Original subtitles

(low, sustained booming notes)

Hey, hey. Hey!

If I wanted to get spit on, I'd go back to summer camp.

Sorry, Dad.

We were practicing for our annual tuba recital.

You know, the one you promised to attend.

I did?

Don't worry, Dad.

We didn't expect you to break your streak

and make this year's recital either.

Though you will be missing our moving salute

to dead rock stars

whose first names begin with "J."

But rather than spend one more crucial juncture in our life

mired in disappointment,

we've decided to select and invite

a brand-new father figure who won't let us down.

Warning! Red alert, red alert!

Must deal with immediately.

Children dangerously close

to forever replacing you with surrogate father

due to insensitivity, neglect

and selfishly putting your own needs before theirs.

3:00-- late for my groin wax.

Wait a minute, wait a minute!

What kind of a father am I?

Uh, is that a trick question?

Boys, I'm going

to go to this recital Friday

if it's the last thing I do.

Rest assured, I'm clearing my calendar

of everything that day just to make room for you.

Word to the wise, boys!

When it comes to delivering on promises,

Duckman's dependability rating is just below Scud missile.

Ta-ta!

Feeling a tad nippy.

Dad! Dad!

(distant scream)

Ajax, why the long face?

I understand it has something to do

with the flagrant misuse of forceps during my birth.

By the way, Dad,

I think I may have done a no-no just now.

Ajax, how many times have I told you?

The toilet is on the left.

The laundry hamper's on the right.

Oh. Two no-nos.

Actually, it seems

that while trying to set the alarm on my clock radio,

I may have ripped a hole in the time-space continuum.

Ajax, what are you saying?

That, through a freak accident,

I super-charged the atoms of a condensed space,

separating the positive and negative ions

creating a portal in time

through which anyone who ever lived or ever will live

could enter our world.

Uh-huh. And who told you that?

That nice man from the future in my bedroom.

Yeah. Well, just clean up those ions and atoms

as best you can, will you, son?

A-okay, Dad.

And as for you boys replacing your dear old dad

with someone else

because of my past failures as a father,

I want you to know, this is the dawning of a new Duckman.

A Duckman who will be there front and center Friday,

cheering you on as you play your piccolo.

Tuba.

Tuba.

For I am nothing

if not totally devoted to my sons--

Charles and Uma.

Mambo.

Mambo and Uma.

Charles and Mambo.

Charles and Mambo.

(chuckles)

Of course, Uma's my firstborn...

but then which one's Oprah?

CHARLES: You mean Ajax.

Oh, damn. Right.

Let's take it from the top.

You're, uh...?

Charles.

Charles.

And you're?

(snoring)

(moaning)

(electrical buzzing)

Oh!

I say, old chap,

what in the blue blazes are you blinking at?

You, Mr. Goodbar.

What, are you some kind of pervert

who gets his kicks breaking into people's bedrooms

and fantasizing what you'd do to them

if they were Lauren Holly?

I used to be.

Yeah, it is fun.

Oh, dear me.

There's something frightfully familiar about you.

Yeah, you, too.

(sniffing)

(both gasp)

You're me! You're me!

I don't understand.

It's impossible.

Unless...

something Ajax said earlier...

I may have ripped a hole in the time-space continuum.

No, something else.

A-okay, Dad.

That's it.

But what could it mean?

Well, whatever I'm doing here, it is quaint to revisit

what I fondly refer to as my "blows chunks" period.

Of course, this was all

before Charles and Mambo's tuba recital.

Recital?

You see, this season of my life

calls to mind the two most dreaded words a man can hear.

Breast reductions?

I'm referring to "child alienation."

My fatherhood skills-- that is to say, yours--

were, shall we say, sorely lacking

until I pledged to become a better parent

starting with attending their recital.

It was there

I happened to sit by and chat up

a software designer

who was developing an interactive game

featuring a wisecracking, single-father duck detective.

We became partners.

I became rich

and was able to afford lessons in this pretentious diction.

The rest is... well, future history.

What a dream!

That's what I get for listening to Ajax.

Still, there was a moral there-- something worth heeding.

But if I go to sleep real fast, I won't have to learn it.

