All language subtitles for Duckman - 1x02 - T.V. or Not to Be-ing

(whistles)

(quacks)

ANNOUNCER:
We think it's time you tried
Hill O' Beans decaf

because coffee
without the caffeine...

...is like sex
without the costumes.

ANNOUNCER:
And remember, Happy Tyme
pure sucrose breakfast cereal

gives you that...

DOCTOR:
...large, tumor-like growth
on the wall of your stomach.

But for cleaner,
brighter, fluffier sheets...

ANNOUNCER:
Tonight's episode: "The Klan."

Have you ever seen anything
so white?

The Vacuum Cleaner...

Wow!
Do I have to sit here all day

looking for something to watch?

No. Nope. Nyet. Uh-uh. No way.
Negatory. Not. Never. Nope.

Uh-uh. Cannell? Are you kidding?
Forget it. Huh-uh.

Bochco, nope. Uh-uh. No, thanks.

Miller-Boyett, nope.
No chance. Nada.

Where are the quality shows--

the shows
that stimulate your mind,

that enrich the human condition?

(screaming and gunfire on TV)
Ah, gunfire.

ANNOUNCER:
For those of you
who have just tuned in

to tonight's episode
of Crazed Postal Worker,

this week's disgruntled
former employee

turned homicidal gunman

is holding his hostages
behind the "stamps only" window.

Talk about entertainment,
(squealing)

and no family around
to hog the TV.

That's right,
our organization is pre-need.

We're teaching people
to make ceramic ashtrays

with their teeth

in case they become handicapped.

(screams)

Oh, sorry, Mr. President,
I'd love to talk more

about you and the First Lady
getting involved

but my favorite show's
about to begin.

Five more minutes
and we'll have a formula

for putting all
the nutritional elements

a child will ever need
into a chocolate Ho Ho.

But that would mean
missing the show.

(dishes breaking)

Uh-oh. Yet again

I've loaded Aunt Bernice's
priceless Ming Dynasty China

in the trash compactor.

Time for the show.

I'll let Dad take the blame.

An unwitting woman has come into
the post office with her mail.

Obviously, none of us wants
bloodshed, but warning her

would violate our code of ethics
about media intrusion.

Let's watch.

POSTAL WORKER:
Lady, you forgot to use

the nine... digit... zip code!

(gunfire and screaming)

ALL:
Mother Mirabelle's on!

(Duckman yells)

(woman screaming on TV)

(straining):
...was watching that.

ALL:
Shh!

MOTHER MIRABELLE:
Thank you, thank you.

I'm Mother Mirabelle,

and welcome
to the Home Miracle Network.

Having... trouble... breathing.

ALL:
Shh!

I'd like to start the day

by sharing a little miracle
of my own.

We were number one
in our time slot again last week

with that most-important-
of-them-all demographic group:

ALL:
People with disposable income.

Passing... out... soon.

ALL:
Shh!

Well, well, will you look
at all the believers I have

with me today.

Ooh! Ooh!
Eeh!
Ow!

Did you have a miracle
to share with us, sir?

I contacted
my dead mother

using dominoes
and a pair of pliers.

ALL:
It's a miracle!

Ow! Ooh!
Eeh!
Ow!

I had fleas and ticks,

but I bathed
in low-fat milk

and now I only
have ticks.

ALL:
It's a miracle!

Oh! Ow!

I finished the TV Guide
crossword puzzle

for the first time
in my life.

ALL:
It's a miracle!

MOTHER MIRABELLE:
Oh, miracles indeed.
(grunting)

And now, before we bring out
our celebrity guest

who plays me in my show
for a small fee,

it's time to gaze upon
our holy shrine--

the miracle that makes
all our miracles happen,

that preternatural portrait,
that possessed piece d'art,

that painting

from the promised land--
(grunting)

Our Lady of the Weeping Soles.

ALL:
Get out of the way!

(Duckman grunts)

(gasping)

(passing gas)

Holy (bleep)!

The painting's been stolen!

CHARLES:
It's gone!

MAMBO:
Someone took it!

AUNT BERNICE:
That's sacrilege.

