Original subtitles

(whistles)

(quacks)

(applause and audience oohing)

(screams)

(audience gasping)

(women screaming)

(screaming, gasping)

(blows landing)

(judges gasping, women screaming)

(people shouting)

(video game warbles)

(beeping) Huzzah.

Once again, Miss Congeniality posted the highest body count.

Look, I'm not ordering squat till you give me an answer.

What part of the chicken is the nugget?

That's it, boys. I did my best.

You want to eat, check that big green container out back.

There always seems to be something under the eggshells.

We're not hungry, Dad.

We're too busy with disaffected youth's latest cable trend--

unscrambling the faces of death network.

All snuff...

All the time.

(doorbell rings, door opens)

(chain saw whirring, man screaming)

All right.

One less geek hawking religion door-to-door.

Remember, Duckman, everything you think, say and do

is bad for the children.

So if you have to speak to them,

just repeat something you've heard me say.

Uh, what I meant was, (screaming continues on TV)

alas, children,

has our moral compass gone so far south

that we call this sort of trash entertainment?

Truth be told, the world's a disgusting place, Dad.

Since we're helpless to do anything about it,

we've decided to embrace its many horrors.

For example, later on

we're helping Grandma-ma with her sitz bath.

(all shuddering)

Besides, who are you kidding?

You love this stuff.

Now, now, be fair, Charles.

I mostly wallow in sexual degradation.

Speaking of which, if I leave now

I can catch a few lap dances before breakfast.

You know the drill-- if you make a mess,

push it all into a little corner

so it looks like you cleaned it up,

and don't let the police in without a warrant. Ta-ta.

Cornfed, check out the night crawler

I found in the bus station men's room.

Three different vibrating speeds--

slow, medium and loss of consciousness.

(screams)

What are they doing here?

You know this kind of thing makes my skin crawl.

A group of schoolchildren?

Oh. I thought it was the road company of Annie.

Duckman, this cross-section of post-toddlers

you nearly dragged through puberty wants to hire us.

Senor Duckman, we need your help.

Our idol's disappeared.

Who's that? Barney?

Check the local bathhouse.

We mean America, the supermodel.

Haven't you ever heard of her?

She's the best and most beautiful model of them all.

That's why we all belong in to her fan club.

But last week, she just disappeared.

Now we have no one to believe in.

Look, pygmies, love to help,

even if I don't know who this America is.

Unfortunately, I always require a retainer.

Oh, right.

Like I'm desperate enough to accept those as payment.

Kids, listen, I understand your pain.

I don't want you to leave thinking I'm a totally

heartless, unfeeling human being.

Here's a little something to take with you.

Pretend it's a rocket ship or something.

Go on. Get. Field trip's over.

Hup two, three.

Thank you, Mr. Duckman, for your time and...

Can you believe that diaper dribble?

Where do you think you're going?

To solve the case for those doe-eyed little tykes.

In a world where hope is a dwindling commodity,

this is a rare opportunity to restore some

in our country's youth.

(yawning)

Rarely do two detectives have the chance

to make such a big difference in the lives of so many.

(whistling)

Did I mention it gives us the legal right

to search a beautiful woman's lingerie drawer?

This one's for the kids!

Another titanium steel triple-reinforced dead bolt

picked with nose hair.

Next time use one of your own.

Hmm, what do we have here?

Ah, big deal. This kind of thing's common.

Who hasn't broken into an ex-girlfriend's house

and left the occasional note written in blood

or a small dead animal on her pillow?

The placement of items on the floor

in the shape of a question mark would lead one to assume

that these are clues to her whereabouts.

What do you think?

Duckman? Duckman?

It's called looking for evidence, Hamhead.

Let's sniff through... uh, sift through these

for any signs of...

Is this...?

Yes, that's America.

She's beautiful, timeless.

But even more,

look at the compassion, the wounded innocence.

Cornfed, as the gods are my witness,

I will leave not the tiniest pebble unturned

in my tireless search to find America,

returning to those children the role model every youth needs

in order to become a stable and mature adult.

Perhaps you should start by taking off her panties.

Work, work, work-- don't you ever punch out?

That picture's still haunting me, Corny.

It's as if I've met her before.

Look, I've got a foolproof plan to find her.

I took these samples from her carpet.

We can match them against every shoe in the tristate area.

Oh, sure, it'll take a couple of years,

but she's worth it.

Or we could just locate the person

whose name and address is engraved on this pipe.

Yeah, whatever. Either way's good.

It appears they don't allow

people of color in this community.

Hi, Mr. Nelson!