(snoring)

(bike bell rings)

Ha-ha, you missed.

(groans)

(raspy voice): Forgot... the ads.

And what's this?

"Friday, 8:00 P.M.

"The grand opening of the Grand Opening

"offering the sleaziest in adult videos.

"Just in: Just In.

Coming soon: Coming Soon."

Whoo-ooh-ooh!

Well, I guess I know where I'll be

Friday night at 8:00...

Yikes!

Who the hell are you?!

And what is that disgusting smell?

(slurring): I was going to ask you the same thing.

(burps)

Wait a minute. I'm awake now.

That means me being rich wasn't a dream.

That means Ajax really did open a hole in time and space.

That means you're from the future, too.

You... you're me, aren't you?

I hope not.

You're ugly.

But last night, I was the upper crust.

Now I'm just the crust.

What happened?

Like I got the answers?

I barely know when I'm going to soil myself next.

Well, at least one thing's still the same.

Oh... now I remember.

It's when I decided not to go to Charles and Mambo's recital.

I was on the way to a new video store opening.

I rear-ended some pointy-head software designer

and he sued me for everything I had--

as if he needed my collection of bound and gagged Ken dolls.

This is incredible.

As long as this time-space tear stays open,

I can see the future.

I already know if I go to this recital, I'll be rich.

Now I can avoid all the wrong stuff

and do all the right stuff.

I can become the most powerful person who ever lived.

I can truly be the master of my fate,

the captain of my destiny.

I can know what happens on Melrose Place next week!

Yoo-hoo!

(loud chomping)

(all sighing contentedly)

(belches)

Waiter, more dead animal.

Of course, monsieur.

And more thousand-dollars-an-ounce,

free-range, sun-dried caviar as well?

Tell me, does it come by the bucket?

But of course.

Then hop to it, frenchy.

I'm gonna develop a taste for this crap yet.

Merci...

Mademoiselle Mandeltort.

Please, call me Estelle.

(laughing)

Not that I care when they arrest you,

but aren't you the least bit worried

about using stolen credit cards?

Hey, I plan to pay them off.

And if Estelle doesn't like it, tough titmice.

I'll be able to afford more lawyers than she has chin hairs.

So, exactly when do we make the transition

from semi-honest, poverty-line proletariats

to selfish, indolent millionaires?

Right after your recital Friday.

Let me guess-- you'll be out in the parking lot

selling the parents' cars to chop shops.

Scoff away, ye of little faith.

I plan to be in attendance,

firmly kick any replacement parental figure out of my seat

and be the father you never had--

one who can afford to buy your love.

Well, I'm off to the little ducks' room.

Best thing about an expensive meal--

it feels as good going out

as it does coming in.

There's never enough paper.

(whooshing)

Oh, no!

Now you're a hardened criminal?

What of it, pencil-neck?

Great. I'm about to kick my own butt.

Who the hell are you, wise guy?

Well, uh...

you see, it's kind of hard to explain, but I'm you.

Oh. Space-time continuum thing.

Wait. That means you're the reason I'm a con.

It wasn't enough to make all the money

off of the software, was it?

You had to do all them bogus write-offs

that tipped off the IRS

and got me the triple life sentence

that turned me into the subhuman piece

of soulless prison scum I am today!

Nice pecs though.

Okay, okay, I won't do it. I swear.

I won't write off a single cockfight as entertainment.

You'd better not.

And while I'm here,

one other hot tip for you--

tomorrow some broad in pink's

going to offer to give it up for free.

Don't do it!

40 seconds of fun

ain't worth no lifetime of ointment.

You understand what I'm saying?

Yeah! I lasted 40 seconds!

I understand, I understand.

And don't try pulling...

Whoa!

(tuba playing "Foxy Lady")

This mastering-my-fate business isn't as easy as I thought.

(doorbell rings)

Well, at least I'm ready for one thing.

Say no to the 40 seconds of fun.

Rhonda "Up All Night" Shear?

I was walking past your house

when I heard those mellifluous sounds

wafting from your window.

Grandma-ma?

When I hear that, oom!

My breasts go pah!

And I'm consumed with an overwhelming compulsion

to make hot, sweaty love to the owner of the house.

