Original subtitles

(quacks)

(thunder crashing)

(mewing)

(thunder crashing)

(yowling)

(glass breaking)

(thunder crashing)

Yes, my son?

Bless me, Father.

Did you sneeze?

No, I sinned.

Oh, did you lie? No.

Curse? No.

Steal? No.

Covet your neighbor's wife?

No.

Come now, you can tell me.

Did you throw her up against the backyard barbecue

and procreate your brains out

till she yelled yippie-yi-yo-ki-yay?

No, Father, I've done something worse.

I've betrayed my partner.

(gasping)

I know, it's the most terrible sin of all, isn't it?

No. I spilled my espresso.

But you still have eight minutes.

I might as well hear this sin of yours.

Thank you, Father.

(thunder crashing) It was a dark and stormy Monday,

just like any other Monday

except for the sunny ones, or the partly cloudy ones,

or the ones with a cold inversion layer

and a 30% chance of precipitation.

Things around the office were a little slow.

My partner, Duckman, and I hadn't had a real case

since the Catholic schoolgirl disembowelings of '91.

And even then, the schoolgirl got away.

(ringing)

That black thing on my desk is going to explode!

Duckman Detective Agency.

He's crazy! He's talking to it!

Wait. That's the phone.

This could actually be someone calling with a case.

Tide.

Cold water, because it gets my whites whiter.

And then, she walked in

and I knew our lives were about to change forever.

She was the most beautiful dame I'd ever seen.

And I never say dame, except when creatively obligated

by a film noir parody.

(goofy laughter)

Can somebody cigarette me?

(inhales deeply)

I could tell she was trouble with a capital "T."

I was ready with a capital "R."

Duckman was reduced to a puddle with a very large pee.

Thanks,Ducky.

You look like someone who can handle himself in bed.

Yeah.

And no doubt often does.

My name's Tamara.

Tamara le Boinque.

From the moment she opened her mouth,

I wanted to sublet her tongue, moved into her larynx

and redo the upper incisors in mauve.

Well, not exactly mauve, but mauve-ish.

I need your help.

Someone's trying to tuck me in with a shovel.

Punch my ticket.

Kill me.

Ya-ha! Sure.

Actually, I knew that. Kill you.

All right. Yeah, fine. Absolutely. Sure.

Someone ran me off the road last night.

Then tried to break into my penthouse today

and crash my party of one in the bathtub.

I barely had time to throw on this trench coat

and climb down the fire escape.

Wait a minute! You're naked under there?

First my neighbor dies before I paid back that 20.

Now this.

I went to the local constabulary and they didn't believe me,

but something told me you would.

Yeah, well, this is one time you're gonna have to prove it.

Prove what?

That you're naked.

Women come here all the time saying they're naked

when they're really wearing skin-colored body stockings.

Show us you're not, we take the case.

Sort of a tit-for-tat, tat-for-tit kind of thing.

Listen, handsome.

If you've got the itch, I've got the scratch.

Here's a hundred

and there's more where that came from.

There is? Could I get it?

I know what you're thinking but I won't use my hands.

Just my bill. Might take five, ten minutes,

but I'll sniff it out.

What Duckman's trying to say is

we'll take your case.

Of course, we'll take your body...

fondle your case... case your casabas...

take... take your case.

Remember at DDA, our motto is, we want to see you

greased up and semi-conscious.

Happy. We just want to see you happy.

We changed the motto?

Miss Le Boinque, is there anyone you suspect?

Well, Nick at the club, where I perform, said he'd kill me

'cause I had sex with Frankie the bartender,

who said he'd kill me 'cause I had sex with Bob the doorman,

who said he'd kill me 'cause I had sex with Ray the bouncer,

who said he'd kill me

'cause I had sex with Lahos the busboy, who said...

CORNFED: So she'd been around the pool

more times than Esther Williams on steroids.

There was something about her

that made me want to get a membership at her "Y."

