Disclaimer: I dont own Futurama. The Hypnotoad does. All glory to the Hypnotoad
God, my head hurts, thought Fry. The only other time my head hurt this bad was the morning after I drank the fermented remains of a Horrible Gelatinous Blob. Actually, now that I recall that, my head doesnt hurt so much anymore.
The pain is a result of being knocked unconscious, uttered a gruff, yet familiar voice. Hopefully it will linger for a great while.
M-Morbo? said Fry, astonished and frightened.
His vision blurred but semi-reliable, he began to take stock of his whereabouts. A cold, dingy room with bare stone walls, a rat or two scampering on the ceiling, Morbo standing upside-down before him with an uncharacteristic smile on his face. On top of that, his blood was somehow rushing upwards and collecting in his head, as if drawn by reverse gravity.