PUNY HUMANS, USE TO REGISTER YOUR DOMAINS
Futurama Fan Fics
This FanFics were inspired by Futurama, but for no reason that means that TFP wants you to stop watching the show. Please, if you wanna use these at your website, as permission from the respective authors.
Bart snickered as his dad's voice echoed up the steps and into his room, knowing that either the family cat (Snowball 2) or the family dog (Santa's Little Helper) had just gotten flattened.
"Boy, come down here and clean this junk up!"
Sure enough when Bart reached the foot of the steps his father, Homer J. Simpson, was standing over his son's deadly skateboard, which Bart had so carelessly left in the floor along with some Radioactive Man action figures.
"Ooops, sorry Dad," Bart apologized, not able to meet his father's eyes.
"Yeah, I know you're sorry!" Homer retorted. He extended his meaty, yellow hands out to wrap them around his son's neck. Just as his did his wife, Marge Simpson, stepped into the hallway.
"Homer! What are you and Bart arguing about now?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips. Her scolding tone brought in Lisa, Bart's younger sister. She was soon followed by Maggie, the youngest of the three siblings who was still crawling on all floors.
"Looks like Bart's being a pack rat again, Mom!" Lisa said matter-of-factly. Bart snorted.
"So? It looks like you're being a bratty know-it-all little sister!" he shot back. Lisa charged at him. The comment had stung the mousy, jazz-playing bookworm and she wasn't about to take her brother's insult lightly.
Maggie watched all this from the side lines, learning. Marge could only sigh, knowing as well Maggie did that this was just another usual morning in the Simpson household.
His parents were arguing again. They had been at it all day yesterday, all through the previous night, and Fry wouldn't be surprised if the shouting went on all day today.
"They have to shut up sometime," his older brother Yancy said.
Fry felt oddly comforted by his brother's wisdom, for the two brothers very seldom agreed on anything but whenever they did...life seemed a bit more bearable somehow, for the both of them.
Not so for their parents. Both of them were still fighting like a pair of cats and Fry, getting tired of watching the whole thing, shouted, "Why don't you both just shut up!"
Mr. and Mrs. Fry stopped arguing long enough to glance at their youngest son, who was a bit shorter then Yancy and had wild red hair while his brother's was jet black.
"Don't speak that way to your mother, Phil!" Mrs. Fry scolded. Fry's lip twitched in annoyance. He knew better then to contradict his mother.
Yancy was a bit bolder. "Mother, you and Dad have got to stop this fighting!" he told his parents, who stared at their sons open-mouthed. "It's driving me and Fry crazy! Can't you just stop for a minute to consider – "
Mr. Fry exploded. "Consider? What is there to consider?" he roared, advancing upon his sons in complete fury. He was about to shout something else but Yancy stopped him.
"First of all, I think you and Mom should consider going away awhile," he suggested, wrapping an arm around Fry's slumped shoulders, which were quaking.
"Where to?" Mrs. Fry asked. Yancy stared as she flung her red, flowing hair out of her aging face. It was so red...as red as Fry's, proving that Yancy had inherited his black hair from his father, who was going bald.
"What about that Springfield place?" Fry pointed at an old postcard that his dad had tossed onto the coffee table. It pictured a large American town complete with surrounding rolling hills and a power plant.
Yancy thought it looked perfect and far more inviting than the city would ever be.
"We'll sleep on it," Mr. Fry said, and no one objected.
The next morning the Frys were packing their bags and heading out of the city.
Dark had fallen in Springfield. This was good. Sideshow Bob preferred the darkness, for it was the best time to do his work in.
Though a lot of people here wouldn't call what Bob was doing work. They would call it cowardice, spiteful revenge, and murder for Bob was planning to kill someone on the night before the Frys would be arriving in Springfield.
The plan was already in motion. He was standing outside the Krusty Burger, violating one of Krusty's advertising signs as he stood under a glowing street light, waiting for the perfect victim.
He knew it would have to be somebody not well-known, somebody Bart Simpson wouldn't care about...someone who the damn brat wouldn't love...
Fuming, he dribbled furiously all over the unrecognizable sign with an old magic marker he had had (how it got in his pocket he'd never know) as he thought of Bart, the boy who had so often spoiled his plans, the boy who so dearly loved Krusty the Clown, Bob's former partner and friend who had betrayed him to a life of a crime.
