Lethal Inspection

  • Season 6, Ep 6
  • 07/22/2010

Bender learns that he suffers from a mortal manufacturing defect.

(all groaning)

It may have been a fake war, butmy scuffed knee is all too real.

I've got pains in jointsI had removed a century ago.

Bender, bring me my soft chairwith the wheels on it.

Your wheelchair?I don't need a wheelchair!

The one with the wheels.

Poor flimsy humans.

Don't you wishyou were flawless like me?

A towering infernoof physical perfection?

I hate to pop your blimp-likeego, but you are not perfect.

Am so.Are not.

Is too.Says who?

Says the only human

whose opinionI even remotely respect.


Inspector Five,the best inspector

a kid could want.

The day I was built,he looked me over,

probably with tearsof pride in his eyes,

and proclaimed to all the world,by means of this scrap of paper,

that I was perfectand infallible in every way.

Hey, Mr. Perfect,

you wet the chair.

Huh?Wasn't me.

Must be some of that urineyou're all so proud of.

(smacks lips)

That's not urine; it's oil.


I'm triple-sealedto prevent any chance of...


You call thatan ink defense?


Good-bye, friends.

(train whistle blows)


We did it!

12 straight hours of limbo.

I haven't done thatsince my honeymoon.

Hermes, Hermes, rememberthat flock of bats?

I sure do.

That was fun.

BENDER:Where are we?

I have no idea.

(both yelling)

(both grunt)

(both yell and groan)

Hey, we're just a stone'sthrow from Tijuana.



MAN: Dios mio!

A rock has fallen herein the outskirts of Tijuana.

Is it withinthe city limit?

I think, yes.

Told you.

Hey, you wantto celebrate our escape?

Maybe grab a shot of tequila andtake in a big-league cockfight?

Sure. No, wait.

I was built in Tijuana.

Maybe Inspector Fivestill works there.

He better do some 'splainin'

before I mash upsome face guacamole.

He's Mexican,I'm Mexican.

Let me handle this.

Sus papeles, por favor?



Here are our passports, visas,

and Homeland Securitypermission slips.

Notarized and starched.


I also would have accepteda bribe.

Nice work,butterball.

You know, I wasin Italy last week.


My birthplace.It's closed!

There's not evena shrine to me

with a gift shop,selling piñatas of me!

End of theline, mon.

Come on, we can still catch atwi-night double-cockfight.

No, wait!

What's thatin the Mexican garbage?

Looks like a half-eatencheese diaper.

No, next to that.


A half-eatenemployee directory.

(both gasp)

BENDER:Inspector Five's home address!

His ass-ias is gracias!