Original subtitles

(Duckman moaning)

Where am I?

What's going on?

Must remember.

(echoing): Think back...

(Duckman moaning)

Where am I?

What's going on?

Must remember.

(echoing): Think back...

Must think back

(echoing): a little farther...

(Duckman moaning)

Where am I?

What's going on?

Must remember.

(echoing): Think back...

Must think back

(echoing): a little farther...

Hmm. Maybe volunteering for LSD research

wasn't the best way out of the Reserves.

Wait! Now it's coming back to me.

I was sitting in my office, and there was this noise--

some kind of static-- almost like someone talking.

CORNFED: ...and as I held her in my arms... (sniffles)

her last breath of life escaping her lips...

I vowed to keep Mother's promise

and rededicate myself to helping humanity.

(snoring)

(blubbering) Oh! Sorry about that, Corny,

but whenever someone starts off with "I never felt free

to share this with anyone before" I'm into dial tone.

So, 10:30 a.m.-- time to check out the casabas

on that fresh peach working the fruit stand.

(intercom buzzes) FLUFFY: Mr. Duckman?

There's a mysterious man in a ski mask

who'd like to see you in the closet

at the dark end of the hall.

Huh, sounds innocent enough. I'm on my way.

Well, not literally on my way,

but I'm on the way to being on my way.

Obviously, I couldn't be on my way

if we're still talking about me being on the way,

so if you two will quit yapping, I'll be on my way!

Huh. Office help.

(door slams) I only stay for the dental.

I only stay for the dental.

(Fluffy and Uranus yelling)

FLUFFY: Mr. Duckman...

why'd you eviscerate us with a hot curling iron?

It's Tuesday.

Well, let's see. Hall closet, hall closet...

Ah! Here we are.

Welcome, Duckman.

Care for a bubbling blue drink?

Oh, grassy-ask.

Wait a minute.

As a detective, I've spent years

staying alive on my suspicions.

What's the big idea?

You just hang out in closets all day

offering bubbling blue drinks to total strangers?

Yes. I buy it.

Of course, this isn't at all

likeon Rockford Files, where the industrialist drugged Jim

'cause he was the identical twin of his missing brother.

It's a completely different episode.

Uh-huh.

Well, l'chaim. Oh!

You stupid, clumsy,

idiotic, brain-dead, yellow imbecile.

Hey, wait, hold on there, buddy.

You really think I'm yellow?

I've always seen myself as more a sallow ocher.

Here, check the butt feathers.

(groaning)

Yow!

Don't kill me, please! Don't kill me!

I can give you things. I can give you... (gasps)

I could sing a little song.

Now, mute.

What? Mute.

(clicks)

Aha. Ha.

Excuse me, uh, Mr. Madman?

You seem upset.

Maybe because I am!

Have you seen the world lately-- I mean really seen it?

The hate, the violence, the random sex

and debauchery?

Actually, that last one's escaped my notice.

If you could tell me where exactly to witness...

It's your fault! Yours!

We'd already been driven to the brink of madness

by years of irresponsible television,

but now, I, like the rest of the world

have been pushed over the edge by one series--

Duckman.

Yes?

Duckman!

Yes?

Duckman!

The series is called Duckman!

Your life is the most immoral show of all time.

But even Who's The Boss? had that one where Tony lied

about his bowling score, so what are you gonna do, hmm?

Wait a minute! You're saying that I'm a TV show?!

Not that an adult series about a certain verbal

and rakish drake wouldn't be fascinating viewing--

maybe even get well-reviewed in papers like Newsday,

Wall Street Journal and Village Voice

then make a few top-ten lists and get an Emmy nomination.

Look, I'm a person, not a TV show.

I have a job, a family, a membership

to the Suppository of the Month Club.

And I have another theory about what you think.

You have a few too many birds on your antenna.

Am I crazy because I'm the one viewer in America

courageous enough to act?

Do you expect me to sit around doing nothing

like little Timmy just before he hit his head on that rock

and Lassie's locked up in the pound

but she gets the key from a cat

who pushes it under the door?

