Original subtitles

(quacks)

CHARLES: Mail call!

Dad got a package.

(karate yell)

Hmm.

A videotape in a plain brown wrapper.

(gleeful chuckling)

From the boys' school!

Willkommen, bienvenue,

und also... (chuckles)

...howdy.

I'm Dr. Bud von L�wenbr�u, school psychologist

with an urgent message about Ajax, Charles

und Zamboni.

You'd at least think he could get their names right.

Which one did he miss?

Enough with the chitten-chatten.

They are becoming disruptive,

displaying antisocial behavior in the class.

Simply put, your kinder are developmentally immature.

Nobody calls my kinder immature

without getting their house TP'd.

Mein advice-- a live-in tutor

to attempt to bring their development up

to that of children

whose parents are actually caring about them.

Danke schon.

(doorbell buzzes)

(coughs)

(doorbell buzzes)

Mmm...

(doorbell buzzes)

(slurping)

(doorbell buzzes)

* Ooh! *

(doorbell buzzes)

What was wrong with that one?

Duckman, he was wearing an "I Heart Satan" T-shirt.

Bernice, I'm shocked.

Discriminating on the basis of religion.

(chicken clucking)

Once he finishes sacrificing that chicken,

he could sue.

(knocking)

Hello. You are looking for tutor?

Ya-ho! Ho! You bet your French roll in the hay we...

Uh... I mean, oui, oui.

Ah, bien.

I could not read the address

because of the smeared chicken entrails.

I am liking to apply for the position.

Actually, there's quite a few positions we could talk about.

Let me grab my kamasutra. Ow!

I'm Bernice and this is Duckman.

Bernice...

Monsieur Homme de Canard,

je suis Regine Poulet.

So... Regine, what's your educational background?

I have a doctorate in education from la Sorbonne.

You know...

If this ends in a sore bone joke,

it'll cost you three broken ribs.

Never mind.

If you are hesitant,

you need only try me for one afternoon.

I can start with the pet.

Here, nice doggy, doggy.

Play dead, gecko.

(playing "Taps")

Heel, gecko.

Solve, gecko.

Wow. And that's TV Guide.

Impressive, but the real problem is Charles and Mambo.

Lately, they just won't do a thing they're told.

Oh, madame, I become erect with pride for a challenge.

Very good, Charles.

Cadmium is the only element

to fit the formula for a fusion reaction

in an inert metal.

Excellent, Mambo.

Synecdoche is the figure of speech

by which the name of a material is substituted

for the actual thing it makes.

Splendide, Ajax.

It is the pointy end that writes.

I must say, Regine, I like what I see.

(clears throat)

Boys, show Regine to your father's room.

BOYS: All right!

My room?! Ho, ho!

I lay odds, I'm going

to lay more than odds. (grunts)

Excuse me, Bernice. Today's menu calls for a little French dip.

Listen up, you walking spermatozoa!

As long as she's in this house, you sleep on the couch,

and that's only because

there's no more room under the freeway.

Go near her for any reason

other than genuine interest in the boys,

and you'll be sorry!

(fake moaning)

I'm shaken. Do your worst!

By the way, what's in the box?

My worst.

In here are just some of the disgusting items

you have accumulated

in a lifetime of depraved debauchery.

I've buried the rest in a safe place.

If you subject that poor, innocent girl

to one comment, one grope, one drop of drool,

I will burn, rip, melt and pop your entire treasure trove!

(groaning)

Must control self.

Only way to get sex stuff back

is not to think about sex.

Would be fascinated by irony

if I didn't want to rip that flimsy blouse

off her heaving...

(yells)

Much... better.

Oh, Regine,

everything is delicious.

You are just wonderful.

Oh, no, no, no.

Bernice, it is you who are wonderful.

(both coughing and clearing throats)

Can I tempt you with my potatoes?

(lusty moaning)

Ahem!

Oh, monsieur, take it quickly.

Oh, the tray is so heavy.

(moaning)

(yells)

(relieved sigh)

(sighs)

(sighs)

(snoring)

Excusez-moi.

(yells)

I'm sorry to be making to wake you.

I am hungry and le fruit bowl,

she's on top of the refrigerator.

I cannot reach.

