my people,” Zoidberg said. “We ate the anchovies, but we did not eat the wildebeest.”
“Something about that phrase makes me want to sing,” Hermes remarked.
“Who cares about some stupid carbon-based life form?” Bender sneered. “You’re all dumb. Mammals can bite my shiny metal ass.”
“The Professor found a primitive recording device from, like, the twenty-first century,” Amy said. “It belonged to an ancient dude called Xander.”
“If I can’t sell it, or drink it, I’m not interested,” Bender said. “Although I like the guy’s name.”
A sign on the door of the Professor’s room lit up and Fry peered at it. “Genetic Re-animation In Progress,” he read out slowly. “Do NOT Enter.”
The illuminated letters were extinguished. The door slid open. A stampeding herd of wildebeest erupted out into the Planet Express offices. Professor Farnsworth emerged in their wake and beamed in satisfaction. “Good gnus, everyone!”