Screaming, Bob brandished a knife from his other pocket and tore the sign into shreds. It just wasn't fair! Why did every one of his plans go horribly wrong...?
Bob's screaming had attracted an unlikely visitor, Barney Gumble, Springfield's most gullible drunk. Every town had one.
"Hey, what's your problem mister?" Barney drawled, burping raucously as he approached Bob in a wavy stagger and Bob jumped out from under the light and into the darkness, darkness in which he killed Barney.
"Poor Barn," Homer mourned, taking a swig of Duff beer. Bart looked up at him worriedly. His dad and Barney had been drinking buddies for a long time. "He'll never taste another Duff again."
"Aw, Dad," Lisa began, and stopped. Kent Brockman, the news reporter, was just bringing in the latest update.
"Forensic scientists have just discovered at the scene of the crime," Brockman began, and everyone held their breath, "A lock of someone's very red and very disgusting hair. If anyone can identify the owner if this...uh...awful dreadlock, please contact – "
"Now Bart, I know that Bob is very capable of something like this." Marge forced her son back down into the couch beside her. He had gotten up to head out the door but Maggie had thrown the remote at him, reducing Homer into begging his son to bring it back. Once Bart had sat down Marge continued, "But he can't be responsible for every crime that happens here, you know that."
"Yeah, maybe it was someone disguised as Bob!" Lisa provided, picking up Maggie just as the toddler began to crawl away. "You know how he framed Krusty that first time."
Bart nodded. "Yeah, I remember that, all right," he muttered, taking a deep breath. "But Mom, we can't just sit here – "
"You're right, let's go out for a bit of fresh air," Marge agreed, and everyone rose.
It was packed. Springfield was completely swamped over with news teams, reporters, and every other TV media imaginable. This wasn't what Fry had had in mind for his parents.
Fry thought he was going to puke and he would've if his last meal hadn't happened yesterday. His mother had never driven so fast in her life.
"For the love of God woman, slow down!" Mr. Fry bellowed, his beefy hands gripping the dashboard tightly. Fry thought he looked green.
"I will not!" Mrs. Fry shouted. Fry closed his eyes as the car jump over a monstrous hump in the road, causing his stomach to turn. Now he really was going to puke.
"Mom, where are we even going?" Yancy asked, trying to not look over at Fry, who was hunched over the seat and barfing all over the floor board. Their mother was going to be pissed...or more pissed then she already was.
"No, these cattle are moving out of my way right now!" Mrs. Fry was screaming as she drove the car by Springfield Elem. School. They would soon be reaching the Simpsons' house within seconds, maybe sooner, with the way Mrs. Fry was driving.
They were unaware of this, of course, and didn't recognize Bart Simpson as he followed his parents out of their house and into the road.
Fierce, Mrs. Fry slammed down on her brakes.
"Whoa woman, watch where you're going!" Bart chided her as he walked by, shaking his butt at her.
Fry would've loved that, Yancy thought, but didn't trouble his brother, who was having trouble dealing with his mother's wild driving tactics.
"Anybody hungry?" Mr. Fry asked.
"What's the matter with you, you mutt? Can't you see the Frisbee? Can't you even – wheee...look at him go!" Homer cheered as Santa's Little Helper tore after the Frisbee that he had tossed, hopping around in a drunken dance as he did.
Marge tried to smile but couldn't. It was hard to produce one while she was still thinking about that woman that they had ran into earlier on the road. With maniacs like that on the road, her children wouldn't be safe, especially Maggie, who hadn't even began to walk.
"Excuse me, ma'am, but do you know where I could find a job?"
Marge looked up at the sound of the voice. It sounded friendly, yet daring, like her son's and when she saw who had spoken she did smile.
Marge didn't know him, of course, but just looking at the boy, who was clad in a red jacket, a white t-shirt, and faded blue jeans, she knew that he was different, that something special was going to happen to him in the near future.
"Um, sure, there are plenty of good jobs here." Marge walked up to the boy. She could tell that he had the same slouchy attitude that her son had, even though he was trying to conceal it from her. "But, with the recent murder it's going to be hard to find someone to trust, let alone a job."
"Murder?" The boy looked dumb and innocent as he said it, and Marge sighed deeply. He was so much like Bart...
