Original subtitles

(whistles)

(quacks)

Earth. Majestic, awe-inspiring,

and home to the richest people in the universe.

Simply, hi.

I'm Dr. Conrad Milo welcoming you

to the world-famous Conrad Milo Rehab Center,

where affluent addicts go for a quick fix of their careers.

It's methadone wishes

and withdrawal-induced dreams.

For wherever you find the rich

you'll find the rich in a stupor.

Want a peek at the grotesque luxury inside

where dependence meets resplendence?

Sorry. Only the most privileged get that privilege

for a wallet-wearing $8,000 a day.

Most major platinum cards accepted.

Is that the famous falsetto-singing,

leather-clad pop star

who's tested more drugs than the F.D.A.?

We can't say.

Could that be the blonde-haired,

green-eyed TV she-demon whose bedroom bedlam

got her thrown off three series in a row?

You didn't hear it from us.

So remember, when you've got a secret shame

you want leaked to the world

so you'll have a sympathetic and fault-free excuse

for your recent outrageous behavior

think Milo.

So let me get this straight.

You run a glorified cappuccino and croissant

clip joint where the rich and blitzed

get to spend two weeks in a hot tub

instead of six years in maximum

as a pin-up boy for a guy named Back-Door Billy?

Yes, and I'd like

to hire you for a job. And a fine clip joint it is.

Have I told you how impressed I was by the way

that former child star didn't rob a convenience store

for over three weeks after he checked out of your place?

So, care for some coffee?

I never touch caffeine.

Good. There's only one pot.

(screams)

What led you through the hopelessly tangled underbrush

of private security organizations to our door? Hmm?

Stellar word-of-mouth? Our fine client roster?

Those flyers we put up in that public urinal?

I needed detectives who were so low on the ladder

there was absolutely no way anyone rich or famous

could have ever heard of them.

Hey. We may not have the recognition of detectives

who go around "solving cases," but we do just fine, thank you.

What Duckman is trying to say in his endearing-

yet-somehow-it-manages-to-scare- all-our-business-away manner

is that we'd love to hear about your case.

(burping loudly)

Exactly. Let's hear what you got.

I believe someone is trying to kill me.

Do you have any proof? This note.

"Dear Dr. Milo, I'm trying to kill you."

Hmm. Nothing more definite?

I found a gun.

Probably a toy.

(bird squawks)

And a knife.

Proves nothing. (squawks)

And this bomb.

I get these every day.

(bird squawks)

Uh, next time, you might want to tell me

it's on a timer, you know, for rhythm.

I was thinking you could go undercover

in my clinic and take over my therapy group.

Yes, well, warn us next time you're planning on thinking.

I'll investigate the lap of luxury as a patient.

We'll let Corny talk to the sickos.

Fluffy, Uranus, get your fuzz butts in here!

(alarm buzzing) (screams)

Time for my smoking patches.

BOTH: You bellowed, Mr. Duckman?

I'm taking a vacation.

Where's my bathing suit with the padded bulge?

It should be in here, right next to your

foam rubber pectoral enhancer.

(gulping)

Eeh! Ack!

Ugh! This lemonade tastes terrible.

We were worried you were eating too much sugar,

so we substituted finely ground chalk.

Chalk?

Studies show

most adults are chalk deficient.

And it's organic.

Oh. You like organic?

Well, there's nothing more organic than a real live body.

(screaming)

(screaming)

Grilled to perfection.

Mr. Duckman, perhaps when this is finished

an extra two weeks at the clinic might do you some good.

Me? Ha!

Places like that are for the weak, spineless--

people so blinded by their selfish needs

they don't have a clue what they're doing

from one minute to the next.

Duckman, you know those are mothballs, right?

(chuckles)

Just so happens that my doctor says I need more camphor.

DUCKMAN: Almost there, my cloved-foot comrade.

Time to mingle with the millionaires,

gallivant with the glitterati, hobnob with the hoi polloi.

And with any luck, of course, keep a man from being killed.

Right, right, there's always the side benefits.

Who is that?

God, I wonder who that is.

Touch me, touch me.

(paparazzi groaning)

It's just a duck.

Cyrus Red Herring, McGuffin Security.

Are you rich? No.

Famous? No.

Ever been sexually involved with a political candidate?

No, but I did get approached

by an Arkansas state trooper a few years back.

(blubbering)

Heh, heh. Well I guess you found all the...

Ow!

(grunts)

That's where I put my espresso machine.

(screams)

Whee!

(screams)

(grunts)

What the...?

Ugh. Look at this hellhole.

Rats, vermin...

body parts spread all over the room.

(screams)

Dr. Milo.

Hmm... 9 and a half.

Hard to believe

these are the dismembered remains of Dr. Milo,

the bloodied tatters of his lifeless corpse

splattered on the walls like so much worthless refuse.