It felt good to have a real, live client again,

not just the practice kind built out of Legos.

We decided to go to the speakeasy where she worked.

("As Time Goes By" playing)

Hey, you.

I didn't do it.

It wasn't me.

I didn't strangle the German for the letters of transit.

I didn't stab the albino

and hide the knife in the hooker's G-string.

I'm innocent. Innocent!

Save it for the late show, creep-ola.

I was just looking for the men's can.

Duckman, maybe we should ask him some questions about Tamara.

Tamara.

That woman makes me crazy.

And when I find her,

I'm going to chop her into little pieces.

Then throw her into a stew

and feed her to a pack of rabid dogs.

(laughing)

But you're probably talking about a different Tamara.

See? Nothing. I say we head over to the corner table.

Tubby guys sitting under fans always know what's what.

Excuse me. The name's Duckman.

A duck yet a man.

Gad, sir, you are amazing.

Right, well, I got a couple of questions...

An inquisitive sort. Excellent, sir.

A trait truly to be admired.

Look, I'm a detective...

Detective. Fascinating. One never knows

what you're going to say next, sir.

Maybe 'cause you don't let me say it!

I want to know if you know anything about...

Know anything. Huh. Know anything.

By Jove, sir, you are a character.

(laughing)

But I must be off.

I'm past due for my return trip to the salad bar.

(laughing)

Salad bar.

(laughing)

Might want to munch on a little more scenery

while you're at it!

Supporting players.

ANNOUNCER: ladies and gentlemen,

(drumroll) Drooligans is proud to presents

the sultry stylings of that sleep-around slut of a singer--

who I'll kill if she has sex with George the valet again--

Miss Tamara le Boinque.

Your buckets, gentlemen.

Bucket? What the hell do we need buckets for?

(hooting)

Wa, hoo, hoo, ha, hoo, hoo.

Waa, ooh.

Hello, boys.

Are you...

ready?

(cheering)

(drumroll)

* I'm a little teapot, short and stout *

* Here is my handle, here is my spout *

* When I get all steamed up, watch me shout *

* Tip me over and pour me out. *

Of all the drool joints in all the world,

she has to bring her act into this one.

Pardon me. Do you know Miss le Boinque?

Who's asking?

And by that I mean, what's your name?

Why do you want to know?

Stuff like that, 'cause I know it was you who asked.

The name's Duckman. Where were you at 4:00

this afternoon?! Throwing a rock through a window.

Did it have a note attached to it?

All my rocks do.

And could this be one of your rocks?

It is one of my rocks, but it just so happens

that my house was broken into last night

and that rock was the only thing taken out of my safe.

Uh-huh.

All right, the rock story seems air tight,

but one thing bothers me.

He's the third suspicious character

we've talked to.

The third one's always guilty.

What the...?

(gunfire and screaming)

So much for the rule of threes.

It wasn't pretty.

The whole club had been shot up

and everyone was covered in drool.

And that's not all.

Tamara was in Duckman's arms.

Well, all the really good parts were in his hands.

I knew then that Duckman had fallen for her.

The problem is, I had a secret, a terrible secret.

I loved Tamara, too.

And I could tell by the way she giggled

when we were hiding from Duckman in the closet

and I showed her that little trick I do with my tail

that she loved me back.

That's why I'm here, Father.

I've betrayed my partner and I don't know what to do.

Please, tell me what to do.

I think maybe... a diamond ring.

By golly, you're right.

Even though he's my partner, I've got to follow my heart.

Thank you, Father.

I could have never made this decision

if you hadn't listened to me and cared.

Shopping channel?

If I buy the three-carat zirconia

do I get the free place mats?

Corny!

What are you doing here?

Uh... I'm on the case, of course.

In order to properly understand a client,

it's important to step inside her life.

Tamara seems like someone who likes to lie on her sofa

in a man's robe, smoking a pipe

while admiring her own jewelry

and setting her carpet on fire.