Oh, where are my manners?

Harry Medfly, currently unemployed TV critic.

Duckman, currently tied-up detective.

I know who you are. You're part of the reason

this country's a grim, grisly pit of eels.

Did you know there were over 500 murders

in this country the week after The Terminator aired?

How about the week before?

500, but that's not the point.

I didn't knock you out, kidnap you

and threaten you with a knife to argue about violence.

Okey-dokey. Starting to get the picture here.

What say I promise to stop being a TV show,

take you to Big Lance's Rubber Novelties and Woo-Woo Lounge,

get you ten percent off all appliances

and we call it square?

Change channels. Change channels.

You don't believe me, do you?

It's time to see what I'm talking about.

(remotes clicking)

(whistles)

(quacks)

Okay, Medfly, what was that?

What are my family and friends doing in it?

Are they in danger, too? And most important,

who was that luscious piece of tail

walking by in the beginning?

It's my duty to expurgate you

from the airwaves along with everything else

that degrades and demeans humanity.

Expurgate, as in give lots of money to?

As in cancel, get rid of, send into eternal oblivion

where people will never see or hear

the name Duckman ever again.

You mean put me on cable?

No. I mean... kill you.

(grunting) (pop music plays)

(buzzer rings)

I came as soon as I heard Duckman was missing.

Me, too, but then I got a little worried. Ha!

(TV plays indistinctly)

Kids, I'll need your help in locating your father.

Dad's missing?

Then who's this?

Ajax, that's my kickboxing workout bag.

Oh, that would explain

his lackluster presentation at father-son night.

I need you to remember

his exact movements during the last two days.

Well, when he got home Friday, he went to the TV.

Then he went to the bathroom.

Then he came back to the TV.

Then he went to the bathroom.

First thing Saturday, he watched TV.

After going to the bathroom.

Thanks. I'm beginning to sense a pattern.

Given that police organizations are woefully overburdened

and that every minute counts in the first 24 hours

of a victim's disappearance, I suggest we undertake

our own demanding and difficult investigation--

beginning with interviews of anyone who's spoken to

or seen your father during the past two years

combined with a systematic survey

of all emergency care facilities within a 50-mile radius

and a door-to-door canvassing of the city.

We have nachos.

It can wait.

Don't you see?

TV's sole reason to exist is to sell products.

Crime pays, as long as you have a sponsor.

This guy's bughouse.

It's time to use the old reverse psychology.

Uh, you're right, Medfly.

I am the reason TV has become

a cesspool of decay and degradation.

Get rid of me and all the world's problems will disappear.

Okay.

Damn, he's good.

Look, Medfly... if this is the end,

I just have one teeny-tiny little request.

What did you have in mind?

To slip into something more comfortable, say, Sharon Stone?

Ha-ha! You see? You see?

You think of women as nothing more

than a collection of anonymous body parts!

What are you talking about?!

I think of women as breasts, legs and butts.

What's anonymous about that?

Anyway, who says lusting and plotting 10, 12 hours a day

to brush up against them's a crime?

The Supreme Court.

(chuckles): Yeah. Like they're in charge

of interpreting the law for the whole country.

Come on, Medfly, sex is a normal part of life-- it's healthy.

Birds do it, bees do it, even...

no, wait, they eat their young.

But the point is, so I like sex?

It's not like I go overboard with it.

Oh, no?

Shazam! Lady, those things real,

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

Uh, sorry, I-I didn't hear you. I was staring at your breasts.

I look at breasts... and I, uh, I'm a detective.

(chuckles) But mainly the breast thing.

(clamoring)

(shrieking)

(groans)

Come in, come in, I'm Duckman.

And this is Hooters-- I-I mean Cornfed.

So, eat to please you-- uh, pleased to beat you.

Sorry, just a little horny-- tired!

Tired this morning. Little tired.

Homina, homina ha wah!

It's times like this I wish I had a penis.

Can we get you anything? Uh, D-cup of coffee?

Duckman, Duckman with a D. In fact, PhD, Loveology.