You think that's bad? Look at the room they gave me.

No air, no cable, no continental breakfast

with those cute little jars of grape jelly.

At least Milo's suffering is over.

Sacrifice is often a part of undercover work, Duckman.

Yeah, yeah. What's the story with your shoes?

They're soaked. Oh. Tee-hee.

One of the office girls did a cannonball in my Jacuzzi.

Jacuzzi?!

Never mind that. We have to start our investigation.

What investigation?

The cops checked it out, decided it was natural causes.

He exploded.

Hey, the human body's an ever-unfolding mystery.

So, I'm famished.

How's about we blow this pop psychology stand

and grab us a couple of dozen greasy cheeseburgers?

Duckman, a detective lives by his code,

and under that code, the case survives the client.

By the way, also under that code,

detectives get 20% off at Red Lobster,

but don't even think about that now.

I've done some preliminary work,

including a modest scale model re-creation of the crime scene.

This is an exact replica of my cell.

Actually, it's not.

My walls are asbestos-free.

Maybe the group therapy session I'm taking over for Dr. Milo

will help us put a few more pieces together.

Are you coming?

When pigs can fly!

I'm still not coming-- I'm tired, I'm cold,

and I've got to get a room upgrade.

I'm sorry, Duckman, but it's crucial

that we maintain our secret identities

at whatever cost to our personal comfort.

Doctor, it's up to 102.

Somebody got a fever?

No, it's my sauna.

Tell the other nurses I have a session first.

If they get too warm, the towels are optional.

(giggles)

Saunas, nurses, Jacuzzis?

Where the hell do you get off telling...?

(screams)

Admittedly, the almost godlike ramifications

could be a bit seductive.

As you'll see, they treat

a wide variety of addictions here.

Most often, however,

they like to group patients by profession.

(gibberish)

For instance, this is the Entertainment Industry wing,

Television Subsection.

Child stars, writers over 25, development executives...

Actually someone else gets addicted for them

then they take credit for it.

This special section is for celebrities

actually addicted to checking in to rehab clinics.

With this class of clientele, naturally,

they run into scheduling problems.

So they have drive-thru rehab for busy type "A's"

who just don't have two weeks to give up.

Well, we're here.

DUCKMAN: Hasselhoff is too a singer.

CORNFED: Remember, Duckman, this is a perfect opportunity

to interview Dr. Milo's patients

but be surreptitious.

Cornfed, please,

I'd rather try not to draw attention

to myself if you don't mind.

Oh-oh!

My two favorite comedians

and that un-lanced boil one of them was married to.

Roulette, Roxanne, Boil!

Remember me, Duckman, private eye?

Do a lot of undercover work?

Actually, you do look kind of familiar.

Something just came up that reminds me of you.

Oh, yeah, my lunch.

(laughing)

That's telling him, Roxanne.

That's really telling him.

Shut up, canker-yanker,

or I'll cut off your alimony.

(laughing): That's telling me, Roxanne.

That's really...

And look-- is that

Juan Jesus Maria Ostalez?

$6 million shortstop,

role model and substance abuser due to the pressure of making

$6 million?

And Senator Steven Stark.

One of the great drunken skirt-chasing patriots of our time.

Ahem. Yes. Well, if you'll all be seated.

Thank you. I'm Dr. Gelman.

No, you're not. Yes, I am.

No, you're not. Yes, I am.

What are you talking about? You're...

My name is Dr. Gelman,

Dr. Nathan Gelman.

Nobody knows me here, so I'm introducing myself.

Oh... yeah.

(chuckles) Nice to meet you,

Dr. Cornfed.

(sighs)

In light of Dr. Milo's tragic demise,

I will be taking over his sessions.

Why don't you each tell us who you are,

what you're doing here... Hold it. Time out.

Priorities here.

Can everyone check to see if you got any

partially unsmoked butts stuck to your shoe?

I got my butt stuck to his lips.

Does that count?

Yeah.

(laughing): I'm such a dink.

Hey, Shemp, you always act like such a suck-up, no-talent pile?

No. Sometimes I sleep.

I'll start.

My name is John...

I'll start.

Um... my name is Roxanne.

I'm here 'cause, like, I told the press

I'm addicted to, like, booze or something

so I'd have an excuse for firing everyone

off my show all the time.

Yeah, yeah. Hate to yawn and run,

but happy hour is only 60 minutes long.

It's obvious you hated Dr. Milo for exposing your little fraud

so you killed him. End of story.

Killed him? I loved him.

He showed me how I was really addicted

to attention and being sucked up to.

Sorry. Senator?

Hello, I'm Senator Stark.

I like to drink, smoke, lie, steal

and fondle anyone within reach.

(chuckles) Join the club.

I did. It's called the Senate.

Thought it'd help my image to get reformed.

