Original subtitles

(door creaks open)

(whistles)

(quacks)

(woman sobbing)

Bernice, I-I'm so glad you could be here--

you and the boys, and, and...

well...

I'm sorry, Widow Leibner.

I know Harry clearly stated in his will

that Duckman be kept

at least 20 miles from his funeral,

but he has a nose for free food.

Where'd he go now?

He said something about making a contribution

in Harry's memory.

(sniffing) Huh. This kind of smells like the john.

Ow! Ooh! Ooh! Aa-ah!

Where's the damn light switch? It's dark in here.

Whoops. Sorry, fella. Touch you there again,

I'll have to charge you. (chuckles)

(loud crashing) Ow! Ooh!

(groaning) Whoa...

It's about time, you plumed plowhead.

Where the hell have you been?

Bernice, funerals are a deeply personal experience.

I prefer to mourn in my own way,

which apparently includes knocking myself unconscious,

funneling a barrel full of embalming fluid down my throat,

then having an overweight woman in a janitor's outfit

smear my face with rouge and eyeliner.

Hey, I mourn the same way I celebrate my birthday.

(grunts)

(choked sob)

Oh. Right. Excuse me, uh, ma'am.

This must be very difficult

but nobody will ever forget your husband, uh, uh...

Curly?

Greasy? Bob?

(sobbing)

Uh, Mousse? Red?

Place-for-hat?

Uh, way-up-high- on-top?

Uh, hand-touching- the-things-that, uh,

stick-up- out-of-your-head?

Uh, lots-of-thin- sort-of-follicle-things

bunched-up-or-maybe- like-sometimes

in-a-ponytail-or-a- bun-or-something?

ALL: Harry!

Doesn't ring a bell.

(grunts) (crash)

(organ groaning)

This is his funeral.

Will you say something nice?

Okay, okay. Uh... oh, I know.

Mrs. Leibner, your husband was an honorable man,

who always put his family first.

Why, it was out of consideration for you

that he concealed his rampant homosexuality.

(gasps)

In fact, the last thing he said to me was

"Duckman, don't tell my wife."

(screaming) Duckman!

What? It's true.

He was protecting you.

He was afraid you'd think

you drove him to it, but you didn't.

He said he stopped caring about you

20 years before he even slept with a man.

(wailing) There, there, it's all right.

You can take some comfort,

knowing that Duckman will someday be nailed in a box

and buried six feet under the ground, too.

Tonight, maybe, after he falls asleep.

Well, it's getting a bit late.

If someone else would like to say something

while we wait for our beloved Cornfed...

Widow Leibner, in a moment as profoundly sad

as the passing of a life,

a reflection on the gifts that life gave us

is often the only refuge.

Our time here is forever finite, and as such, should be measured

not by its length but by its quality alone.

Though your years together may seem but a flicker

now that the flame has been doused,

remember always how brightly they burned

and let that memory keep you warm.

(crickets chirping)

Sometimes at night,

I grow a second head under my left armpit.

(all sighing)

It's all about giving them what they want, isn't it?

(grunts) (door slams open)

(panting)

Pant, pant, wheeze, deep breath.

Pardon my tardiness, ladies and gentlemen.

I've been vomiting violently all morning.

My septum is severely deviated, and I've already passed three...

Ee-yah!

Four very large kidney stones.

Also, I've got a bitch of an ice cream headache.

Well, I'm sure if Harry could see how many of you

came out on this solemn occasion,

the first thing he'd say would be...

"Honey... horn-dog... butt bongo,

ribbed and lubricated for that feel of real."

(all gasping)

(clearing throat)

I'm sorry.

That was highly inappropriate.

Loin king!

Rear admiral, squeal like a pig...

(squealing)

(gasping)

So, uh, we are here in Harry Leibner's honor...

on her, off her.

On her, off her.

Yee-ha, yee-ha, yeee-haa!

To share our memories...

Memories. Mammaries.

Great big swollen mammaries,

meat melons, rib balloons.

"Potent pigs from the past" for a hundred, Alex.

(snorting)

(sniffles) The old softy does have a way with sentiment.

And during all of this, let us not forget the widow Leibner.

Hamana-hamana-huh-wah!

(gasping and shrieking)

I'm a superfreak, super-freaky, ow.

(screaming)

(grunting)

I'm, I'm sorry.