AJAX:
What's on
the other channel?

Duckman!
You're a detective.

You help her find
the painting.

Sure. When my butt
starts singing show tunes.

AJAX:
You have to, Dad.

It really
causes miracles.

It's the painting of
The Blessed Mother
of the Weeping Soles.

The one where the feet
actually perspire.

It's worshipped by hundreds of
people in this cable district.

Duckman, your children are
pleading for your help.

Besides, it's not
like you're ever busy

working on other cases.

Dad's a detective?

DUCKMAN:
Forget it!

I'm not going to lower myself
by helping

some pandering preacher
find her bogus painting.

This whole thing's
just one big scam

cooked up by an obvious phony

who'll do anything
to make a buck.

She says she'll pay
handsomely for its return.

Don't wait up.

Huh. Look at these
people, Corny.

They're being led around
like a bunch of sheep.

(audience bleating)

Interesting how the need

for substance
in an unexamined life

oftentimes breeds gullibility.

Exactly.

(screams):
It's Elvis!

We're back,
and we're sorry to report

that miracles seem to be
in short supply

since the fountainhead
of all our miracles was stolen,

but the Blessed Mother
of the Weeping Soles

has spoken to me
in a vision. Yes!

And she said unto me,
"Mirabelle,

"even though I'm gone,
I want you to carry on,

"because
your believers need you

because the world needs you,
because this month is sweeps."

Amen!

Sir, you're a believer.

Even with the
Blessed Mother gone,

surely you have a
miracle to share.

Oh, me? Well, gosh,

I ran into my old girlfriend
last week.

Well, that was more
of a coincidence, really.

Actually, I was...
(clears throat) stalking her.

(audience groans)

You, ma'am.
You're a believer.

Tell me a miracle.

Oh, well, I... uh...

I was driving this morning,

and I hit a green light,
and then I hit a red one,

or maybe it was
the other way around.

(audience groaning)

People, maybe it's not as easy
as I'd hoped.

We do need that painting back.

Perhaps you can help.

Perhaps a small donation
can get us started.

Take mine!
Take mine!

Me first!
Take mine!

(all talking at once)

Forget Mother Mirabelle.

This crowd needs
Father Thorazine.

(crowd quiets)

What the hell are
you staring at?

What about you?

You seem to have
something to share.

Me? Y... yeah.

I do have something to share.

Duckman, didn't you schedule
a colonic this afternoon?

In fact, I have a miracle
to share.

It's a miracle
you moon-eyed zombies

fall for this Mother Mirabelle.

She's a fake!

She's taking your money!

She's a bigger rip-off
than those

"Talk to a nympho in prison"
hot lines

that double-charge you
on your phone bill

when they know you can't do
a thing about it

'cause you can't tell anyone

you ever called it
in the first place.

(chuckles nervously):
So... so I've heard.

Look, I, for one
am glad that painting's gone.

Now maybe you can
spend your time

believing in something
that really matters

like your horoscope.

Well, we're
certainly tolerant

of all points of view.

(high-pitched tone)

Make a move
and you're dead meat.

Does wetting myself
count as moving?

Well, since you are a detective,

and I do have something
to find...

...I accept your apology.

How much do you charge?

Well, um, in order
to find out who took it,

we'll need to set up
around-the-clock surveillance,

high-powered telescopes,

a parabolic mic, catered
meals, four buxom assistants,

a VCR and a big screen TV,
a Barcalounger,

the complete
Russ Meyer videos,

a two-year subscription
to the sports betting tip sheet.

All told, it comes
to a daily rate of $400.17.

I'll give you 20 bucks.

That was my fallback offer.

What about the thousands
of dollars you just collected

from those people out there?

This imported Italian marble
doesn't grow on trees!

And not that the painting

isn't the most important thing
in the world to me. It is.

And I'm sure whoever committed
such a dastardly crime

must be some kind
of ruthless killer

who might very well
chop off your heads

and put them on a stick!

DUCKMAN:
Not to worry.

We eat fear for breakfast.

You're guessing about
the stick part, right?

(squawks)

Tell me again
why we're doing this.

