- Huh?
America's only true safe space: network television.
Yes... ... Yes.
I don't understand it.
Whoever broke in here only took the grease we fry the doughnuts in.
Lard, have mercy.
Mmm.
Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah. This is premium stuff, all right.
100% all-American grease.
Lady lipid. Goopy gold. Texas ghee.
Oh, okay. Crisis over.
We are devastated by the tragic loss of the irreplaceable Chief Wiggum.
We're replacing him with Lou.
Thank you, Mr. Mayor.
As my first official act,
I will launch a full investigation into what came up out of that pipe
and did this to our chief.
To that end, I brought in a local expert
in all things having to do with sewers, sewage, and human waste.
Yeah, how you doing?
I spent my life in them pipes panning for subway tokens and loose fillings,
and over the years, youse people have turned my beautiful sewer into a cesspool.
You pour your cooking grease and your animal fat down the drain,
and over time, all that gloppy gunk stuck together
and coagulated into what the legends call a fatberg.
Now, I'm just a simple turd monger but there is only one explanation.
That fatberg got so big that it's got to feed.
And it's on the hunt for more grease.
And it's going to eat this whole lard-loving city
if youse don't do something.
Mr. Mayor, this is a serious threat.
Until we find that fatberg,
we need to outlaw deep fryers and cancel the state fair.
Cancel the state fair?
You got no choice.
The state fair is greasier than Lardi Gras and Criscomas combined.
Well, I suppose the safety of our citizens is the most important—
Now just hold on one artery-clogging minute.
As the largest employer in town, I object to this addlepated idea.
You can't shut down the state fair. It'll ruin our fat-forward economy.
You tell 'em, Daddy.
Don't interrupt me after I'm done talking, boy.
Great hat smacking, Daddy.
Don't compliment my punishment, you idjit.
Now, Mr. Mayor, if you cancel the fair,
you won't have Simpson and Son Grease in your palms anymore,
and I'm sure you don't want dry hands.
This is madness.
If this walking porta-potty is right and there is a monster down there,
we can't risk our citizens' safety.
I'm canceling the state fair under my authority as chief of police.
Congratulations, Police Chief Eddie.
I hereby declare the state fair open with the lighting of the first fryer.
These fools. Filling themselves with fried grease
while there's a monster lurking underground.
Don't they know they're tempting fat?
Oh, honey, you're a civilian now. Try to enjoy the fair.
The ice cream is so cold.
Now comes the innocent frolicking.
Frolic, frolic, frolic, frolic. Frolic!
Dolly zoom. That's bad.
Fatberg! Run!
Daddy, the fat monster's coming right for us.
- D'oh! You think I can't see that... - Ow.
you pint-sized Papa Jay?
It's sucking out all my fat, Daddy.
Don't die on me, Son. Live, you dim-witted dimwit.
My beautiful bumbling boy.
We warned them. They wouldn't listen.
Oh, honey, just try to enjoy the fair.
Lou, I was a fool not to believe you and this sewer squatting human hemorrhoid.
Time to teach that monster a lesson the only way I know how.
This here contraption will smack some sense into that massive goo
with the power of 50,000 mega swats.
Come and get it, fatberg!
It's working. The monster's taking the bait.
Release the smacker.
Good God. It's rakish.
- [grunts, screams]
Oh.
Is this the end for citizen Lou?
Oh, honey, just try to enjoy the fair.
You ain't dying on my watch, chief.
- Hasta la vista!
No. No!
The fatberg had a heart attack, but how? It didn't have a heart.
Not even a creature of pure fat could handle what Homer Simpson was made of.
So, what are you gonna do now?
What else?
I'm going to enjoy the fair.
The following is a recently discovered master tape
and black-an-white behind the scenes footage from a live TV event
that shocked the nation on Halloween night, 1995.
It's the Krusty Halloween Special.
Hey, hey, kids! This is my first ever live Halloween special,
but not because I'm desperate.
Comedy audiences can't sense desperation, can they? Can they? Can they?
We can.
Okay, we'll be right back after Krusty sucks down a little self-confidence juice.
Ugh.
Hey, Special K, great show.
Are you nuts? I'm dying out there.
This whole special was your crazy idea.
Yeah, because you're in big trouble.
You think you're the only late night kiddie clown on TV?
There's tons of other shows aiming for you,
trying to knock you down to a 30 share.
No show has ever gotten a rating that low.
And neither will yours because I made a great deal for you,
and it's all going to pay off tonight.
Now you go out there and you deliver that brilliant cutting-edge comedy
that you're famous for.
Father Fakakta, please "yuk-sorcise" my daughter.
Something's happened to her.
Ah!
A parody of The Exorcist?
Now that's fresh.
We must cleanse her soul with pie.
I am Satan and I have come for you.
Ooh. The chimp's allowed to improv, but I'm not?
I was in the Groundlings Sunday Company for seven years.
Somebody save Mel! Somebody, not me.
Has anybody on the crew got a gun?
Shoot the monkey!
I better get a smoke bonus for this.
This is the best Christmas ever.
- Fantastic segment.
A man was just maimed for life by a demonic monkey!
My face, my only face.
Hey, let me turn that frown upside down.
Bingo.
I don't care what deal you made. We got to pull the plug on this nightmare.
Are you nuts? This thing is huge. You're a smash.
They're puking in Peoria.
They're retching in Rochester.
They've got PTSD in Pickstown, South Dakota.
Now get back out there.
- [♪ upbeat music playing]
Oh, okay. Talking to the kids. Now this always plays.
Who are you dressed up as, slugger?
Why did the monkey rip the man's face off?
Will the face go to heaven?
Uh.
Cute kids, cute kids. You each get a home version.
So what's your deal, tiger?
Downstairs God is inside my body.
Ah!