I am straining and groaning,

my body pressing against the cold refrigerator

as my nipples...

Yeah, I'll, I'll get it. Just...

All that's left are apples.

An apple would be bon.

Thank you and good night, Monsieur Homme de Canard.

Kids, emergency! I'm out of ice!

You still have those hidden camera photos

of Aunt Bernice shaving her back?

Corny, this nanny's changed our lives.

The twins are behaving and doing well in school,

Ajax has stopped eating out of the lawn mower bag,

and best of all

I've been the very model of a modern major gentleman.

Feels good for once to be able to say,

"I did nothing wrong."

That's a subpoena.

You're being sued for sexual harassment

by your kids' tutor.

(muffled) Sexual harassment?

I don't get it, Corny.

I keep going over it again and again,

and I didn't do a single thing wrong.

I can't possibly be that oblivious.

(man yelling, crashing)

GIRL: The pope's been hit!

I barely even spoke to her!

Well, except last night when I gave her that apple.

Uh-oh.

"Uh-oh" as in "nice work"?

No, as in you're screwed.

In the Judeo-Christian iconography

the apple represents forbidden fruit, the ultimate sin,

implying a desire to engage in the forbidden act,

hence becoming a symbol of the ultimate harassment.

And they were such a good source of vitamin A.

NEWSBOY: Extra! Extra! Read about Le Monstre!

ALL: It's Le Monstre!

Get him!

(screams)

I don't know what's going on, Corny,

but if I go home, Bernice will kill me.

Looks like I'll have to stay at your apartment for a while.

This week's bad.

I'm, uh, refinishing my basement.

You don't even have a basement.

I didn't say it would be easy.

(chuckles) Uh, hi, ladies.

I know a wonderful depilatory

that'll get rid of those mustaches.

Too confusing.

It was just an apple.

But I'm still a man,

and no matter what, I, as a man, won't stand

for being mistreated by a woman.

Bernice, please!

What makes you think

I would ever do something like this?

The women you've done it to before.

And these are just the ones who could get the day off.

Regine, how could you?

I feel bad for making sue-sue,

but you make me feel, as we say en Francais, "bad."

But, but...

The monster's

making sexist comments about her posterior.

Let's get him!

(women clamoring, Duckman screams)

Bernice, it is tres important to me

that you of all peoples not be upset with Regine.

I am ruining Duckman's life.

I know. I got you a present for that.

Oh, a charm bracelet with Jerry Lewis characters.

Geisha Boy... Disorderly Orderly...

Three on a Couch.

Oh, excuse me.

I am gagged with emotion.

Need air. Oh.

Feeling faint.

Ahh...

I really got to find a place to store these things.

Not that I'll need them anymore

when I'm through with you, Duckman.

(laughing)

Look at that.

What is that?

I am not an animal!

I am not an animal!

Well, okay, I'm kind of an animal.

I mean, a few of my features are animal-like,

and I don't wear clothes

and I smell a little outdoorsy most of the time

but I have a job and I talk and stuff, too,

so, when I say I'm not an animal,

I think technically, I'm on solid ground.

(overlapping chatter) That's true.

That makes sense.

I can't do it.

I can't do this to myself, but where else can I go?

The whole world hates me.

I've been sleeping on the street for three days.

This is the only place left that will take me in.

Fluffy, Uranus.

My two favorite... whatever you ares.

I was in the neighborhood, thought I'd stop by

catch up on things, maybe stay a few years.

I have to.

Your beloved boss has a problem.

It seems I have actually been accused

of sexual harassment.

I mean, what a shock!

You?

Why, Mr. Duckman, we're flabbergasted.

Of all people...

That's better.

So what are you waiting for, a valet?!

Who the hell decorated this place

Willy Wonka?

Look, I won't be here long.

The only reason I'm letting you two pastel pansies put me up

is because I need a place to stay

till things blow over...

or until I hang myself from a noose

I weave out of my own intestines,

whichever comes first.

Mr. Duckman,

perhaps you're impaled on the horns

of this particular dilemma

because you haven't adapted to our changing culture.

We can give you a simple test

to judge whether or not your attitudes line up

with the new guidelines in the Regine Poulet Society.

Dream on.

