Original subtitles

(whistles)

(quacks)

(rhythmic beeping) MAN: From what I can see, Dave,

it's not flowing in at all.

There's heavy clogging in several of the main arteries.

DAVE: Well, Tom, I suppose

this is an all too inevitable response

to the stress of everyday life.

Hey, right you are, Dave. (horns honking)

Tens of thousands of people escaping the rat race

for the stress-free solitude

of Castle Kingdom Amusement Park.

(angry shouting) We're live via helicopter

with the KPOV drive-time report.

Let's take a look at how this blistering heat

is affecting things.

(horns honking, radiators hissing)

(popping) Uh-oh!

(popping)

(explosion)

(horns honking)

I think my keen eye for news

is about to pay off, Dave.

I'm getting a report of a possible grand mal seizure

in one of the cars blocked in traffic.

I'll radio an ambulance

after I give our viewers a close-up

of something they have no right to be privy to.

It's a gas pedal, diaper-butt!

It won't bite! Move it! Move it!

Where is a forklift when you need one?

"D" is for drive, dipstick!

Ooh, refresh me...

Middle finger straight up mean a left turn in this state?!

What the hell are you staring at?!

(horns honking)

Bad enough I gotta be stuck out here,

I don't need some busybody sticking his face

into something that's none of his business.

Shazam! Lady, those things real

or did you have to pay to make them point that way?!

Duckman, pipe down!

You're embarrassing us!

Embarrassing you?

I think you got the jump on me there

the day you decided spandex was a good look for you.

(gasps)

Wait, Aunt Bernice.

Perhaps you'd like to put off thrashing Dad until after

he's paid our admission.

Thank you, son.

CHARLES: Dad, I think Aunt Bernice's ultimate concern

is the example you're setting for your children.

At ten, ten, and 15,

we're still subject to emulating

even the most crass and reprehensible behavior

of our significant elders.

Including smoking!

Right. Like my cigarettes are really hurting anyone.

(explosion, people screaming)

(brass fanfare playing)

(roller coaster rumbling)

(fanfare continues playing)

Hi, everyone. Welcome to Castle Kingdom...

the land of magic, merriment, and make-believe.

Remember: no smoking, no littering,

no eating on rides, no public displays of affection,

no black socks and sandals,

no percentage of the gross, no interracial dating,

no tantrums, no visible butt cleavage,

and no on Proposition 24.

No hands! (water splashing)

Hey, everyone, look.

We've inadvertently found ourselves on line

for the Dragon of Death.

No way! I don't care what it's for,

we're not waiting in this line!

Ah, why not?

Come on, Dad.

It's the most popular ride in the park, Dad.

The other kids are doing it.

And if the other kids jumped off a cliff, would you?

How many of them?

AJAX: * A hundred and nine thousand, six hundred *

* And fifty-two bottles of beer on the wall *

* A hundred and nine thousand, six hundred *

* And fifty-two bottles of beer... *

Family, awake!

We're next! Huh?

Yuck! What the..?

Damn it, Bernice!

You let another bird build a nest in your mouth!

Mambo, look, the park is open for 12 more minutes!

We're actually going to get on a ride!

Oh, boy, oh, boy, oh, boy, oh, boy, oh, boy!

Nothing can stop us now!

(people shouting)

Gangway! Rich and famous celebrity coming through.

Come on, come on, move it!

(grunting)

Hey, come back here, you steroid-sucking chrome domes!

I don't care who he is, you picked the wrong duck

to knock down and walk all over!

You the duck we knocked down and walked all over?

He sure is!

And he says, "You picked the wrong d..."

(chuckles nervously) Kids...

Get trampled, break a rib or two...

they get the crazy idea it's a bad thing.

Mail this general release form preventing you from suing for:

...and shooting your dog for the sheer fun of it,

and you get a free 8x10 glossy of my boss, Vile Kyle.

ALL: Vile Kyle?

Ooh... that man makes my elbows sweat.

Vile Kyle? Never heard of him.

Dad, he's a world-famous daredevil and self-promoter.

You know, they guy who jumped over the Grand Canyon,

the Twin Towers...

and, in his recent "thank you to my fans" special,

flew his rocket car

over 250 fawning volunteers.

He would have made it if it wasn't for that headwind.

Vile Kyle. You haven't seen brave

till you've seen me tame a roller coaster!

(all gasp) Huh?

(people retching)

(nervous chuckle)

You know, these sissy rides just aren't scary enough.

I'll just go over there and do something more exciting.

(chuckles nervously) Like pick my teeth.

Hmm. I guess Duckman's really Chickenman.

(all laughing)

AJAX: He's sure no Vile Kyle.

MAMBO: He is a less-than- ideal role model.

(cats yowling)

(evil laughter)

Whoa, whoa, hey! What th...?

