Original subtitles

(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.