Forgive me, all of you.

Something's happened, something I can't explain.

But don't worry.

I won't ever, ever embarrass you like that again.

He's in some kind of trouble, Dad.

I'm sure he could use a friend

to help him through whatever's wrong.

Yep. Hope he runs into one.

So, who we going to get to do that eulogy now?

Pardon me.

During Cornfed's St. Vitus-like convulsions,

this note fell out of his pocket.

"Things to do:

"Pay the paperboy.

"Pick up a gallon of milk.

Die in 24 hours from a congenital disease."

Oh, my Lord!

Cornfed, tell me it isn't so!

He actually pays his paperboy?

Duckman, this says Cornfed's going to die!

Die? That would mean another funeral and more eulogies

and spending another weekend afternoon with our neighbors.

I've got to do something! Don't worry.

I'll channel all of my vast detective skills

into tracking Cornfed down and saving his life.

Can doors lead outside?

ALL: Uh-huh.

Corny dying.I had to find him and talk to him,

but he disappeared. I checked his usual hangouts.

Well, okay, I have no idea where he hangs out,

so I went to my usual hangouts, but no Corny.

So I tried the one place a man can go

when he wants to be alone.

I've been looking everywhere, Corny.

Tell me it isn't true.

You don't really have only 24 hours to live, do you?

Actually, it's 15 hours now.

Oh, sorry. You know, once that Chia Pet sprouts,

you just can't take your eyes off it.

So, what is it? What's wrong?

I feel rather awkward talking about it.

Here, watch this explanatory documentary

made possible by a grant from the Chub Corporation

and viewers like you.

(folk music playing)

NARRATOR: 1863-- Vicksburg, Chattanooga, Gettysburg.

Through the worst rebel fire,

General Travers Dodd Cornfed leads the Union

to victory after victory.

After the war,

he distinguishes himself in a variety of fields.

CORNFED: But on this day, my fellow Americans...

(soprano singing aria)

(bat strikes ball, crowd cheering)

NARRATOR: Then in 1875,

while helping longtime companion Melville Dewey

organize his bookshelves,

a special-delivery letter arrives.

MAN: "I seek a favor, old friend.

"Relations with the savage tribes of Massapequa

"are at an impasse, "and we are sorely in need

"of the whale bone mines they control.

"Our corset industry depends on you, Cornfed.

"Love to Melville.

"President Ulysses S. Grant, White House, Washington, D.C.

E-mail, President F. Anachronism dot com."

CORNFED: "Dear Melville, I'm writing you this letter

"even though you're standing behind me,

"reading over my shoulder.

"My country needs me.

"Please look after my estranged wife

"and my young sons and tell them of my excitement

"on departing for the wilds of Massapequa.

I know that an unforgettable adventure awaits me there."

NARRATOR: But it is not to be.

While welcoming Cornfed, the tribal elder says,

"This is my only daughter.

Isn't she beautiful?"

But Cornfed speaks only a little Massapequan

and translates it as

"I would consider it a great honor

"if you would make loud donkey sounds,

then pretend to vomit at my feet."

The results are disastrous.

The elder became enraged

and fed him an odd Massapequan berry,

which actually altered Cornfed's genetic structure.

Witnesses said he became like a man possessed,

crazed with lust.

24 hours later, he was dead.

Oddly, years later,

the same affliction struck his son, Atticus Cornfed,

when he turned 26.

Somehow, the Massapequans were able to affect the DNA

of not just Travers Cornfed himself

but the entire Cornfed line.

How? You'd have to ask either a doctor

or someone who plays one on TV.

We in television medicine know very little

about the medical impact of Massapequan berries.

There have been experiments,

most notably by Chad Everett and James Brolin,

but with no definitive results.

NARRATOR: And so, from inventor and adventurer Travers Dodd Cornfed

to private detective

and former rust remover Willabald Fivel Cornfed,

all males in the Cornfed family carry a genetic flaw

corrected only by the release of various chemicals

during the sex act.

At a certain age,

a Cornfed male will be set upon by strange spells and seizures.

And from the moment they start,

he has 24 hours to lose his virginity or die.

Willabald Fivel?

(laughing and snorting)

Willabald Fivel?! (laughing)

I didn't even think

Willa knew a Fivel. (laughing harder)

Um, remember the dying part?