When I inspected the wall where
the painting used to hang,

I caught a whiff
of Eau De Carp.

It's a cologne so foul it's worn

by only one man,
a man who happens to be

the world's greatest art
collector, Big Da Da Duchamp.

My guess is, if we go undercover
at his art gallery,

we'll find the miracle painting.

Miracle-schmiracle.

I'll bet those mindless pod
people who believe in that thing

still wait up
for the tooth fairy.

Why shouldn't they?

'Cause he's rotting
in a Turkish jail!

Will you hurry up
with those disguises.

Four of those mindless
pod people are my family.

Okay, Mr. Duckman,
but may I say,

I don't think you should just

dismiss the notions
of miracles.

It's a miracle

every time a
new leaf grows,

every time
a newborn baby cries...

Every time you shut up
and do what I tell you.

Now turn me into one
of those art world freakos

or you're next!

When you're in a hurry...

(clock ticking slowly)

Nope.

Uh-uh.

Who's this supposed to be?

I'm guessing, but I think it's
a highly misunderstood painter

whose rhythmic,
linear brushstrokes

were an arrogant break
from the old masters,

and who was so desperate
for a unique artistic identity

that he was trapped
in a hellish downhill spiral

of hostility, madness
and self-mutilation.

The beard's cool.
Let's do it.

What about
your disguise?

Whoa! Who are you
supposed to be?

Your agent.

All right, let's
mingle, Corny.

Keep your eye out for
Duchamp, and remember,

stay in character.

Mmm, boy, just smell that art.

Yes, sirree, this is
just the break I needed

after a long day
of making art and being insane.

The disguise is working,
Cornfed.

What's he doing
with that pink stuff?

That's Crisco.

He's our greatest wrap artist.

Hm. All right, Duchamp
doesn't seem to be out there.

We got to find his office.

Remember, take it slow.

We can't just barge
through his door.

(yelling)

(grunts)

My, my, could I possibly
be in the presence

of such a great artist?

Ha-ha! I'm Duckman.

I was only pretending
to be an artist.

Ah, an impressionist.

(sniffing)
Do I smell fish?

(sneezing)

Our Mother
of the Weeping Soles!

All right, I've come
for the girly picture, art boy.

Don't try anything stupid,

or one of us
won't leave here alive.

I-I said one of us.

I was... I was thinking you.

(clattering)

(gasps)

DUCKMAN:
Hey, what the...?

(grunting)

(muffled grunting)

(Duchamp applauding)

I don't know how
he tracked it down,

but he won't
tell anyone now.

What the...? Whoo!

This can't be
what I think it is.

This will be your
greatest work ever, Crisco.

And the critics
say art is dead.

I don't know art,

but I know what I like--
breathing!

(bell dings, Duckman grunts)

I can't believe this.

I'm actually dead.

Plucked from the prime of life.

So many things I wanted to do--

climb the world's
highest mountain,

swim a few channels,

invent something
that benefits mankind.

Oh, well, more time to sleep in.

Geez, I...

I didn't even get
to say good-bye to my family.

Well, at least I'm going up.

That's a good sign.

(yells)

(tires screeching)

Wait, fellas.
You got the wrong guy.

I've always supported
the senseless killing of people

for their tennis shoes!

Wow!

MAN'S VOICE:
Step into the light.

Step out of the light.

Put your left foot in.

Take your left foot out.

Put your left foot in

and shake it all about.

I know,
you're probably thinking

what a gross misuse of power.

Well, you want
to make something of it?

Just follow the light.

Wait a minute.

I know this place.
(harp music playing)

The booming voice,
the billowy clouds,

the pearly gates,
the harp music.

Give me another clue.

It's heaven!
(lively music playing)

I have your file here.

We've tried to provide you

with everything
you ever wanted in your life.

(Duckman laughing)

Care to throw an axe, sir?

Banzai!

Wait. There's been a mistake
in your file.

You're not supposed
to be here.
(gasps): What?!

I knew it! I knew it was
too good to be true!

I mean, I haven't exactly been
a poster boy for religion--

me and Teresa DeLorenzo
in the confessional,

painting the moustache
on that statue at the Vatican.