Hi, little Billy.

Okay, Cornfed, watch how it's done.

You got to deal with these middle class

flee-to-the-burbs, can't-stand-a-little-crime

in-the-big-bad-city fringe dwellers

on their own level.

Excuse me, Mr....

(coughing)

(coughing) Wilbur Nelson?

We're here to ask you a few questions about America.

America. Now, that takes me back.

How's my old flame doing?

Burning a little low-- we can't find her

and thought you might know where she was.

Afraid I haven't seen America for quite some time, friend,

but, oh, what memories.

When we met, she was wholesome, innocent,

and knew her place.

We used to spend entire evenings together--

our TV dinners on trays in front of that glorious tube,

watching warm, idealized families

and non-threatening singing and dancing minorities.

(groans, coughs)

But then she started asking me things

like what time I'd be home,

or why she couldn't have a say in decisions.

(chuckling)

Imagine a woman questioning my authority.

Dear... (chain rattling)

will the gentlemen be staying for dinner?

I've fixed a roast.

Speak only when spoken to, Kitten.

(giggles)

If I may, it sounds to me (Duckman coughing)

like you ignore the world around you

hoping its problems will simply disappear,

but they might not.

For all you know, a member of your lodge

may be the Bobby Sox Strangler,

your paper boy could be a transvestite,

and if you keep spraying your lawn

with dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane,

your next generation of children

could grow limbs in socially unacceptable places.

Wait a minute, you boys aren't from around here, are you?

In fact, I'm starting to think you might be... Communists.

Communists?

Communists?

Communists?

(coughs)

I don't even vote.

Okay, so they sucker-mobbed us.

He's still a prime, grade A,

certified suspect in my book.

Perhaps, but someone else may have had an ax to grind.

Boy, you're sure putting a lot of faith in these, uh...

What did you call them again?

Clues. Yeah, right.

There's only one place you can buy a guitar like this--

the All Strung-Out guitar shop on campus.

(playing "Voodoo Child" intro)

I did a brief stint as Hendrix in Legends on Ice.

MAN: Wow, man.

According to the guitar shop proprietor

we'll find him here.

I haven't seen this many flakes

since the last time Ajax got scabies.

(gasping)

Is that my guitar?

Not that I remember losing my guitar.

'Course, I don't remember August.

You think there's a connection?

You must be Syncube.

I must?!

* I am he and you are thee *

* And he's a she and coffee's free with a BLT *

* And NBC and hi-diddle-diddly... *

* Dee! *

Everybody, now!

86 the hootenanny, Elvis.

Ow, man.

The only singing you're going to do is about America.

I don't know anyone by that name,

but I know an America.

When I first met her,

she was yearning to be free,

to break out, to experience new things.

So I got her doing stuff

she'd never done before, like trying to tie her shoes

after being up for a week,

or spending all day staring at her hand,

or laying around unconscious in her own sputum.

You can't buy those kind of memories.

You been sitting too close to the black light,

magical mystery turd.

What happened to her? Where'd she go?

Go? She's right here, man.

My mistake.

So many chicks around here don't shave.

I'm guessing, but I'd say his brain waves

crash a little short of the beach.

(siren wailing)

It's Tuesday.

Time for your weekly confrontation

with oppressive authority figures.

(angry shouting)

It's driving me crazy, Corny.

The more I hear about her, the more I want to hear.

I just wish I knew where she might have gone.

You got any more of those glues?

Clues. I'm one letter off.

Crucify me!

It so happens I do have another,

and my hunch is she went the way

anyone coming from that lifestyle

would have gone-- headlong into the world

of the shallow and self-obsessed.

Network television?

A joke that easy deserved an appropriate response.

(disco music playing)

Hey, how's you doing?

My name's Sal-- Sal Manella.

I dance here every night 'cause it's, like, uh,

a symbolic escape from the socio-economic malaise

of my environment.

Or was it 'cause I like it when people look at my butt?

Work it out later, boogie-boy.

I got a question for you first.

Wouldn't you dance better with this?

Thanks. I've been looking for that for years.

All right, you j-j-j-jive talking

village person, where is she?

Who? America.

Huh? America.

What? America!

Whoa, what are the odds I ask three questions

with the same answer?

Take a look, Andy Glib.

Maybe some of the things you shared

will jog your memory.

Oh, yeah. Duh.

We usually went to swapping parties

and slept with dozens of total strangers,

basically building an entire relationship

on lots of wild and unprotected sex

without any love or feeling at all.

Okay, so there were some good times.