Oh, yeah. Well, truth is,

I was kind of tuned out on that part. Wordy.

If that's the kind of thing smart people watch,

I'm glad I'm, uh... (chuckles)

What are not-smart people called?

I have a genetic problem.

I only have 15 hours to lose my virginity

or I'll d-d-die.

Die! Die! Die! Die-e-e!

Masticate my hot monkey pogo!

Okay.

Yeah, but you must've known about this, uh... thing.

No, this kind of problem's

a little awkward for Dad to talk about, too.

So I had to wait until yesterday

when he finished making the tape.

You know how that goes--

casting decisions, rewrites, this location, that location.

You want it now or you want it good? Exactly.

You can't beat the production values.

Got it all up on screen, didn't he?

Anyway, I don't get it.

All the women you've known, and you've never had sex?

Fed the meter? Shellacked the furniture?

Jellied the doughnut? Booted the hard drive?

Sent the pink Mustang to Lube Masters for a tune-up?

(gulping)

Knickknacked Patty's whack?

Gave Ms. Pac-Man something to munch?

Cast a secret ballot for Goomaster General?

Study spermnography?

Point made, and no,

I don't base my relationships with women on sex.

What else is there?

Common interests, intellect, a shared humor.

Well, pig of my heart,

if it's sex you need, it's sex you shall have.

I'm flattered,

but tradition says it has to be with a woman.

Unless that's not what you meant.

Uh... no.

Of course that's not what I meant.

(chuckles) Don't be ridiculous.

*

Always start with the workout freaks, Corny.

Nothing like a woman who keeps the playground neat

if you know what I'm saying.

And need I even mention breath control?

Now, go and do it just like I told you.

You're buffed.

Work out a lot?

Nutrition's important.

Care to chow down on my meat and two vegetables?

Yep, definite lesbo.

If you're nauseous, don't worry.

It goes away after a few more times around.

Cultured chicks spend a lot of time

talking about passionate solos and crap like that.

Plus seeing all those nude statues and paintings

makes them horny.

Just give her the line.

(clears throat)

If you let me bow your stratavarius,

I'll let you finger my oboe.

We need women who never meet desirable men.

That's why we're here.

If you can't score at a Star Trek convention,

you might as well be dead.

Hi. My name's Cornfed.

I was wondering if you might like to join me for a cup of coffee.

I'd love to.

I was beginning to wonder

if there was anyone in here I could talk to.

Jump my bones, McCoy!

Let's say we unplug our devices,

you check out my captain's log,

and I'll make sure your photon torpedoes are fully armed.

(loud crash)

It's so typical of women.

When you weren't looking for it,

when you didn't care, they swarmed all over you.

But need it just a little,

and they smell your desperation a mile away.

Yeah, that was the reason.

Look, there's a half an hour left.

Maybe we could still...

Quiet! It's over!

It's bad enough I'm losing my best friend.

Do you have to taunt me with false hope?

Sorry. I was being selfish.

(both crying)

BERNICE: Well, Duckman,

being you would make me cry, too,

but that doesn't explain Cornfed

unless he really is going to...

It's true, Bernice.

Cornfed is one of those Massapequan berry-induced,

genetic reconfigurations. (gasps)

If he doesn't lose his virginity in the next half hour, he'll die.

We've tried everything We looked everywhere.

I swear the only woman in the city we didn't come onto is you.

Ah! The agony of it all!

Willabald Fivel, we hardly knew ye.

How can I go on without you?

Walking into that office every day,

seeing the place where your desk was,

but which will now be filled

with that pool table I've had my eye on.

Though I've beaten and I flayed you

(loud rumbling) like sands through the hourglass,

so were the days of your life.

As it says in Matthew 4:16,

"Nay, though the sibbleth doth begat

that the serpent be taken unto thine own breast."

I don't know what it means

but I can always remember it because of the word "breast."

And the memory of your charming rendition

of "Seasons in the Sun" in Latin will forever linger.

BERNICE (moaning): Oh, Cornfed!

"Oh, Cornfed" is right.

My friend, my compadre, you will be missed.

(electrical crackling)

(mellow tune playing)

"If music be the food of love, play on.

"Give me excess of it; that surfeiting.

The appetite may sicken, so die."

My appetite already died

when I realized you went spelunking

in the forbidden cave.

And will you please knock it off?

