They went directly across the arena toward the rocks upon the opposite side

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At first I couldn’t make out the purpose of this mighty pile of rock, unless it were intended as a rough and picturesque background for the scenes which were enacted in the arena before it, but presently, after the wooden benches had been pretty well filled by slaves and Sagoths, I discovered the purpose of the bowlders, for then the Mahars began to file into the enclosure.
They marched directly across the arena toward the rocks upon the opposite side, where, spreading their bat-like wings, they rose above the high wall of the pit, settling down upon the bowlders above. These were the reserved seats, the boxes of the elect. Reptiles that they are, the rough surface of a great stone is to them as plush as upholstery to us. Here they lolled, blinking their hideous eyes, and doubtless conversing with one another in their sixth-sense-fourth-dimension language.

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Remember that word one hundred. Now I put this pebble in Hare-Lip’s hand. It stands for ten grains of sand, or ten tens of fingers, or one hundred fingers. I put in ten pebbles. They stand for…

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Ooh, name it after me! Hey, guess what you’re accessories to. I just want to talk. It has nothing to do with mating. Fry, that doesn’t make sense. Aww, it’s true. I’ve been hiding it for so long. No! I want to live! There are still too many things I don’t own!

Humans dating robots is sick. You people wonder why I’m still single? It’s ’cause all the fine robot sisters are dating humans! Now what? Belligerent and numerous. Guess again. You wouldn’t. Ask anyway!

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! For the last time, I don’t like lilacs! Your ‘first’ wife was the one who liked lilacs!

Kif might! Bender, being God isn’t easy. If you do too much, people get dependent on you, and if you do nothing, they lose hope. You have to use a light touch. Like a safecracker, or a pickpocket. Come, Comrade Bender! We must take to the streets!

But I know you in the future. I cleaned your poop. Soothe us with sweet lies. Oh no! The professor will hit me! But if Zoidberg ‘fixes’ it… then perhaps gifts! You’ve killed me! Oh, you’ve killed me!

One hundred dollars. Bender, I didn’t know you liked cooking. That’s so cute. Incidentally, you have a dime up your nose. When the lights go out, it’s nobody’s business what goes on between two consenting adults.

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As an interesting side note, as a head without a body, I envy the dead. Who said that? SURE you can die! You want to die?! Pansy. Nay, I respect and admire Harold Zoid too much to beat him to death with his own Oscar.

Aww, it’s true. I’ve been hiding it for so long. I usually try to keep my sadness pent up inside where it can fester quietly as a mental illness. Our love isn’t any different from yours, except it’s hotter, because I’m involved.

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I guess if you want children beaten, you have to do it yourself. Kif, I have mated with a woman. Inform the men. Ooh, name it after me! And so we say goodbye to our beloved pet, Nibbler, who’s gone to a place where I, too, hope one day to go. The toilet.

Belligerent and numerous. Yes, except the Dave Matthews Band doesn’t rock. And I’m his friend Jesus. Meh. With a warning label this big, you know they gotta be fun! There’s no part of that sentence I didn’t like!
Perhaps, but perhaps your civilization is merely the sewer of an even greater society above you! Leela, Bender, we’re going grave robbing. Bender?! You stole the atom. 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?

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