"Yes, there was one yesterday," she answered, studying him. With his big, round eyes and untamed ginger hair, he was pretty cute, too cute to be a city boy but Marge figured that that was where he was from because she hadn't seen him around here before. "The reporters are having a field day with it, as you can see."
Her eyes traveled to the other side of the park, where the reporters had flocked like frenzied pigeons. The boy's eyes followed hers and Marge asked him his name.
"Fry," he said, and stopped to think. "Actually it's Phillip J. Fry but everybody just calls me Fry. What about you?"
"Marge Simpson," she introduced herself, and he extended his hand out to her. Marge readily clasped it. He beamed at her.
"So, about that job..." He led her to a bench and sitting down beside her. "... My parents talked it over with me earlier and they think that as long I'm here I should make myself useful and get a job. If I don't they'll go though the roof."
Marge chuckled. "In that case," she said, shaking his hand, "we'll find you a job as soon as my husband decides to quit playing."
Fry smiled broadly at her. He understood.
"You know, that gives me an idea," Bart mused as he watched Fry walk out of the pizza factory with his mom and a new job.
"What's that?" Milhouse asked.
Bart gave his friend a sympathetic look. Though Milhouse wore glasses, which looked cool with his blue hair, Bart's lifetime friend wasn't high in the brains department. Neither was Bart, which was why they were such good friends.
"We can have a pizza party tomorrow night," Bart explained. A mischievous glint was in his eyes as he continued: "And you're invited."
"Yay, pizza!" Milhouse cried.
Bart smiled. Just as he began to high-five Milhouse, Marge walked up to the boys. Fry wasn't with her; he had already left.
"What are we celebrating here, boys?" Marge asked the two friends, who looked up at her nervously and shuffled their feet. This was no time to be celebrating anything, not with Barney's death being so fresh on everyone's minds and the boys knew that. Barney's funeral was, after all, taking place that weekend. They should be mourning.
"Um, Miss. Simpson, I was just wandering –" Milhouse began but Bart interrupted him, saving his friend from further embarrassment by telling his mom about the party plans himself.
Marge pondered on it for a moment before saying, "Well, I guess its okay. It might after all, give Fry a chance to prove he can do this job."
"Yes!" Bart and Milhouse cried in unison, this time giving each other high-fives.
Tomorrow was going to be an awesome Friday night, Bart just knew it.
They were watching TV or at least trying to. Yancy didn't even know what it was they were watching, or what it was called. He could only watch his mother in dismay as she bent over her husband and snagged a handful of popcorn from his bowl, which he clasped possessively to his chest.
Yancy ached for Fry. His parents had just thrown him out like he was a piece of trash and Yancy couldn't stand it. He was about to walk out the door and look for Fry himself when his little brother walked in, wearing a proud grin on his tired face.
"Phillip, where have you've been?" Mrs. Fry snapped.
Fry flinched. He was still smiling, though, when he proclaimed, "I went and got a job." He tossed his jacket off and walking past his parents without a second glance. He was heading for the bathroom.
"At what?" Mr. Fry asked, dreading the answer. Yancy was silently dreading the answer as well.
"Pizza delivery boy," Fry answered, and Yancy groaned. Of all the pathetic jobs his brother could've picked it had to be that one!
"At what place?" Mr. Fry pressed, his eyes still intently focused on the TV. Yancy could see robots and aliens reflecting out of those dull eyes, giving him the impression that they were watching something like Star Wars or Star Trek.
"Just an old pizza factory down the road that this lady showed me," Fry replied, making another attempt toward the bathroom. "Now if you'll excuse me I have to go take a leak."
Good for you Fry, Yancy thought, rolling his eyes disdainfully. At least he was trying to make an effort, which was something that he rarely did at home and Yancy was beginning to think that just maybe, coming here was a good idea after all.
There was no way he could get back into town now, not with all those damn TV reporters around but...there just had to be a way...
A bear suddenly appeared from behind a copse of trees, one of the same bears that Maggie had befriended during her family's first camping trip in the woods.
As many people in Springfield knew, that camping trip hadn't gone to well. Homer had been mistaken for Bigfoot, Bart had nearly drowned, and Maggie...well,
Though Bob didn't know all this and was too wrapped up in his devious planning to even consider that this bear might be intelligent.
He walked into town with the bear's skin concealing his true form.
"Man, I'm hungry," Milhouse complained. Bart hushed him. He was peering down into his family's lawn, scanning over the area through a pair of binoculars. He was waiting for Fry to drive up the sidewalk on his bike.