Perhaps you'd care to stay after class

while I grade on your curves?

Look, the traffic chopper sky babe!

Hey, mama! How 'bout landing on my zero-niner?

I'll wear a windsock!

Hey, nurse.

I got a thermometer

that'll make you bedridden for a week.

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

See? I'm turning my head and coughing?

(coughs) Now, it's your turn.

Nurse? Nursey? (remote clicks)

What?

How... ?! Where'd you get that stuff?

You must have had hidden cameras everywhere--

in my home, in my office, even in my...

Hmm, no wonder that itch cream never worked.

Oh, this is even more tiresome

than all those endless reruns of your first 13 episodes.

You know where I got those clips.

I taped them off television.

But then, that would mean...

Yes, yes, yes!

You are a television series.

Actually, I was gonna say you know how to program a VCR.

What's the secret?

Egad!

How can one person

be so oblivious, insensitive, hateful, tactless, boorish

and ill-tempered to everyone he meets?

It's a gift?

(growls)

Okay, so I've had an off day or two.

Day or two?

Ooh, refresh me.

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

You parked in a handicapped space.

So what? No one ever notices, except the people

who are supposed to park there

and hell, I can outrun them any day.

Hey, Rickshaw, let's spring roll into action!

My egg foo young'uns and me need a ride, chop-chop!

What is this-- the year of the snail?

She's got a face that would scatter a leper colony.

You know, like those really ugly broads who are always yelling

about equal rights when all they really need is

a little... (clucks tongue) honey in their hives.

Long-haired, fat-bellied, goofy-tattooed, '60s-throwback

Village People wannabe biker freak.

Mantra-chanting, incense- breathing, herb-sucking yahoos.

Brainless, knuckle-dragging bohunks.

Cheese-eating, cocoa-guzzling yodelers.

Thin-skinned, no-humored pansy.

Dim-bulb melon-head.

Mindless pod people.

Magical mystery turd.

Dancing queen.

Dipstick... Sushi-sucker...

Butthead! What the hell are you staring at?

What the hell are you staring at?

What the hell are you staring at?

What the hell are you staring at?

What the hell are you staring at?

What the hell are you staring at?

What the hell are you staring at?

What the hell are you staring at?

(clicks)

Wait! This isn't fair.

You just took a bunch of comments out of context

and strung them together to make me look rotten...

Snappy editing, though.

All right, look, so I have a little attitude.

I'm a detective. All the great detectives...

Great? You think you're great?

Grating. I may have said "grating."

Let's have a look.

If you want to track her down, why not use

your detective skills? Don't toy with me, Cornfed.

Why the hell would I want to rely on those?

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?

You want to learn something, do exactly as I do.

Imitate my every move.

(yells)

I found a gun...

Probably a toy.

(gunshot) (bird squawks)

(yelling)

...and a knife.

Proves nothing.

(thud) (bird squawks)

(grunting)

...and this bomb.

I get these every day.

You're sure putting a lot of faith in these,

uh... what'd you call them again?

Clues. Yeah, right.

(explosion) (bird squawks)

This was not a murder.

MAN: Val, put down that gun!

You're my wife. Don't shoot!

I can't hear myself think.

Got any more of those glues?

Clues.

I'm one letter off.

Crucify me!

(clicks) I still don't get it.

How did you get all this stuff, and all from my bad side?

You remind me of the Beaver.

Oh, a TV reference.

Now, where was I?

Either about to snuff out your life...

or make a bowl of popcorn.

Oh, well, no law says I can't do both.

How do you like it cooked: air-popped or canola oil?

Canola oil's for cooking?

(grunting)

(dialing)

(rings)

KZRC is my million dollar station.

Corny, it's me. I've been kidnapped.

Dammit.

Duckman, good thing you called.

Tell me where he's hiding you.

In his secret hideout.

This is going to be a difficult conversation.

I need to have some idea of your location.

Do you hear any distinctive noises,

no matter how small and insignificant,

coming from the outside?