Listen, Dancing Queen,

you better hope she's staying alive,

'cause America's more than a woman.

And if you're even a fifth responsible for harming her,

you'll be taking a soul train straight to a disco inferno

where you never can say good-bye!

For some reason, you make me feel like dancin'.

Wait a minute, I'm not through with you yet!

(yelling)

(grunting and groaning)

(slurping)

(yelling) What the...?

What's going on?

You blacked out and this nice wine-soaked man

gave you mouth- to-mouth.

Call me?

(sputtering, spits)

Corny, what if I never get to meet her?

What if I never get a chance to tell her

what I felt when I looked at that picture?

He could have killed her!

Let's not be hasty.

He does have some redeeming qualities.

We took first in the hustle contest.

Yes, well...

before we jump to any conclusions

our next clue indicates that America grew tired

of aimless decadence and moved on to something

more lucrative.

Wall Street.

I know it's Sunday, but we planned

a hostile takeover

of my closest friend's family business this morning.

Secretaries. She wants time off

for what she insists on calling

an operation on her colon.

They found some sort of tumor, or something.

Sheesh! (phone ringing)

So much for the charming patter, sushi-sucker.

We're looking for America.

America? I'm sorry, I haven't seen her

since the pre- nuptial hearing.

I've married someone else-- Valerie--

my trophy wife.

(chuckling)

Before America tired of the rat race,

she and I went through a great deal of personal growth,

became better people together, tried to help mankind...

(laughing): I kid, of course.

We made lots of money, blah-blah-blah,

end of story.

We also had a solar-heated

winter home in Telluride,

complete with a pedigreed golden retriever

because of course, pedi greed is good.

My guess is, you had everything you wanted.

You revolved your whole life around being rich,

but it wasn't enough for her, was it?

Money is never enough to make you happy.

(whimpers)

It's all right. An obsession with a woman

can often cause a temporary shock to your belief system.

Listen, Duck, I'm no stranger to ideals.

I sell them. $39.95.

WOMAN: Mr. Stone, the SEC is here about that lucrative

and extremely fortuitous stock payoff.

Get back here, Mr. Fancy Magic Shoes!

I'll trickle down all over you!

I'll up your interest rate, you hear me?

Get back and tell me where she is!

At least this portion of the investigation didn't end

in another random and misplaced act of violence.

Freeze! Don't move!

(yelling)

(grunting)

Where is she?!

What happened?!

Which one of you is responsible for this?!

Nelson? Syncube? Sal? Stone? Cornfed?

Cornfed?

I thought I should hold on to the keys.

I can't stand it, Corny!

We're never going to find her!

And look at this!

We're down to our last, uh...

Clue?

I think I just bit into a squirrel.

Let's see... the FDA allows

a maximum of eight percent rat feces,

horse lips, mashed insect,

and ocelot sphincter, but no, no squirrels.

Duckman, it's a note.

"If you've gotten this far,

"you must be someone who cares about my fate.

"Hopefully, after talking to my ex-boyfriends,

"you can understand why I've given up.

"It's too late to save me, but I hope you can forgive me.

Good-bye. America."

Corny, she's dead.

(rock music playing loudly)

(flies buzzing)

Here's where he's been hiding, Cornfed.

He hasn't showered in days.

Other than that, he's acting completely different.

It's a classic slacker response to despair--

the dull, vacant stare, the loss of brain cells,

the time and effort put in

looking as unattractive as humanly possible.

He changed his name to Keanu.

Send me 65 more microwave burritos.

Just bill it to my step-mom or my half-dad or my first dad,

or my half-step-uncle.

Pay up. I didn't think anyone

could atrophy that quickly.

Boys, I told you not to touch your father.

He looks sticky.

Keanu! You have a visitor.

He didn't hear the last part.

Having inundated himself with music videos,

he's no longer able to concentrate on any one thing

for longer than a second and a half.

(music stops)

Corn flakes, corn hole, ear of corn!

* Jimmy crack corn and I don't care *

* Jimmy crack... * (yelling)

(crying) You hurt me!

Oh, it hurts so bad!

Oh, boo-hoo!

You hurt my face!

You hurt my wittle face!

(yelling)

I'm sorry I slapped you, Duckman,

but I was trying to calm you down.

And I guess just saying the words "calm down"

would be considered hopelessly simplistic.

The point is, I'm worried about you.

We all are, right, Bernice? Ah...

While becoming obsessed with a dead woman you've never met

isn't a surefire sign of insanity, chances are

you won't be manning any missile silos for a while.

How dare you cheapen my feelings for her

by implying that it's some kind of insane obsession!