Never mind all that. What are you doing here?

Where's Tamara?

My house.

She wanted me to stay in her bed tonight

in case the killer tried getting to her while she slept.

I see.

Yawn.

Well, I'm a little sleepy.

I'll just leave you to your decoying

and head home.

By the by, I wonder if it's faster

going by way of your house.

(bangs)

(yells)

Corny, maybe you should stay, too.

Not that I'm nervous or scared or soiling myself.

I just thought maybe you'd like a chance to do this with me.

Be a murder victim?

Ooh. Pinch me.

It would be like old times.

We can go swimming, hiking and horseback riding.

We've never done any of that.

I know, I'm reading it off the tampon box behind you.

Okay, okay. I should know better than to try to lie to you.

I am scared.

And there's no one in the world

I'd rather be with when I'm scared than you.

(grunting)

(Duckman clears throat)

What?

You're, uh, on my side.

Since when is this your side?

Well, it is at home.

Then go home.

Please.

You can have this nice, soft pillow.

(pleadingly): Please? Please...?

Good night, Duckman.

Corny...

What is it?

I can't sleep with a hard pillow.

Good night, Duckman.

Corny?

Yes?

I was just thinking about how lucky I am finding Tamara.

I never thought anything like this would ever happen to me.

You know, in high school, I was voted

most likely never to have an attractive woman speak to me.

Also most likely to be indicted, most likely to wear vinyl

and most likely to end up on a street corner

wallowing in his own sputum.

Wha...? Then don't leave your yearbook lying around.

I'm going to marry her, Corny.

(thunder crashing)

And when I do, I want you right there next to me,

sharing my special day as my best man.

I love ya, Corny.

You're the best friend anyone ever had.

(squealing)

Ooh...

(moaning)

Pant, pant.

Gasp, gasp.

(moaning)

(kissing sounds)

DUCKMAN: Hey, Corny!

You're my best friend.

(snoring)

(alarm ringing)

Wow. What an amazing dream.

Tamara and I were making out, giggling and kissing

like a couple of high school kids at lovers' lane.

But I can't remember how it ended.

Did you have that before?

No.

Why didn't you wake me?!

I thought you were awake.

(spitting)

I suppose this means our weekend in Maui's off.

Yikes! That could've killed us.

It would've killed Tamara for sure.

She sleeps diagonally

with her feet down here and her head over he...

We'd better turn off the power

or that lose wiring will start a fire.

The fuse box is in that closet

right behind her collection

of Lithuanian pleasure device...

Power off. Let's go.

Hey, how did you know

that door was a pull instead of a push?

(thunder crashing)

This is going to be the hardest thing

I've ever had to tell you, Duckman.

I've spent the night here before.

I'm in love with Tamara and she's in love with me.

What?

There's no way.

She's in love with me!

No.

No!

You can forget about being our best man!

Ow.

I couldn't get Tamara out of my mind.

Who was trying to kill her?

Why did every clue lead nowhere?

I couldn't get Tamara out of my mind.

Who was trying to kill her?

Could they maybe kill Cornfed instead?

Everywhere I looked, I heard her voice.

Everywhere I turned, I felt her touch.

Why does love taste so bitter to a liar's tongue?

Why does hate hurt what hardened hope heals?

How much wood could a woodchuck chuck

if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

And why is he sharpening so many pencils?

What if we need to write something?

Steve Allen doesn't write that much.

Pudding head.

Turkey goop.

Toe-jam.

Simpsons wanna-be.

That's it!

Take that, porky.

No. You.

You little pork...

Why, I ought to...

Wow. It sure is dark in here.

Yes. The interplay between light and shadow

is reminiscent of the German expressionist

school of filmmaking.

I keep forgetting.

You never went to college.

Mr. Duckman, Mr. Cornfed,

I hate to interrupt your wacky hijinks,

but Tamara le Boinque is on the phone.