"Surely it doesn't take this long to bring an order of two pizzas?" Martin said. Bart, as politely as he could, told him to shut up.
"My wee-wee wants to potty," Ralph announced.
Bart slapped his forehead. He was wondering if Ralph even had a brain that could function properly when Fry arrived, bringing the pizza load.
Just as the thought crossed Bart's mind, Fry walked up to the door and rang the bell. Marge answered it, greeted Fry, and pointed the confused delivery boy in the right direction.
"Pizza delivery for...Bart Simpson!" Fry said when he had reached the foot of the tree house after Marge had pointed it out to him. Bart motioned him up.
"Come on up, my man!" he said, and Fry smiled. He gave the tree house one thorough inspection before ascending it, balancing the pizza boxes in one hand while he pulled himself up with the other.
"Good work, fellow citizen," Martin congratulated. He took the pizzas off of Fry's hands as Bart hoisted the young man up.
"Whew, at least it wasn't some gay name like Seymour Asses," Fry wheezed, his shoulders heaving as sweat poured down his face. He needed to work out more. There was no way that he was growing up to be a lazy slob like his father.
Bart howled with laughter. "Seymour Asses!" he giggled, rolling on the floor. "Oh, that's a good one...I'm using it on Moe the first chance I get!"
Moe Szyslack was the bartender at Moe's Tavern, the place Homer used to hang out with Karl, Lenny and Barney before Barney was just so needlessly murdered. Bart and Lisa had been prank-calling Moe for years, and the man still hadn't figured out who the culprit was.
Bart quickly explained all this to Fry before they settled down to the pizza, which didn't last long.
"Top notch service, mate," Martin complemented. He stifled a burp. Ralph began to pick his nose.
"Yeah, the pizza rocked," Bart agreed, digging into his pants pockets and fishing out ten dollars of his allowance. "Here, take it. You deserved it, dude."
"Yeah, have some from me, to," Milhouse offered, handing out five dollars. Martin presented Fry with money as well. Ralph continued to pick his nose.
Fry was humming Walking on Sunshine as he drove back to the hotel. He now had twenty-five dollars in his pocket, which wasn't much but...it was better than nothing.
Mom and Dad will have to admit that much at least, Fry thought, pedaling around a bend in the road. It was a cloudy night out, and the streets of Springfield were darker than usual due to the absence of the moon, which was completely obscured by dark, angry storm clouds.
"Better hurry," Fry muttered to himself, and stopped humming in order to pedal faster. For some reason he was feeling paranoid and couldn't shake off the feeling that he was being watched or...followed.
Trying to keep his weary eyes on the road, which was dimly lit by streetlights, Fry pedaled faster. He was driving by a grim-looking alley when a shadow suddenly loomed ahead of him, forcing him to screech his bike to a halt.
"W-who are you?" Fry stammered. He accidentally flipped his bike over when the animal unexpectedly bared down upon him.
He was facing a bear. Fry didn't believe it at first but, when the gloomy, ominous clouds above dispersed for a moment to reveal a golden moon shining upon them, there was no doubt as to what this creature was.
Fry screamed bloody murder, backing into the alley as the bear cornered him, waving its paws about blindly as it roared.
The oddest thing happened then: Fry laughed. He couldn't help it. He didn't know if it was where he wasn't thinking straight or what but...for some reason the bear's roaring sounded oddly human and this struck Fry as being hilariously funny.
At the sound of his laughter the bear's rage faltered, only to rise again a second later.
Fry was literally scared shitless. He had stopped laughing for the bear had raked its claws against his neck and Fry whimpered as they traveled down his chest, creating gigantic bleeding wounds that made him pass out at the sight of them.
Fry awoke the next morning to find himself in the Springfield General Hospital, where he met Doctor Hibbert.
Sliding his fingers under the bed sheets, Yancy squeezed his brother's pale, limp hand. He gasped at how cold it was and peered anxiously up into Fry's face.
The doctor had said that Moe, an old friend of the Simpsons, had found Fry shortly after closing down his bar for the night. But, according to the story that Moe had told them earlier, there had been someone else with Fry as well, the person who had done this to Yancy's little brother: Sideshow Bob.