Let me off this thing!

Sit back, my child.

You don't want to get hurt.

Hey, listen, Sister, the only thing that's going to hurt me

on this wimp-mobile is an act of God.

(metallic rattling, Duckman grunts)

(man groaning)

Who the hell are you?

The doctor.

At least until I've exhausted all the pills

Doctor? Oh, yeah, right...

I, uh, hit my head while rescuing the baby from that...

you know... runaway, uh... burning thing.

Actually, your head is fine.

But we discovered you had comprehensive health insurance

so we ran hundreds of expensive tests

to see what else we could come up with.

The good news is you don't have a yeast infection.

Oh, you do, however,

need an immediate adrenal gland transplant.

Adrenal gland transplant?!

What the hell are you trying to pull here?

I want a second opinion!

Oh... no, no, no, no, no.

I've been down that road before.

Better-educated and equipped doctors

telling my patients they're fine and then what?!

They never come back!

I have proof-- proof--

of your condition. Here's your EKG.

Here's where I remembered to plug it in.

I didn't get around to a blood test,

but, hey, the sight of that stuff

makes me blow lunch anyway.

I did run cat scans, MRIs, and urine tests.

And as you can see, they are all conclusive.

I'm surprised you never noticed any symptoms.

Are you sometimes irritable?

What's it to you, butt-head?!

Do you lack energy?

No way. After a three, four hour nap

and some prescription drugs, I'm raring to go.

Do you ever want to mud wrestle with sumo waitresses?

What? Well, actually, that's not a symptom.

I belong to a little club

and we're looking for new members.

Really?! (clears throat): I mean, well...

Well, you know, coincidentally,

we just got a fresh adrenal gland.

Shall we get started with the slice and dice?

Wait a minute! Hold it! I got a thing about operations.

Ever since that little appendectomy mishap.

Good thing I already had kids.

("Greensleeves" melody): * Here lies your dad *

* He got hurt on the rides * (bell jingling)

* We'll cut open his chest and pull out his insides... *

Dad! Dad!

Are you all right?

We heard what happened.

Shh. Don't disturb your father.

He's still recovering from his death-defying ride

on Mr. Cottontail's Bunny Hop!

(howling laughter)

I don't know how else to break this to you...

your father needs a new adrenal gland.

Oh, my God!

Look, the gland I got is fine the way it is,

and that's that, okay?

But, Dad, the lack of a sufficient adrenal gland

may explain why you were scared

to go on the Dragon of Death with us.

Not to mention the hundred other ways fear and laziness

have kept you from doing things we can look up to.

But I don't want someone else's gland in my body.

I could change.

I could become a totally different person,

completely unrecognizable to anyone who knows me.

What's the down side?

(laughing) AUNT BERNICE: Chickenman.

AJAX: He's sure no Vile Kyle.

MAMBO: He is a less-than-ideal role model.

DUCKMAN: How come you hear these voices in your head every week?

Okay, Doc, let's do it.

You're letting me go in?!

I mean, wise choice.

Nurse! Scalpel!

Clamp! Suction!

I'll be okay, right, Doc?

The-The kids will like the new me.

Of course, they will.

This time, I know I'll get it right.

(vacuum cleaner running, Charles and Mambo crying)

He's gone! Gone!

Snatched away at his peak.

We didn't even (sniffles)

get a chance to say good-bye.

Or tell him how much we really loved him.

Hey, don't cry.

I came through. I'm okay.

Who gives a rat's butt?!

We're talking about Vile Kyle.

He died at the park yesterday right before you got hurt.

A bunch of hungry nuns

accidentally knocked him into a snack stand.

He fell into the cotton candy machine

and died in a cocoon of spun sugar.

(shuddering groan)

Another senseless, religion-based confection death.

DUCKMAN: Wait a minute.

Vile Kyle died right before I got hurt?

The doctor said there was a fresh donor.

That must mean I got Vile Kyle's gland.

Wow. The adrenal gland of a daredevil!

And you know what? I do feel different.

In fact, I'm starting to get the strangest urges.

You said you'd see a therapist if those ever came back.

Not those urges.

I'll be back faster than you can say turbocharge.

(hammer pounding)

Hey, love to rebuild the garage, but I'm off to work.

Bah! Why slow myself down with a car?

(running footsteps)

I'm here. What do you got for me?

Things, stuff, more things and stuff?

Mr. Duckman...

Save it! You'd love to say something

disgustingly cute, cuddly and politically correct,

then I'll get PO'd and commit an unthinkably brutal act.

Let's cut to the chase.

(explosion)

Morning, pig o' my heart. It's a new day.

Everything's different. Everything's changed.

I got an adrenal gland transplant from Vile Kyle.

I got all his energy, his strength, his courage.

Hut, hut, hut!

(yells, glass breaking)

Not to mention his eye for judging distances.