(both gasp)

Look, I understand big decisions are never easy,

but you really chose her over death?

This sculpture is just the beginning.

I've also decided to petition the Vatican

for her sainthood and change my name to Cornice.

Isn't it beautiful, Mr. Duckman?

If more people were expressing themselves

as openly as Mr. Cornice,

this would be a much happier world.

Well, I don't know about express-ing

but I'm a big fan

of expresso.

(both scream)

So, where were we?

Ah, right, the battleaxe you're in love with.

BERNICE: Duckman!

The post office delivered

your hate mail to the house again.

Anything worth looking at?

No. Just the usual death threats

letter bombs and human feces.

You always make it sound worse than it is.

How do you know it's human feces?

Hi, Corny.

Swoon.

Down I go.

Cornfed, I hope you didn't misunderstand

what last night was about.

I still want us to be friends.

Friends? Friends?

But I want you to marry me.

Marry you?! Marry you?!

Cornfed, I can't... marry you.

There are obstacles, sure.

You're a duck, I'm a pig,

there'll be talk, slurs.

No, Cornfed, I, I can't marry you because...

I don't love you.

(yelling)

So, pot roast tonight?

You peg-legged puke-meister!

We've got to go after him

before he does something horrible!

He just proposed to you.

I'm thinking horrible is behind him.

(yelling)

You go first. I'll catch up.

(body thuds)

(seagulls crying)

(police siren wailing)

(circus music playing, clowns laughing)

Damn police clowns.

Scoff if you like, Duck,

but these clowns and their delightful antics

have saved many a life.

Pig on the cliff!

Watch this!

(circus music playing)

(chuckling)

Okay, the clowns are good,

but I still don't want to live if I can't have my love.

I got to go up there

even if it means putting myself in grave personal danger.

What, all of a sudden I'm supposed to mean what I say?

Corny!

(yells)

Sorry, I guess I didn't need the bullhorn.

(straining)

Listen to me, Corny.

I'm more than just your partner.

I'm someone who owes you money.

And instead of that money,

I'm gonna give you some priceless advice.

Don't throw your life away for that walking hefty bag.

You've insulted the woman I love.

In the centuries-old tradition of my family,

I challenge you to a duel to the death.

You never mentioned that tradition before.

Dad's making another tape.

(groans)

Stop!

You can't kill Duckman!

Why?

Uh... geez.

Why? Ooh, boy, that's a stumper.

I thought I had a reason

and then, whoosh, right out of my head.

Wait! I got it.

Because you're too good for that, Cornfed.

You're the only genuinely good human being I've ever met.

That's why I admire you so much.

Admire but not love.

Corny, wait, you can't do this. You can't jump!

There's another reason you have to stay alive.

What?

Me.

I'm no good without you, Corny.

I'd be lost if you weren't there.

You're honest and brave and wise,

and I'm just...

well, maybe two of those.

Corny, I-I've never really told you this before--

I've never said this to anyone before-- but...

I need you.

Corny, you'll meet the right woman someday,

and I know you'll make her very happy.

It's okay. I'll be all right.

If you call a dead soul

condemned to swim in a sea of bitter tears

for the rest of his days all right.

(wind whistling)

Why, it's Penthouse magazine

publisher Bob Guccione.

Hello, Cornfed.

I heard what you said.

You know, sexual issues

are more complex today than ever before.

That's why it's crucial for young people like yourself

not to enter into any sexual relationship

without first building a foundation

of mutual love and respect.

Remember, the most sensual parts of the body

are the mind and the heart.

You're right, Mr. Guccione.

And, Duckman, I hope you've seen the lonely, empty existence

that a life of loveless debauchery can lead to.

I certainly have, Mr. Guccione.

Then my work here is done.

Now I must return to my empire of sensual delights,

tantalizing eroticism

and the world's most desirable women.

Take me with you, please.

Whenever you need me, I'll be right here.

Remember, the only safe sex is abstinence...

or fantasy.

If you must have sex, wear a latex condom.

Which reminds me.

This month in Omni, "Condoms that think.

Science fiction or science fact?"

On newsstands now.

Wow. That sure was nice of Mr. Guccione to come by.

He's everywhere he's needed, Duckman,

and in your own perverse, inept,

venal and corrupt way, so are you.

Willabald Fivel?!

(laughing)

(tribal chanting)

GUCCIONE: Condoms that think.