I never take a test that isn't court-mandated.

This one's easy.

Number one--

"females over the age of 18 are often called girls.

How should you refer to them?"

Sweet potato? No.

Love socket? No!

Box lunch? No. It's "women."

W-O-M-Y-N.

Number two--

"when you're on a date

when is it okay to kiss her?"

When her husband's gone? No!

When the sore heals? No!

After she passes out? No!

When she gives you written permission

certified by a Regine-approved notary public.

Let's move on to the word association

part of the test.

Breasts. Mr. Duckman, we haven't start...

Breasts.

Dog. Breasts.

White. Breasts.

Peanut butter. Breasts.

Tanzania. Breasts.

Communism. Breasts.

Dolly Parton.

Bad hair.

(both yawning)

Mr. Duckman,

look at the time.

Maybe we should try this tomorrow.

Fluffy and I have to go to bed.

If you're not tired,

you could watch the incubation

of the world's last spotted finch eggs

in our kitchen.

Or listen to our rare 45

of Shaun Cassidy's "Da Do Ron Ron"--

the only known copy in existence.

Zip-a-dee-doo-dah friggin' day.

Tantalizing as those prospects are

I think I'll hit the sack myself.

Anywhere fine?

Nighty night, Uranus.

Nighty night, Fluffy.

BOTH: Nighty night, Mr. Duckman.

(squeaking)

I can't live with this lack of privacy.

Go sleep outside!

Earlier today, the Regine Poulet Society

proposed a ban on the sale of boysenberries

until a genetically equal girlsenberry is developed.

A language was renamed today.

Thanks to the Regine Poulet Society

Hebrew will now be known as Webrew.

The Regine Poulet Society charged a sewer worker

with sexual misconduct

for referring to his manhole.

(yelling)

Oops.

Well, TV plays much too large a role in our lives anyway.

Don't you think?

Mr. Duckman, you didn't happen to see

our last-of- their-kind

spotted finch eggs, did you?

Oh. Yeah.

(chuckles) Couldn't find the Pop-Tarts.

Mr. Duckman, is that "Da Do Ron Ron"

on your backside?

Of course not.

I happen to be very conscious of that sort of thing.

Oh, the record.

Yeah, I guess it is.

And if that black vinyl

stained any of my butt feathers

I'll be seeing you two in court.

Mr. Duckman,

you've only been here eight hours

and already, you've turned our whole world topsy-turvy.

We spent the morning burning your sheets

and your mattress and the bed

and the carpet around the bed

leading into the bathroom

and the bathroom.

You have to treat people with respect, Mr. Duckman

whether it's what you say to them

or how you act in their house.

These eggs need a little ketchup.

Is there anything else?

As a matter of fact, there is.

Get the (bleep) out of here, Mr. Duckman.

You deaf, Mr. (bleep) cool?

Get the (bleep) out of here

before we (bleep) tear your (bleep) (bleep) off

and shove 'em up your (bleep) (bleep)!

Ooh, that felt pretty (bleep) good.

Ooh! Ooh!

Regine Poulet Society.

Regine Poulet Society.

Hello, Regine Poulet Society. Regine Poulet Society.

Regine Poulet Society.

Regine Poulet Society.

Regine Poulet Society.

Hello, Regine Poulet Society.

Fellow crusaders, listen up!

We need someone at the post office at 1:00

for the changing of the term "mailman"

to "person person."

At 2:00, they're going to erect... oops...

um, put up a statue of Regine at city hall

and at 3:00, I'll be flying to South America

for the renaming of Lake Titicaca.

(applause)

I'm giving thank-yous for your aid, Bernice.

It is strange.

With you, I feel a bond

that is special... tender...

Stimulating.

Uh, uh, um...

(clearing throat)

uh, w-what I mean is...

Bernice, you are okay?

Okay? Well, uh, yes, yes.

I-I'm fine, except, except...

Well, something strange is happening.

I-I'm having feelings.

(clamoring)

(nervous chuckle)

Anyone can use a door.

What the hell are you doing here?!

My kids are in this house.

Can you imagine how much they miss me?

What's the matter, Dad--

did they seal the peephole

in the women's bathroom at the park?

(laughing)

My own children turned against me!