"He was in a freaking bear suit!" Moe had said, and Yancy shook his head as he recalled the rest of what Moe had to say, which was: "Though I obliviously thought it was a live bear at first so I smashed its face in with a beer bottle and...WHAMMM! His head fell right off and it was actually Sideshow Bob? Can you believe that?"
Yancy smiled as he remembered Lisa replying: "Yes" in her I-know-everything attitude, and ran his fingers though Fry's blood-stained hair, which was partially concealed by the bandages wrapped around his forehead.
"So, he's going to be fine?" Mr. Fry asked.
Yancy slowly pulled his hand away from Fry, clenching it tightly at his side as Dr. Hibbert spoke.
"Oh, yes, he'll be perfectly all right. He just needs some rest is all. That was one nasty concussion." The African man chuckled as he said this last and Yancy frowned at him. Dr. Hibbert had a morbid sense of humor.
"Good, maybe it'll knock some sense into the boy," Mr. Fry said. Yancy swirled to face him. His father had his arm wrapped Mrs. Fry, who hadn't said a word since before the Simpsons had left, which was hours ago. She hadn't taken her eyes off of Fry, either.
"Now, now, no need for that!" Dr. Hibbert said, producing a trio of lollipops from out of nowhere. "Here, take these. They should calm you down."
Yancy reluctantly took a sucker from Dr. Hibbert, who handed a lollipop to each of his parents before saying: "Well, I'll just be leaving you alone for now. It's my coffee break, you know?"
The doctor was laughing as he walked out the door and Yancy, without realizing it, began to suck on his lollipop. It was actually quite good.
"Heh, he was a weird nut wasn't he, Yancy?"
The voice was small, weak, but it was Fry's. Yancy stared at his brother in disbelief but, when he saw that he was smiling, Yancy went back to licking the sucker.
"Oh, anyone could tell that that bear wasn't alive!" Lisa exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. The hospital had just released Fry hours ago, and she, like everyone else, was glad to have him back. Everyone that is, accept for Homer, who only missed the sofa, which Fry was laid back in now.
"It practically had my name written on it, boy!" Homer grumbled from where he sat on the floor with Marge and the kids. He had to strain his neck around in order to look up at Fry, who cracked a grin.
"Eat my shorts!" the delivery boy said. Bart busted into fits of laughter just as Marge tackled Homer down, saving Fry from being mauled by another bear-like creature.
The day after that, they all attended Barney's funeral, which was held outside Reverend Lovejoy's church.
The whole town had showed up for the event, including the Flanders, much to Homer's dismay.
A family of three, the Flanders were the Simpsons' neighbors. For time immemorial Homer had competed with Ned Flanders, the single father of Rod and Todd Flanders, over every little thing, driving Marge completely crazy all these years.
"Hey, Flanders, what are you doing here?" Homer asked as he took a seat next to Flanders, who was unperturbed by his neighbor's grumpiness.
"Why, hi-diddly-doh, neighbor!" Ned greeted.
Bart, from where he sat in between Marge and Lisa, groaned. Fry, who sat in a wheelchair at the end of the isle, surrounded by his family, looked over at the Simpsons in interest. He hadn't met Ned, yet.
And he never got to. As soon as the funeral was over his parents were steering him toward their vehicle. They were ready to go back home.
"Wait, I want to talk to Bart before we – OW, DAMMIT!" Fry cursed, easing his sore body back down into the chair. He had tried to move too fast, nearly stretching his wounds back open for his trouble. Moaning, he put his face in his hands.
"Easy, Fry," Yancy advised, and Fry painstakingly raised his head up to glare at him, panting. God, he was hurting all over..."Dr. Hubert said that you needed to lie low."
Bart ran up to them just as Yancy began to maneuver his brother into the car. He was shouting: "Wait! It was nice meeting you guys! Come back again anytime!"
"I don't think that we will," Mrs. Fry said. Once her husband and sons were in the car, she drove away.
They never saw Springfield again, accept for in their dreams.
Years after her encounter with Fry, Marge was still having dreams about him. They were weird dreams, to. Homer claimed that she woke up every night, screaming about a sexy Cyclops, a giant crab, and one murderous robot...all of which she was seeing Fry associating with.
She prayed every night for his safety.
He got frozen a thousand years into the future, where he met a Cyclops named Leela, an evil robot named Bender, and his ancient great nephew Farnsworth. But, as everyone knows, that is another story, told in a different time.
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