(distant bell ringing)

(gulls squawking)

(engines whooshing)

(fog horn sounds)

(cars rattling)

Nothing that would help. Yike!

Uh, hello, All My Children hotline?

I missed today's show. What happened?

You shouldn't have done that, Duckman.

Prepare to die.

(fiendish laughter) (ominous music plays)

Don't you hate it

when they do that right before a commercial?

(grunting)

I know what you're thinking, but this has nothing to do

with the fact that my column just got dropped and my wife

just left me, taking my Franklin Mint clown plate collection.

Oh, well.

Gaze one last time upon yourself, Duckman,

before you're permanently removed from the schedule.

No! No! No!

Horrible, isn't it?

Yeah. I am yellow.

Off we go.

Don't kill me!

Please! Please! Please! Please!

There are people who need me,

who depend on me for their livelihoods--

Fluffy, Uranus, Cornfed.

(fiendish laughter)

Sorry-- just thought of something funny

I saw on Family Matters.

That Urkel cracks me up.

Now, as for your employees...

There's something you should know, Duckman.

I've never told you because I'm a little sensitive about it.

I'm a virgin.

(laughing hysterically)

I'm, uh, Duckman.

And I'm...

...insignificant.

(laughing hysterically)

Stay out of this!

Ha! A virgin! Hoo-hoo-hoo!

Uh, excuse me, I'm...

...beginning to annoy me.

Unbelievable!

Yow! Hoo-hoo!

(clears throat) Excuse me.

No inski-outski! Ha-ha!

No bofferino!

Uh, excuse me.

Never nailed the hammer on the head!

Whoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!

Bacon breath!

Bacon fat!

Spam for brains.

Spare rib!

Ham-head!

Pork rinds!

Clove-foot!

Moron!

(chuckles)

Fluffy! Uranus!

My two favorite...

whatever-you-are's.

(squeaks)

(squealing)

(gasping)

(explosion)

(yelping)

Mr. Duckman... Mr. Duckman...

(shrieks)

(muffled yelling)

(squealing)

(shrieking)

(barking)

(door creaks)

FLUFFY AND URANUS: Oh! Mr. Duckman! (toilet flushing)

(gurgling)

(screams) (drilling)

(Fluffy and Uranus screaming)

DUCKMAN: So that's where I am.

The old used pi�ata and plastic phone tab warehouse. (gasps)

Wait, Medfly! There's just one more thing

I have to say in my defense.

Maybe I am a little rough around the edges.

Maybe I could be a little more tactful when it comes to

dealing with women, coworkers, service food handlers,

census takers, the Sheet Metal Workers' Union,

people who bought Kathy Lee's cd of Christmas songs,

small, high-strung, butt-ugly dogs,

kids with really funny birthmarks on their faces,

peppers, Trekkers, boomers, buppies, slackers...

What is your point!?

My point, besides using a cheap and shameless ploy

to buy time, is that despite all that

you can't say I don't love my family!

(remote clicks)

Why do I give him these set-ups?

You Lycra-clad, cauldron-stirring

cackling, old warthog!

(yelling)

(grunting)

Iron-pumping, steroid-popping, sideshow-attraction cow!

(yells) (groans)

My biggest fantasy involves you,

liver loaf and a pack of starving Rottweilers!

(yelling)

Duckman!

(screams)

Today's the day he's going to spend with

his children, bonding and being together.

Together?! When my butt starts singing show tunes.

Son, uh... Here's five bucks.

Buy yourself a book on solving teenagers' problems.

(chuckles) Kids and their cute little death games.

Okay, then, what grade are the twins in?

By "twins," you mean the ones who look alike?

This is, uh, Bernice, Charles and Merengue.

Mambo! Whatever.

Charles?

Mandingo?

Mambo. Whatever.

Charles and Simba.

Mambo.

Whatever.

Good night, Charles.

Good night...uh, Charles' brother.

(remote clicks) Off we go.

(grunting)

There you are, Duckman...

cable-ready!

When I switch on this TV,

the signal from that dish will go straight to you.