What's that, my dear? You say you're hungry?

Eat, my love, eat.

Oh, why won't you eat?

Tell me why, oh, why, oh, why, oh, why, oh, why, oh, why?

I'm getting out of here before the 3:00 drool.

Let's go, children.

I sure hope no one offers you 50 bucks

to smother him with a pillow.

That would be wrong.

You're keeping her note?

That's mine! Give it back.

This was yours.

You touched it.

The talking pig doesn't understand.

Now you're gone. You left me.

Me, I'm in dumps.

In dumps?

In dumps! In dumps! In dumps!

In dumps! In dumps! In dumps! In dumps!

Well, he seems to be getting better.

DUCKMAN: America! America!

America!

Ally-ally-oxen-free!

America!

Here I am.

America, you're, you're...

I was going to say beautiful, but actually, you could stand

being run through the car wash a few times.

Why are you here?

I'm tired, I'm sick.

I don't know why anyone would want to find me.

Uh, because you're sunshine, flowers,

rainbows and daisies all rolled into one

and held together by, uh...

a wad of something?

Uh, gum?

No. I'm used up.

Everyone I met just took from me.

They gave nothing back.

I was there for anyone who'd care for me.

No one did.

I care.

Too late.

You only felt something for me

after you thought I was gone.

I guess so.

I guess I've had my share

of bad luck and bad relationships.

Heck, I got suits pending against me

from three different dating services

and the teen chat line.

There've even been times when I've wanted to give up,

but if I do, how can I expect things to ever get better?

What kind of world would I be leaving for my kids?

Don't give up, America.

You've got to keep going... for your kids.

(piano playing gentle melody)

* We are hope and love *

* We are everywhere *

* When hearts need to believe *

* When we dare to care *

* We are there *

* Every German who chugs a beer *

* We are there *

* Every African who throws a spear *

* We are there *

* Every Chinaman in a junk *

* We are there *

* Every Mexican in a trunk *

* We are there *

* Every Bedouin on a dune *

* We are there *

* Every Frenchman playing "Claire de Lune" *

* We are there * * Every Syrian or Kazakhstani *

* We are there *

* Every Giorgio and his Armani *

* We are there *

* Every Spaniard playing second flute *

* We are there *

* Every Dane, Norwegian and Aleut *

* We are there *

* Every single guy who's Aborigine *

* We are there *

* Every Englishman who's Walter Pidgeon-y *

* We are there *

* From Hollywood, home of big celebrities *

* We are there *

* To Vanuatu, the old new Hebrides *

* We are there *

* From New Yorkers eating steak tartare *

* We are there *

* To every friend of Pablo Escobar *

* We are there *

* From the Taiwanese and Cuban Petes *

* We are there *

* To the Russians with their soup of beets *

* We are there *

* Every Tamil, Tartar, Thai, Tibetan *

* We are there *

* And anybody else that we're forgettin' *

* We are there *

* Everyone from Niger, Tonga, Bali *

* We are there *

* The French Sudan, which is now called Mali *

* We are there *

* Everybody up in Katmandu *

* We are there *

* Every Canadian, 'cause we're there, too, eh? *

* We are there *

You seemed even more manic and unstable than usual

so I followed you.

One thing puzzles me.

How did you know the smell of her note

came from this particular landfill's rotting food?

Elementary, my dear Cornfed. * We are there *

I was here just last week.

Don't tell Bernice, but, uh,

I got her a burial plot for her birthday.

* We are there * Mum's the word.

Duckman, you were right.

I can't give up on my children.

How can I ever thank you?

Just take care of them.

I will. I promise.

* We are there *

* We are there *

You know, Cornacious,

I think everything's

going to work out just fine for America.

Kids, why don't we all go out for ice cream--

my treat.

(cheering)

* We are there *

Uh, could someone float me a long-term loan?

I'm broke.

* We are there *

* Every Tajikistani with a yak *

* We are there *

* Every Bolivian in a sack *

* We are there *

* Every caner in Singapore *

* We are there *

* Everybody who's really sore *

* We are there *

* Every Turk in a Teaneck diner *

* We are there *

* Or South African diamond miner *

* We are there *

* Every gypsy playing finger cymbals *

* We are there *

* Anyone who ever shopped at Gimbels *

* We are there *

* We are there *

* We are there *

* We are there *

* We are there *

* We are there *

* We are there... *

* We are there *

* We are there *

* We are there *

* We are there *

* We are there *

* We are there *

* We are there *

* We are there *

* We are there *

(fading): * We are there... *