Of course, that one
wasn't my fault! I was drunk!

All right, fine!
That's just fine!

Go ahead and send me
to eternal damnation.

I'd rather laugh
with the sinners

than cry with the saints
any day, buster.

What I meant was, you're not
supposed to be dead yet.

I'm sending you back.

Thank you. Thank you, thank you,
thank you, thank you, thank you.

Uh, by the way, I was...

I was kidding
about that Vatican thing.

While I have you here, Duckman,

I want to give you something
to take back down.

What is it, cash?
Next year's Super Bowl results?

Hey, how about a picture--
me, you, a few dead celebrities?

It's something
I give everyone who comes here.

You're just one of the lucky
few who get to leave with it.

It's the ultimate answer
to the ultimate question.

It's... the meaning of life.

Oh. No chance of the picture,
huh?

An Etch A Sketch?

Don't get me wrong, I'd love
to know the meaning of life,

but how am I supposed to get it
from this?

You could have read it
until you shook it off.

Can't you put it back?

Sorry. I'm extremely busy.

I promised Cleveland
they'd win the pennant.

Wait. Could you stamp my hand
so I could get back in.

(Duckman yells)
Plummet safely.

(screaming)

(yelling)

(grunts)

I highly recommend
the pi�a colada.

Ooh, boy.

I think I put on a few.

(grunts)

Well, look who's up.

Forget it, boys.

He pulled through.

(all groan)

Try Mrs. Gleaner in 208.

She was hacking up a storm
this morning.

Used organs--
booming market.

I'm alive.

I can't believe it!

I went to heaven.

I met God.

He bought me a drink.

I actually
experienced a miracle.

That's impossible.

I'm a highly trained
professional.

Don't you think I'd notice
if one of my patients died.

(gasps
and continuous beep)

You don't believe me, huh?

Then what
do you call this?

Gift from a cheap relative.

It's an
Etch A Sketch.

The meaning of life
was written on this!

(continuous beeping continues)
I'm out of here.

I'm going home to tell my
family they were right!

I really met Him!

And from this day forward,
I'm a changed ducky!

What the hell's that beeping?
(continuous beeping continues)

(tires screeching)

Bernice,
Ajax, twins!

I, Duckman,
have experienced a miracle!

(all gasp)

I know it sounds incredible,

but you were right
and I was wrong.

Miracles do exist!

Now, I've seen everything.

I want to shout it out!

I want the whole world
to know what I know!

Do it!
Pour it on!

But for now it's enough to share
my incredible experience

with my loving family.

The Coagulo sauce

really is thicker.

You're right.

No need
to convert the converted.

I got to go out
and tell my story

to those poor,
unenlightened people

who aren't yet lucky enough
to believe.

That reminds me--
the painting's still gone.

Has anyone seen your father?

Nope.
Uh-uh.
Me neither.

This is great.

I've never had
such a sense of purpose.

Doing what all the great
religious leaders have done

since time immemorial.

Excuse me.

I'm the prophet Duckman.

I'm here to
spread the...

(groans)

Have a nice day.

Hello, my child...

Ow!

Brother, if I could...

(groans)

Cute little baby.

(squeals)

Well, it can only get better.

(screams)

I'm doing something wrong-- I'm
not getting through to people.

How can I get people to listen
to what I have to say?

MAN (on TV):
We'll return to Mother Mirabelle

and her special guests
(jet flying overhead)

after a few more words than
necessary from our sponsor.

Welcome back.

We have a treat for you today.

Assembled in the same room,
for the first time in history,

six of the world's
foremost religious leaders.

(weak applause)
I told you they had low TVQs.

Tonight's filler,
until we find that painting:

Religious unity.

And we'll start with
the Roman numeral one himself.

Your Holiness, given that all
religions preach brotherhood,

love of your fellow man,

and tolerance for all people
without exception,

why is it that the world's
different religions

have never been able
to achieve unity?

You got me.

Good question.
Yes, indeed.

Well, wouldn't it be a miracle--

not to mention
a much-needed ratings boost--

if we could achieve
a first-ever religious unity

right here on our stage tonight?

Sure would.
Indubitably.