The force of 500 soul-destroying channels

frying the second favorite

part of your body.

Well, I don't like the sound of it,

but I guess I can do without my right hand.

I meant your brain, Potsie!

Now you'll know what it feels like to be force-fed the filth

that TV passes off as entertainment!

That holds a pervo like you up as a role model.

Role model? Hey! I'm a waterfowl!

I'm not a TV show!

Even if I were, any halfway intelligent audience

would know I'm not someone to imitate.

Who'd aspire to be someone who's gotten the stuffing

knocked out of him so many times the only reason he gets up

in the morning is because either he's really stupid

or somewhere, deep down inside,

beats the heart of a disappointed

yet still hopeful idealist. (majestic music swelling)

A yellow-- yes, yellow-- teller-of-truth

who's a spokesperson for the silent masses

who'd love to tell it like it is...

who's an idol to be emulated

nay, a god to be bowed down to!

(music stops)

(clears throat) But...

(chuckles): Uh, I'm not a role model.

Say good night, Gracie.

(gasps)

(crackles) Ooh!

(giggles) That tickles.

Bang! Zoom! To the moon, Alice...!

That's one giant step...

Beam me up, Scotty...

Submitted for your approval...

Right here on our stage...

Nanu-nanu...!

Ay...!

Hey-ya! Rah, rah, rah...!

D-ohh...!

Well, golly...!

Miss Brooks...!

Mr. Wilson...!

Mr. Grant...!

Lassie...!

Uh, heya, Normie...!

Hello, Newman...

Do the name Ruby Begonia strike a familiar note...?

Good evening...

Oh, no! What's happening?

Just a guess, but it appears that an insane media critic

kidnapped Duckman and is trying to reduce

his cerebral cortex to marmalade

by overloading it with a superabundance

of American television from the last 50 years.

Hmm, nice reception.

(fiendish laughter)

He's almost gone! Destroyed!

Turned into the same non-thinking, lifeless shell

all viewers will become because of television.

TV is everywhere! It's everything!

Nothing can save us from its relentless, pitiless,

all-powerful control-- nothing!

Actually, there is one thing.

(clicks)

(crackling) (grunting)

Oh! My TV!

You turned off my TV.

Book 'em, Danno. While most people would go

for the easy Jack Webb comparison

I always considered Jack Lord my spiritual forerunner.

Cornfed, how'd you find me?

Accident. I was taking the family

to buy a pi�ata and phone tabs.

It doesn't make any sense. Why did you rescue him?

He treats you like the sand in Gilligan's briefs.

He's my partner.

He's our father. He's our father.

I have no excuse.

But you're violating the show's premise.

He thinks I'm the star of a TV series called Duckman.

He taped my life, forced me to watch the bad parts.

He didn't record the good times,

like when I brought you guys home a new stereo system

that just happened to fall off that truck.

Hey, Mr. Demented, bug-eyed

but strangely compelling

in that off-beat kind of way, kidnapper...

we're no TV show!

We're real! We're flawed!

Just because we're not

a 27-inch picture perfect family doesn't mean we don't

l... lo-lo... lo-lo...

(shudders)

Gosh, you're the bestest family a guy ever had.

(cheering)

Damn half-hour format!

I should have known there'd be a happy ending.

You call this happy?

I'll be back, Duckman-- you'll see.

I'll be a recurring villain every fifth or sixth episode

after people get tired of King Chicken.

I'm better looking, more intelligent,

have a higher TV-Q...

Can you imagine Duckman's life a TV show?

I'd rather watch fungus grow on toilet bowls.

You're in luck, Aunt Bernice.

Tonight, on a very special episode

of Walker, Texas Ranger...

Dad, if your life was a TV series

then this would have been one of those shows

full of clips and highlights.

Which is a cheesy ploy foisted upon the viewing public

to save money by doing less original production.

Charles, Mambo! That would be despicable.

What kind of cynical, anything-for-a-buck sleazoids

would have me kidnapped and tortured

for the sake of a cheap, tired

creatively bankrupt clip show?