So I'm a little new at it.

The point is I'm ready to attack life with a new abandon.

I got thrills to seek, deaths to defy,

mattress tags to tear off.

You realize, of course, science would frown at the idea

that a glandular transplant

could manifest into behavioral change.

Can it and sell it to someone else, bacon boy.

If I were interested in science,

I wouldn't have spent all that classroom time

in the porno arcade.

Then perhaps you'd like to focus your new-found energy

on the person who just called us about a case.

Caller's name? Doris Applebottom.

Someone stole her six-year-old daughter's Tinkling Tammy doll.

Suspects?

Little Timmy Tupperman, the boy next door.

Motive? She pulled his pants down

in front of her first grade class.

When will people learn?

Let's polka!

(women laughing)

(phones ringing) Duckman Investigations. Please hold.

Duckman Investigations. Please hold.

Duckman Investiga...

(distant siren wailing)

Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Mm-hmm.

Ah, gentlemen, the murderer has left us his calling card.

This soil is only found in one place.

Your backyard!

(gasps)

(laughs)

Please hold, please hold.

Yes, ma'am, please hold.

Please hold. Please hold. Please hold.

Judging by the hair sample

I found nestled in the carpet weave,

the culprit is...

you!

Sir Edmund Patten Vags.

I say, old chap, how did you know?

I didn't... till now.

Take him away!

BOTH (rapidly): Duckman, please hold.

Duckman, please hold. Duckman, please hold.

(squealing)

Have a souvenir.

(French accent): Ah, Monsieur Duckman!

So good to see you again.

Our finest table.

DUCKMAN: Save it for the tourists, Fritz.

I'll take that table.

The light's better.

But they have just been served.

Perfect.

We'll have what they're having... literally.

(laughing)

(popping, people gasping)

Rad, Dad. Wow!

Killer.

Your table, sir, and naturally

we will still bill everything to them

because you are Duckman.

(laughing)

We shared a moment, Fritz. It's over. Beat it.

But of course.

(popping)

Duckman's bread!

(all shouting)

(clears throat)

Mr. Duckman, sir? Excuse me.

My wife is a great admirer of yours.

In fact, she's something of an amateur detective.

Zoiks! If you ask me, she's something of an eyesore.

Well, would it be too much trouble

for you to ask her to dance?

Sorry. Haven't had my shots.

Jesus marimba!

Who's the talent?

(slurping) That's my daughter.

Well, thank God for hospital mix-ups.

Tell me, Casper, how old is she?

Fourteen.

Ouch.

All right, bring her to my place in two years.

Make it four. I like them with experience.

Okay, go on, finish your paper route or something.

You're blocking my breeze.

Hurrah, hut, two, three!

Impressive. Bumpin'

Sweet, Dad.

Duckman, I'm loathe to admit it

but I'm a bit stirred by your behavior.

Yecch! You're loathe?!

(giggling): Oh, no.

What I mean is you seem to be commanding

more respect from your children.

Yeah, Dad, who would have ever thought

you'dbecome a good role model?

I can't believe how much things have changed.

We're not even ashamed to be sitting with you

when you're picking at your underwear in public.

Ah, yes.

Well, high praise indeed.

And let me say how gratifying it is to hear it.

For all I ever wanted to be was an ideal role model--

a shining example of someone my children could look up to.

Fritz! Dessert!

(popping)

(gasps, crying)

Much as I appreciate

the official-- and no doubt valuable--

Duckman thermos, Bernice,

it doesn't make up for the fact

that these children have been spending

a great deal of time in this office.

We like the decor.

Except it needs more mauve.

(kids laughing)

Early on I had dreams of being a dancer.

(all gasping)

Same desk, same chair, same thirst for authority

over people smaller than you.

Your wife pick out that suit? (kids whooping)

Duckman, you're half an hour late.

And I should be feeling what exactly?

Duckman, there seems to be a serious problem

with our children...

But first tell us all about your latest case.

Please, Bernice, you know how I hate to brag.

Simply smashing another crime ring for a world

that's just a little bit better off 'cause I'm around.

Be that as it may,

your children have been bullying students,

taking their lunches, pinching girls

and throwing money around.

I'm a busy man. Get to the problem.

But that is the problem.

And every time they're confronted

they just say, "We can do anything we want.

Our father is Duckman."

Look, you overpaid babysitter,

so what if they're proud of their old man?

So what if they think they're special?

They are special! They're my kids!

That makes them special!

If my father had taken this kind of interest in me,

who knows?

You know what the real problem is?

They're bored. There's no challenge here.

Just like me and my cases.

I solve them one, two, three, and then what?

Seven? Close enough.

See, these kids have had all the formal education they need.

Besides, where are they going to use all these useless facts?

Who cares that South Dakota was a Confederate state?