I am willing to embrace
religious unity

if everyone else is.

What do you say,
Rabbi?

Eh... why not?

Sure. Fine with me.

Hey, guys, pyramid.

Well, there you
have it, folks.

We've seen some big miracles
on the Home Miracle Network,

but this is no doubt
the biggest.

Listen, Mother Mirabelle.

I have a bigger miracle
to tell you about.

The biggest miracle
of them all.
(gasps)

I've been
to the other side!

Damn. It's the duck.

(Duckman stuttering)

Get off of me,
you fat load!

I may be fat, but at least
I don't wear a diaper.

Oh, yeah? Well,
you can kiss my diaper!

Nice mouth
for a Zen master.

RABBI:
Who died and made you God?!

Bite my (speaking
foreign language).
What, are you a meshugena?

(all arguing)

Please!

Can't we all just get along?

(blows landing, grunting)

You should be ashamed
of yourselves!

All of you!

You're supposed
to be religious leaders!

ALL:
Religious leaders?!

We're not
religious leaders.

We're religious impersonators.

Mother Mirabelle hired
us as a change of pace

while the painting was gone.

I'm the real thing.

I needed some good
press in the States.

Nice pyramid.
Not a bad fight either.

Let's do it
again sometime.

They're all frauds.

Mother Mirabelle's a fraud.
(siren wailing)

At least my miracle was real.

I see you found
my Etch A Sketch.

What do you mean,
your Etch A Sketch?

She engineered the theft
to boost ratings
(Mother Mirabelle sobbing)

when it was
returned,

then let us take the case

so it would look like
she was trying to find it.

What do you mean,
your Etch A Sketch?!

I began to suspect her after
fighting off Big Da Da's gang

and hijacking the truck that
was taking you out of town.

So I went to the police, took
some pants in for alterations,

then raced you to the hospital
in the nick of time.

What do you mean
your Etch A Sketch?!

Perhaps I should tell you
about my Etch A Sketch.

You were out cold,
so I played with it

while I watched the news
in your room.

You didn't miss much--
a fire, a drive-by,

a segment on Silly String,
a tornado

and reviews of the Rockettes

and that new Hawaiian
steak and colada restaurant

that allows smoking.

* You can eat it in,
you can take it out *

* Our steaks and coladas will
make you scream and shout. *

That's my miracle.

Are you saying
that I didn't really have one?

That I didn't go to heaven?

That all those things happened

because you were watching them
on the news?

And because of that pink plastic
you were wrapped in.

The pink plastic
I was wrapped in?

Polymethyl styrene--
causes hallucinations.

It causes
hallucinations?

Only for a while.

Then it causes you
to ask unnecessary questions.

Unnecessary
questions?

Shut up.

(voice breaks):
You want me to shut up?

TWIN:
No way.

Mohammed would
definitely beat Moses

at Celebrity
Word Scramble.

TWIN #2:
Would not!
(car dieseling)

Moses wrote
the Torah.

It has over
50,000 words!

So what?
They're all in Hebrew.

Those words still
look scrambled!

Moses!
Mohammed!
Moses!

(twins grunting)

Hey, it's that guy on TV.

I made a fool
of myself.

Don't be upset, Duckman.

Lots of religious visionaries
were misunderstood, persecuted,

even publicly humiliated
in their time.

Of course, none of
them went on live TV

waving a magic
Etch A Sketch!

(all laughing)

Well, for one fleeting moment

I got to feel
the way you get to feel.

It felt nice to know
that for sure

someone was out there
making incredible things happen.

Someone was watching over us.

Someone I could turn to
at any moment of any day.

I shouldn't have tried
to take that away from you.

Not that I'll ever
get sucked in again.

I'm back.

And let me tell you,
it will be a cold day in Hawaii

before I just accept the fact
that there's anything out there

that has that much power
over our lives.

That we should let control
everything we say and do.

That we should worship
24 hours a day.

(laughing)
(screaming on TV)

Hey, look,
there's a tanker explosion

on America's Most Tragic
Home Videos.

GOD:
I see.

They're saying television
is worshipped like a religion.

I hate message shows.