I am Satan.
guest star.
Bart, is this stupid show almost over?
I've been circling the parking lot for an hour.
Oh. No polyps. Well, that's good news.
- Oh, my septum.
I just had the cocaine hole patched.
Krusty, I have come to collect on a bargain made on your behalf,
a deal made by him.
This is all your fault.
You wouldn't shut up about the great deal you made because it was with the devil.
What? No. What?
The only deal I made was for this live TV Halloween special.
I made the deal with him.
Did I do that?
You know you did do that.
I told Mom and Dad you were in league with Satan,
but they didn't believe me.
Nobody likes a tattler.
Krusty, the only reason your show has lasted this long
is because this child made a deal with me to eliminate your competition.
I had to, Krusty. Those other shows were a threat to you.
Those stupid high-quality educational shows
with "redeeming social values."
And I canceled them all so your unfunny schlockfest could endure.
- Behold.
I did always wonder about the success of my unfunny schlockfest.
Now, I fulfilled my end of the bargain,
and tonight is the night I collect on what this boy promised in return.
Your eternal soul.
Rise, educational kids show phantoms.
Drag Krusty to the children's television devil's workshop.
Stop, stop. Don't drag Krusty to hell. This is all my fault. Take me instead.
- Done.
- Do your worst.
We're going to teach you forever.
No, no, not learning, anything but learning. ¡Ay, caramba!
I've never shown anyone this horrific tape
until today.
But now that streaming has crushed the TV business,
even the devil can't save my show.
It is rough out there.
I would hate to be starting today.
So do you want to buy this Halloween found footage?
It's definitely of a moment.
But is it of this moment?
What's the "why now" of this project?
In the beginning,
Earth was green and lush with the occasional asteroid.
In the middle, decaying organic matter became oil, which became plastic.
In the end, after centuries of conspicuous consumption,
all of Earth had become a vast, shiny, inorganic desert of soda straws,
Tic Tac boxes, and recycling bins called Plastic World.
Ancient Slim Jim.
Oh, old Gil is eating this month. Ah.
My leader, tonight we feast on jerky.
Amidst the "post-aplastolyctic" savagery,
one visionary leader dreams of a sustainable future for humanity.
Friends, ever since I lost my family
in the avalanche of Diaper Genie bag mountain,
I found solace in the good book.
The book teaches us that humans once grew real organic food
in a strange dirty substance known as dirt.
I truly believe that somewhere underneath all the plastic there is dirt,
and that is why we dig.
Hey, Lisa. We tunneled down through a layer of little yellow ducks.
But then we hit a vein of Halloween pumpkin pails.
But we blasted through it and found dirt.
The prophecy was true. Let me see it.
Voilà, Davis!
You got to keep digging. Find real dirt. Soil.
I tried, but there isn't any.
The only thing below us is hundreds of miles of shaky and unsupported tunnels.
- Whoa.
Uh-oh.
What is this place?
Forever food. Everywhere.
Pure uncut Twinkie.
This junk food will fill our bellies for now,
but it's just delaying our inevitable starvation.
We've got to find... ... Seeds.
Sunflower seeds. We can plant sunflowers, corn nuts.
We can grow corn and funyuns, which must be a fun type of onion.
All we have to do is find soil and plant these,
and humanity will have a chance to survive.
- The seeds are life.
Or not.
What up, Fugliosa?
Bart, I thought you were killed with Mom and Dad.
Nope, I survived.
Huh?
Now I'm a raider, and we take what others find.
Raider Nation, attack!
Bart, no, take the Ho Hos and Ding Dongs if you must,
but leave the Circus Peanuts for us to plant, to grow a better tomorrow.
I will not let you destroy our future.
Will too.
- Will not. Not. Not. Not! - Too. Too. Too.
Bart, Lisa, play nice.
Mom, Dad, how are you alive?
Funny story, we fell into a pool of searing hot nuclear waste.
The molten radioactive plastic bonded with our DNA.
Months and months of horrible indescribable agony, and here we are.
We're better than ever.
You... You're plastic.
Mmm. Polyvinylidene chloride.
There's food everywhere when you're a plas.
Plas? That sounds a little problematic.
We can call ourselves that, but you can't.
It's paradise. No more scrounging for crumbs.
We wipe ourselves clean with a damp cloth. The only problem is we can't have babies.
But we can still have fun.
So if you hear some squeaking, don't come a'peeking.
Why don't you join us?
Just take a dip in the nuclear pond, liquefy your innards,
and become pure forever plastic like us.
Everybody in the pool.
Fellas.
No, you're not human anymore.
You're just flip-flops with eyes and opinions.
Humanity has to survive.
Be like us. Be like us.
No, Mom. No.
Ah! Doll face!
Why won't you cry?
That doesn't work anymore, Son.
I'm as smooth as G.I. Joe and as hairless as Ken.
Every bad burning bad boy knows that plastic's natural enemy is fire.
Ooh. Still so good.
Ah. Ooh.
Not helping, Bart.
Ha ha! You're kissing forever.
They're hot. Flaming hot!
Come on, kids,
you wouldn't kill your mother's boyfriend, would you?
Whoever dealt it, melt it.
We did it. We're alive.
Uh. With no food.
Well, Bart, I guess this is it. You and I are the end of humanity.
Oh, my God. Mom and Dad were plastic,
but somehow they created new life,
an innocent baby.
That should be easy to kill.
- Hey. - No, no, don't you see,
even though she's made of plastic,
this baby is the next evolutionary phase of humanity.
This world doesn't belong to us anymore. It belongs to her.
And so plastic life took over the world.
And thrived.
We kept the humans alive for as long as we could,
sheltering them on reservations and naming sports teams after them.
Eventually, they died out, but we paid tribute to them
because through their mindless consumption,
humanity created a perfect world.