Well, don't think that means you've won, Regine.

I'll have you know

my children turn against me on an almost weekly basis.

Besides, there's still someone who'll stand beside me.

No matter how black the night or how strong the storm

I still have

my partner.

Here are the anti- Duckman pamphlets

you had me print up. Oh...

Hi, Duckman.

Boy, is my face red.

Et tu, Cornfed?

Gesundheit.

(goofy laughter)

What? That line always got a laugh

on Mama's Family.

The Regine Poulet Society has taught me

that men are shallow and immature creatures

whose sole purpose in life

is the satisfaction of primal urges.

Plus, they gave me this neat t-shirt.

But what's so wrong about what I did?

I mean, sure, I'm like any other guy.

I've made an occasional offensive remark.

67,418 reported incidents

not including phone booths and confessionals.

Numbers never tell the whole story!

The point is, I happen to love women.

I love how they look, I love how they talk,

and if I'm remembering correctly, I love how they feel.

And if I can't even say that out loud anymore, I give up.

What's the use?

They can have their sacrificial duck,

because I don't care about living in a world

that takes away your right

to honestly express your feelings.

(chanting): Kill the Duckman!

Of course, I'm not married

to this whole masses-decide-my-fate thing.

(groaning)

Blacking out.

Swoon. Down I go.

Must be my potassium deficiency.

Here, have a banana.

You offered me a banana-- the phallic fruit?

I'm uncomfortable with what that implies.

I'm going to sue you for sexual harassment.

What? You can't.

I didn't mean anything.

Besides, it can't be harassment.

I'm not even a...

You're not even a what-- a woman?

That's right.

I had to appear to abandon Duckman

so I could infiltrate your society

because of a hunch I had as to your real identity--

the broken French accent, the unnaturally husky voice,

the second-rate acting.

You can only be one person-- Gerard Depardieu.

(gasps)

King Chicken!

That was my second guess.

This is amazing!

I had no idea!

When did you start doing nanny work?

I don't, you cretin.

It was all part of a plan.

I made that videotape about your children

to cajole you into hiring me as their nanny,

knowing you'd cave in at the slightest sniff of flesh

but for the first time in your miserable life

you resisted coming on to a woman,

so I had to entrap you

and hold you up to ridicule.

And why did I do it?

CROWD: Duckman made you an outsider in grammar school,

so you wanted to make Duckman an outsider in society.

Ha-ha-ha.

(monotonous clucking)

You're fans!

Wait just a minute.

You mean, all this time I've really been attracted

to a vicious and despicably evil man

who almost destroyed Duckman,

and cruelly manipulated millions of women

for his own personal gain?

Thank heavens!

(chanting): Choke the chicken! Choke the chicken!

Look, it's Clarence Thomas!

It doesn't matter.

He's gone, and this is over.

We've been wrong to take out all our frustrations

on a spineless, foul-smelling sewer-mouth like Duckman.

Thank you, Bernice.

Harassment is a horrible thing, but maybe a few of us

have started to see it where it doesn't exist.

If we're too cautious

the passion, the spontaneity, the risk-taking

could be replaced

by meaningless, stilted, robotic exchanges,

and we'll never recapture the more interesting awkwardness

that comes from simple attraction.

I'm reminded of an ancient parable...

...and, in closing

I'd like to state that only when we start

respecting each other as human beings

will we be able to get back

to openly expressing our attraction

and being attracted to whomever we want.

I know. They left hours ago.

I just had a few things to work through.

It's okay, Bernice.

I heard what you said, and you're right.

Women aren't just objects to be ogled

and openly lusted after.

They're people--

people that should be treated

with dignity and respect.

People who shouldn't be spoken to

in the manner in which I've spoken to them in the past.

Do you have my box of smut

and disgusting sexual paraphernalia?

I've seen the light, Bernice.

From now on, there's only one answer.

I'll confine my remarks to inanimate objects.

They can't sue.

Check out the Grand Tetons! Hoo-hoo, whee!

Hey, hey, mama, hard to believe that tongue is attached.

And what have we here, my piece de resistance?

I'll-feel-ya air pods.

Baby, I'm going to fly your wide body.

(imitating airplane engine)

(imitating airplane engine)