I was smart to buy.

Take me, Duckman!

Oh, take me now!

I've been expecting you.

(gasps)

(sobbing)

Just goes to show a man in control of his destiny

can do anything.

(doorbell rings)

Hi, Lap Dances To Go.

You're the lucky recipient of a free session,

since it's already paid for

and I can't find the right address.

You mean...?

You're the...?

He said pink dress.

Rhonda! Come back!

I'll wear lederhosen.

(horn honks and tires screeching)

(thudding)

Oof!

That's got to hurt.

I don't get it.

The future mes are telling me what to do

and I still get it wrong.

(yells)

What horrible future

caused you?!

Oh.

Whew.

Got to get a hold of myself.

And not the usual way I get a hold of myself.

Wait. If I plan all my moves and their ramifications,

then I can't go wrong, right?

Let's see, recital equals wealthy,

carry the one, Charles, Mambo, happy,

subtract the surrogate,

divided by video store opening,

factor IRS, makes me girlfriend in prison,

multiply future kids,

exploding bathroom with transvestite...

(gasping): I can't go on.

Too many choices.

Go to the recital, don't go to the recital.

Suddenly, it's the biggest decision of my life.

Too much pressure.

Too much at stake.

Every move I make, every breath I take,

I got gang o' dopples to answer to.

My future, my family's future, is hanging in the balance.

Too frightening.

(takes deep breath)

Best just not to do anything, then nothing will happen.

Just sit here as if paralyzed.

Under no circumstances move for any reason.

I have an itch on my forehead.

(crickets chirping)

(humming "The Marriage of Figaro")

Still stiff as a board, huh?

First time a woman's said that about you in years.

(cackling laughter)

(grunting)

(incoherent mumbling)

Swallow your food, Ajax,

then ask the question.

(gulping)

(incoherent mumbling)

No, your father didn't leave the chair

for three hours today on his own.

I took him to Hemphill's Department Store

and rented him out as a mannequin.

He'd still be there

if it weren't for those bratty kids.

I spent the half the afternoon belt-sanding gum off his butt.

(doorbell rings)

Our new father figure is here.

It's time to go.

Everyone, meet Gunnar Jan Skulvestalk,

Norwegian physicist

and part-time lifeguard at the Culver City municipal pool.

Oh, my. Resuscitate me.

Tee-hee.

Gunnar, this is our Aunt Bernice.

This is Ajax.

And the lump in the chair is our father.

Ah, the Duckman.

The boys go on about you.

Is it true that you actually believe

there's a rip in the time-space continuum

and visits from future incarnations of yourself

have left you in a state of hyper-paranoid paralysis?

No!

Well, yeah.

(shrieks)

I talked!

(laughing)

You're right. He is an idiot.

(all laughing)

Yeah. Hard to imagine

why we'd ever need a surrogate.

Duckman, you feathered fool,

what you're suggesting is physically impossible.

Shall we go, new family?

And tell me more stories about him.

I haven't been this amused

since pushing the last father I replaced into a fjord.

(all laughing)

(screen door closes)

I got to go to that recital.

What if that makes something terrible happen?

Then again, if I don't go,

that could make something terrible happen.

It isn't fair.

I have to decide between two equally frightening options.

If I wanted to do that, I'd vote.

Shaddup!

(screams)

And sit down! You just added

ten years to my sentence.

Sitting, of course,

having its downside as well.

(burps)

Tell me something: Why does red wine

come out yellow when you puke?

They're back!

Every move I make

changes what I am in the future.

I can't sit, I can't stand.

Maybe if I go to another room.

I'll go to the kitchen.

(growling)

Nice choice, Sparky.

(yells)

Maybe the bedroom.

(screams)

The hall.

I'll just stand in the hall.

Excellent. This is the inspiration

for my most beloved poem--

"Ode to a Hall"

which, upon publication,

led to a life of fabulous refinement

and great taste.

So, the hall is good?

Who knows?

You could misinterpret the inspiration

and end up a deranged psychopath on an eight-state chop spree--

an insatiable machine--

always more killing, more killing, more killing!

I'm quite sure you'll end up

with a life of great taste...

More killing...

Great taste...

More killing...