It's time to start learning from the school of life,

and who better to teach them

than their adventurous, slash, liver of life father?

Let's go, kids.

It's time to soak up some world.

I'm quitting my job and taking you

out of this worthless social institution.

(cheering)

Well, they can always find rewarding careers

in the fast-food industry.

Hup. Yoo-hoo!

(yelling)

Whaa! (laughing)

Just wanted a little off the top.

(speaking Chinese)

Yo, Duckman!

(cheering)

Remember, kids, "fear" is a word

that doesn't belong in your vocabulary.

(gasping)

(cheering)

(phone rings)

MAN: Coroner's office. Over three million exhumed.

Good morning, ma'am. I'm Pig.

Detective Cornfed Pig.

I need to see the body of Vile Kyle.

Sorry, Mr. Pig, I can't just let anyone

who comes in off the street wanting to see the corpse

of a dead action hero

have free rein around the place.

We run a very tight operation here.

I understand.

Ma'am, would it be forward to tell you

that your voice is of the Sirens,

your breath is of the lilacs,

and your skin is of the soft downy wool of a newborn lamb?

Yes, it would.

What if I told you you had a great rack?

Oh. You're just saying that.

(chain saw buzzing)

(gasping)

Follow me, you little deviled ham.

(smacking lips)

Tragic... yet yummy.

Hmm, no scars.

That means he still has his adrenal gland.

A friend of mine's nutsy Fagin

because he thinks he has Vile Kyle's gland.

There was an adrenal gland transplant that day.

It came from a dyslexic accountant

who got run over by that ambulance

that was on its way to save a duck.

So, Duckman never did have Vile Kyle's gland,

which means in 15 minutes he and his kids

are going to attempt an incredibly dangerous stunt

where he'll probably plummet to his death

on national television unless I stop it.

Got time for a quickie?

Sure. Those things never start on time.

Hello. This is Ahmad Hashad Rhish Kebab

high atop the tallest skyscraper on the west side

where Duckman will attempt the impossible--

riding a unicycle across a ten-pound test line

while wearing a lead suit

and carrying his sons on a balance pole.

(high-pitched whistling)

(explosion)

CHARLES: Dad, this is the best time of our young lives.

We've learned so much more out here with you

than we ever did in school.

Thing like, it's fun to be fawned over

by drooling sycophants, and if you're big enough

people will have to put up with you.

Dad, just in case this is our final

ten minutes of quality time together,

do you have any last words we can take through life with us?

Live fast, die young

and always take carry-on luggage

'cause baggage lines are usually pretty long.

Sometimes people have to fill out those little address labels

and then you end up running all the way to the plane.

ALL: Thanks, Dad.

Got the lead on, now let's get the lead out.

(crowd chanting): Duckman! Duckman! Duckman!

(Cornfed panting)

Duckman, sorry I'm late

but the elevator's broken.

You ran up 140 flights of stairs?

I guess that would have been easier

than climbing the side of the building.

Look, I have to tell you something important.

You have the adrenal gland

of a accountant who was dyslexic.

"Bulltish." I'll prove it to you.

Vile Kyle died by the grassy knoll at 9:48 p.m.

Yet your adrenal gland operation took place at 10:01 p.m.

on the other side of the amusement park

by the book depository.

Are we to actually believe that this magic gland

made it from his body to yours

within 13 minutes? I think not.

That's why I propose the second gland theory.

You mean, I'm not really a daredevil,

a hero to millions, a role model to my kids?

In your desire to be a better father,

you over-compensated using the gland transplant

as an excuse for living a lie

and performing increasingly stupid, harebrained

and jackass stunts, endangering your own life

and now your children's.

Not that it doesn't have a certain entertainment value.

Call this off, Duckman, before it's too late.

I can't, Corny, I'd let down my kids.

This would crush them.

For the first time in their lives

they actually look up to me, they think I'm brave,

they think I'm a good father.

A good father is a father who's alive to be a father

and whose real bravery comes in saying no to his kids,

daring to be unliked by doing the right thing.

(crowd chanting): Do it! Do it! Do it!

Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it!

(sighs)

Kids, we're not going to go through with this.

Not going through with it?! What do you mean?

You can't do this to us!

I said no! (kids gasp)

Sorry, but I'm not going to do it.

MAN: He's not going to do it?!

(crowd shouting)

You know, I'm glad I came to my senses in time.

This isn't about fans or adulation or blind praise.

It's about family.

I don't have to kill myself to get the respect of my kids.

They'll still love me even if I'm not a daredevil.

Right, boys?

(crickets chirping)

(birds chirping)

Oh, look, time for school already.

Got to go re-enroll.

Hope I remember what grade I'm in.

Ah, well.

Deep down inside, they're still proud of me.

At least you two know that, right?

(crickets chirping)