BOTH: Who'd she ask for?

Cornfed. Duckman.

Duckman. Cornfed.

Okay, okay.

It was Mr. Duckman.

Whoo-hoo!

Excuse me, my porcine pal.

I've got to go a-meet my girl a-friend.

And don't worry.

It's not my style to gloat.

* Niener, niener, niener, niener *

* I'm the stud and you're the wiener. *

Well, I'm sure you and Tamara

can still be friends.

(yelp)

Whoo. College.

I'm so impressed.

Got to kill Duckman.

Take him out of the picture.

Set up Fluffy and Uranus.

Those patsies can take the fall, yeah.

Then Tamara will be mine, mine, all mine.

(evil laughter)

DUCKMAN: I'm so excited.

Just you and me, the future ahead of us.

Do you like kids?

I know do. In fact, I always wanted a few of my own.

Hmm. Anyway, where we going?

My grandfather's house.

They do weddings there?

Grampsy and I have a... well, special relationship.

If something terrible is going to happen to me,

I want to spend a little time with him before I die.

Hey, don't talk like that.

Well, someone is trying to kill me.

No, I mean don't use words like "Grampsy."

It gives me the creeps.

I've always called him Grampsy.

I love him dearly, like I love you.

Well, in that case, you call him anything you want,

my wittle snookum-bookums...

Wait. You're right.

Let's not talk like that anymore.

I can't wait to meet my future grandfather-in-law.

And I'll do anything it takes to make him like me...

except sponge him down.

There's something about their skin...

No, no, you only have to do one thing--

make him laugh.

You see, he's been a little down lately

and, well, when Grampsy's happy, that makes me happy.

And if I'm happy,

you're going to be very, very, very happy.

We're on!

Fake dog doo?

They make fake dog doo?

(wheezing laughter)

And he says, "Good thing I held my breath

or I would have drowned in there."

(Grampsy laughing hysterically)

Ah, thank you, thank you.

No, you're marvelous, really.

Now, on a more tasteful note,

a blind proctologist walks into a pie-eating contest.

(wheezing laughter)

Duckman, you're killing him.

And how.

No, if he laughs too hard, his heart will give out.

Tamara wants you to kill him.

Because the truth is, that's not her grandfather.

It's her husband.

Her real name isn't even Tamara le Boinque.

It's actually Tamara le Binque.

All this time,

she's been impersonating her younger sister

after she killed her last husband,

a thin man, for the double indemnity insurance

she used to bribe city officials

to get the water rights to Chinatown

so she could finance

her search for the Maltese falcon.

Lies! All lies!

And he's my grandfather, I tell you!

He's my husband.

My grandfather.

My husband.

My grandfather.

All right! I'll tell the truth!

He's my husband!

Sorry. We were in a groove.

Go on.

I needed Duckman to make him laugh.

His spastic humor was the kind of low-brow crap

Emil actually liked.

Excuse me.

I've got something in my eye.

Real nice.

Look, Cornfed, it's you I wanted all along.

I'm still rich from the last guy's insurance.

Let's run away to a place you've always wanted to go

with someone you love...

a secret place you've dreamt about

but never spoken of to a living soul.

Sorry, angel.

Maybe I do love you, but he's my partner.

And when a man's partner is hurt,

you're supposed to do something about it.

You're going up the river.

When you get out of Tehachapi

give me a call.

Or sooner.

Here's my home, office, car, fax, beeper.

That's my private line

and my mother's number is on the back.

I go there every Sunday.

Could you kind officers loosen these?

I just hate handcuffs...

when I'm not in bed, that is.

Zirconium?

Shaved ice.

It used to be bigger.

I'm sorry, Duckman. Just thought you should know.

Before the police took her away,

she said she actually did love you.

You mean it?

Thanks, Corny, for trying.

What's this?

The stuff that dreams are made of, Duckman.

The stuff that dreams are made of.