Great taste...

(screaming)

Turns out they were both wrong.

Hold still, you moron!

Kill me. Kill me, please.

That's it! I'm getting out!

I got to get out of this house.

I'd rather you didn't.

I can't stand it.

I can't live with this kind of pressure.

I'm calling an institution.

I want to be locked

in a padded room where I can't change anything.

Put down that phone.

The woman you'll be marrying's about to call.

(ringing)

Don't pick it up.

She's trying to murder me.

Nothing's happening.

Finally.

That one didn't change me.

Hmm-mm.

Think again, girlfriend.

Please! You have to stop!

I can't keep having different mes

popping in and out of my house.

Perhaps I'll be a refreshing change of pace.

James Madison.

I took advantage of your continuum rip

to clear up a few things about the Constitution.

Freedom of speech is absolute

and applies to everything and everyone, no exceptions,

and Joe Average does not have a Constitutional right

to own a gun, for God's sake.

We're not stupid.

Gesundheit.

I'm you three seconds from now.

I don't care who you...

(sneezes)

are. I want you out of my house.

Thanks a lot.

No, that's not too much to ask.

All I want to know is whether

I should go to the recital or not.

Is that too much to ask?

Stop doing that!

Stop doing that!

Why are you repeating what I say?

He's from two seconds behind you.

I'm from 12 seconds ahead.

You're what?!

You're what?!

Stop that!

Stop that!

Will you please Will you please

stop repeating stop repeating

what I say? what I say?

(screams) (screams)

Ow! My ears!

Yes, it could.

This couldn't This couldn't

get more get more

annoying. annoying.

And tell the other one

to stop answering before I say anything.

Sorry.

Ow! My ears!

I'm not from any particular time!

I'm "Speaks Unnaturally Loud" Duckman!

Where I come from, everyone talks like this!

Ow! My ears!

Ow! My ears!

You want to keep it down?

I got a splitting headache.

I can't stand it!

Just tell me if I should go to the recital.

Go to the recital.

Don't go to the recital.

Go!

Don't go!

Go!

Don't go!

(screaming)

(sobbing)

(group chanting continues): Go... Don't go...

Go... Don't go...

Wow! I'm really here.

This is my future.

You're me.

Who are you?

I'm you 18 years ago.

I was about to get married

when I suddenly found myself here.

So I guess you know my future, right?

I mean, how often do you get a chance like this?

There are some things I got to know.

For instance, my marriage--

Am I doing the right thing marrying Beatrice?

Do we grow old together?

You're going to love her until the day you die.

Maybe I don't need to know any more than that.

All right. All you mes, get in here now.

I don't care if you know what

I'm going to say, or if you disagree with me

or if you think I'm making a mistake or what.

I'm gonna talk and you're all gonna listen.

I just realized that the best thing about life

is that we don't know how it's going to turn out.

Being surprised is all we have to hold our interest.

And, as far as I can tell,

your life ends when you start trying to control your fate.

I don't want to know how every move I make

affects my future.

I'm just gonna do what I think is right

and hope everything turns out for the best.

I'm making my own decisions from now on.

And I'm gonna start with this one.

ALL: No!

I know for a fact your insurance won't cover this!

(orchestra tuning up)

(breaking wind)

Say, handsome, there's someone out in the lobby

who needs to speak to you.

He says it's urgent.

Very well.

Oh, my.

You suppose he'd be interested

in any other kind of surrogate work?

Now, what's so important...?

Don't worry, it's physically impossible.

Sit down!

Stand up!

Open the door!

Don't open the door!

(all chattering)

(screaming)

Hey, hey, nay-sayers.

Well, inspect my butt for flying monkeys.

You actually showed up.

Dad! I've been holding my breath.

Well, I'm here now.

What does that have to do with me holding my breath?

Duckman, do the twins know you're here?

Yup, I caught them right before they went onstage.

I told them the only father they'll be having

now or any time in the future is me.

I finally learned that analyzing every move you make

for its possible effect on the future

is an insane and empty exercise.

For example: I chose to sit here, in this chair.

I could just as easily have sat in that chair.

Makes no difference at all.

I'll... just...

The two most dreaded words a man can hear.