And if that doesn't stick,

I can always run for mayor of Washington, D.C.

Okay, watch my dust. 15 minutes to the Knockers Galore matinee.

Ol' Filibuster Brown killed Milo because he was about to expose

this pervo's taste for sweet young legislative bodies.

Quite the contrary.

He devised a unique way

to help me overcome my biggest problem.

See, whenever I touch this mechanical Senate page

I get a shock-- haiku!--

and the shock I get-- gymkata!--

is designed to keep me-- dimsum!--

from wanting to touch it.

Aversion therapy-- by associating pain

with a specific pleasure,

you'll be conditioned not to do it again.

I doubt it. He's so damn cute.

Yo, Senator Juicy Fruit, save it for your next joint session. Oh!

Okay. Name's Roulette, and I'm here

'cause my career was shakier

than Roxanne's flabby butt after a jumping jack.

Badda-bing, badda-bang, badda-boom.

Gotta run! Two-for-one sale at the rubber goods store.

Another arrest. Anyway, blah, blah, blah,

killed Milo 'cause you hate everybody.

What'd they bus you in from a head injury ward?

Milo made me confront my anger.

Showed me it's wrong to hate those who are different than me

except for homo, saggy-breasted women's libbers

and those third world types with funny accents.

Thank you, Roulette, for expressing

what millions of white trash neo-Nazis would love to say

if they could hide behind the First Amendment

under the guise of comedy.

Yep. Well, now that's wrapped up, let's book.

Got a jones for a triple scoop

of that tuna musk ice cream at...

What the hell are you staring at?

You mean you expect me to join in

on this "fruit of the loon" club?

Ah! Don't turn my crank.

Unlike you losers, I don't have an addiction.

Duckman, you're living in a glass house with Mr. Denial.

Think of us as the men in the moving vans.

It's clear our newest constituent is filled

with fear and self-loathing.

I think we should help him break down these barriers,

starting with a warm and very wet group hug.

(screaming)

Duckman must die!

Duckman must die,

and I will be the one to end his misery.

I'll roast his heart on a spit,

and then I'll wash it down

by sucking all his precious bodily fluids.

Wait a second.

I can't suck my own precious bodily fluids.

I already tried that in high school.

(screams)

How much can one duck take?!

A whole week without caffeine, nicotine, women!

Okay. So I once went three years without a woman--

no, six if you don't count that open house day at the morgue.

(wailing and howling)

(ecstatic yelling)

Oh, wow!

Whoo-hoo! Whoo-hoo!

(carnival music playing)

(yelling)

MAN (with Jamaican accent): Hey, Duckmon.

Me be cool, mon.

(echoing): How 'bout you?

DUCKMAN: What's happening to me?

I'm surrounded by hideous visions,

horribly misshapen monsters!

(screams)

Duckman! There you are.

It wasn't easy, but we managed to sneak in here

posing as a singing mother-dominated Mormon family

who've turned to vice because their better days

are behind them.

And we only came here out of our genuine

love and concern for you, Dad.

Oh, look! There goes the entire cast

of Beverly Hills Adjacent!

Oh, yoo-hoo!

Cheyenne, Dashiel, Elizabeth and Joann St. Croix.

And here comes rock star stash.

People magazine voted him

most addicted man in America.

Hi, kids. Nice of you to come by

and see your dad.

Whoa. Sounds like all those years of being fried

really took their toll.

(man retching)

All right! The anchorman from CNS just vomited!

(cameras clicking)

(farting)

Good news, Duckman.

I just placed first

in the Milo Clinic Celebrity Pro-am Golf Tournament.

Oh. And I'm closing in on the murder suspect.

(gunshots, Duckman screaming)

If we solve this case, I can get out.

Solve case, get out.

Solve case, get out.

More rock, less talk.

Solve case, get out. Solve case, get out.

Solve case, get out. Solve case, get out.

Solve case, get out. Solve case, get out.

Solve case, get out. Solve case, get out.

Solve case, get out. Solve case...

(both grunting)

(yells)

(grumbling)

MAN (over PA): Your attention, please.

Will all suspects in the murder of Dr. Milo

please report to the lecture hall

for the singling out of the killer.

There will be door prizes.

(all chattering)

Say "compulsive aggressive!"

Thank you all for coming.

I'm pleased to announce I've solved Dr. Milo's murder.

His killer is in this very room with us, now.

(all gasping)

Initially, I believed

the doctor to be yet another victim

of your common, everyday spontaneous combustion,

until I noticed his remains had an odor vaguely reminiscent

of Northwestern Wisconsin, i.e. dairy country.

This was especially curious

considering Milo's having overcome

a childhood addiction to the lactose

found in dairy products-- an addiction, which,

in conjunctionwith a strange glandular condition

caused him to swell to 340 pounds by age eight.

(gasps)

On the night of the murder the doctor retired

to his study for his nightly repast

of beef Klasky and potatoes Csupo... or so he thought.

Mm... mm...

(gagging)

Milo's potatoes had been replaced

with ultra-rich vanilla ice cream

causing his taut body to revert to its childhood girth.

Hoping to counteract the effect

with healthier food, he bit into a banana,

but sadly, said banana had been replaced

by a banana-shaped wedge of Swiss gouda.

Desperate for relief, Milo tried

to brush the taste from his mouth

but as any child of four could tell you,

the A.D.A. does not recommend brushingwith Cheese Whiz.

In a last-ditch attempt to pass the offending substances

through his system

he rushed to his trusty water cooler.

Regrettably, the water had been exchanged for Farmer Fred's

grade-A pasteurized milk--

that is, the new see-through Crystal-lite version.

And that, as they say, was that.

(Milo screaming)

(explosion)

Finally, Dr. Milo's remains were dumped into the toilet,

the murderer thinking they'd be flushed away forever.

Little did anyone know, however,

that the facility's waste and sewage

never actually leave the building.

MAMBO: Go on, Corny.

Tell us who the murderer is.

Tell us who did it.

You want to know who did it?

Okay. I'll tell you.

They all did it.

(all gasp)

All five of them played a part.

Four of them responsible for switching a different food.

One of them for the demeaning, degrading

and ultimately unsuccessful job

of flushing the remains down the toilet.

(laughs nervously)

And all because they were being denied their addictions.

mass tantrum by a group of spoiled children,

who in their whole lives have never been told no.

This is outrageous!

You can't prove we did anything wrong!

Yes, he can! Look!

If I remember correctly,

the N.R.A. Gangbang special--

for the times when nothing but a group kill will do.

And I'd recognize those trigger fingers anywhere.

Okay. We did it

but we have to ask Dr. Gelman,

how did you know?

As fate would have it, my own addiction--

Murder, She Wrote reruns on USA.

Check local listings for show times.

I knew if I came up with a preposterous solution

that had a blatant disregard for the facts

and defied all logic

then told it in flashback, it would be true.

(clamoring)

(door opening)

Monkey's off our backs.

We're going home.

(grunting)

I, Duckman, have captured the murderer.

BEATRICE: Zip it, Dorkman.

While you were out playing slap and tickle

with your bondage buddy, Cornfed already solved the case.

Milo's patients did it.

That's impossible!

I almost killed myself capturing him.

He has to be guilty. He has to!

(weeping): He has to be guilty. He has to be the guilty one!

I want him to be guilty.

Cyrus Herring, D.E.A.

I've been undercover here for three months.

These people were putting unadvertised food additives

in their kelp.

No charges.

It's enough punishment just being him.

Want me to drop these five off? I pass a jail.

ROULETTE: I was thinking we could stop off

for a hot dog.

Speaking of hot dogs,

you ever wonder why they call them franks?

I mean, why not stans or bobs?

Poor guy. No one told him

they're not funny after they've cleaned up.

ROXANNE: Like, now that we got caught, are we going to have to spend

another two weeks in murder rehab?

BOIL: We could buy our way out.

(chuckles) We've got money.

Well, she does, but I get to use some of it.

Isn't that right, dear?

Isn't it, dear? Dear?

ALL: We didn't get autographs!

Yo, Agent Orange, you haven't heard the last of me!

Somehow, someway, someday, I'll pin this on you!

Duckman, he didn't do it.

He's just a seemingly suspicious character

here to throw us off track.

Think about it--

"Red Herring"? "McGuffin Security"?

Never mind.

Shall we rejoin the world?

(farting)

Duckman, though Cornfed was, as always,

the effective partner,

I am impressed by all the running and fighting you did.

Both sides of your face are still symmetrical

like you didn't even have a stroke.

You're right, Bernice, and I... I am feeling stronger.

I-I-I can see past my hands!

My hair doesn't hurt!

I'm dried out! It worked!

This changes everything!

From now on, it's pinto beans for breakfast every day,

sex without a prosthesis.

I've turned myself around.

It's time to meet the new and improved Duckman.

(shouts) Hey, you! Bob Noxious.

Haven't you heard the stats on secondary smoke?

Ah... a whole new world.

(inhaling)

And how better to start that world

than with a pound of bacon and some curly fries!

And coffee filters, used!

I'll wear them around my face like a surgeon's mask.

Hey, nurse!

I got a thermometer that will make you bedridden for a week.

Where you going? It's time for my exam.

See? I'm turning my head and coughing.

(fake coughs) Now it's your turn.

Nurse?

Nursie?

Nurse! Autographs!

(people clamoring)

Nurse, nursie!

(clamoring continues)

MAN: I loved your last movie!

I could use a drink.