Original subtitles

(noisy chomping and slurping)

(door opens and closes)

Howdy, next of kins.

Betcha didn't sleep a wink last night

without my usual protective presence.

You're right, Dad.

We miss those odd rocking noises

from your bedroom that normally lull us to sleep.

That's what fathers are for.

Mmm! A1.

Nature's hangover cure.

(belches)

Boys, I had an incredible night.

I went to that bondage club on the bad side of town.

The one down the street?

That's right.

Guillermo's Discount Papaya Enemas,

Nipple Bleaching and Ferret Racing Ranch.

Clubs in this city have such funny names.

Now then, prudence and dry heaves

prevent me from going into too much detail,

but at one point,

the girls on stage were either lathering

or slathering each other--

I couldn't really tell from where I was sitting--

anyhoo, I get aroused

so I haul my esteemed buns on stage

and start doing a sort of a mamba samba rumba thing

I've been working on at the office.

Kind of a step-close-step to a two-four beat.

I get to the point where I'm doing the pokey with my hokey

and that's when the cops raid the place.

Flash forward through a few hours of legalese mumbo jumbo

about bail hearings and outstanding warrants,

I'm proudly walking out the station doors

with this souvenir--

my mug shot

signed by each of the arresting officers.

(growling)

Shut up, you hazy-headed hunting decoy!

Your sordid anecdotes

are totally inappropriate for your boys.

Thank goodness, no other children heard them.

At least, according to the latest Nielsen ratings.

Duckman, have you gotten taller?

You seem less pip and more squeak than usual.

Dad, we're going to go through puberty together.

(grunts)

Get off me.

Look, I'll prove to you you've grown taller

thanks to this conveniently located box

of old family photos.

A-ha! Look, a former mug shot.

So many memories.

I can barely recall that particular sex offense.

It was last weekend, you idiot!

Look, last night's photo shows you're 5'3",

but in this photo, you're...

4'9".

Duckman, you've grown six inches in one week.

This can't be.

This is some sort of group conspiracy, right? Huh?

Is that it? Who got to you guys? Was it the government?

Was it the military who doctored up these photos?

For the love of God, people, you got to tell me.

Tell me! Tell me! Tell me!!!

(screams)

Growth accelerating, breath shortening.

Must seek medical attention.

But hospital's too expensive.

Medical costs have spiraled out of control

thanks to the Republican congress.

Instead, will go see family physician...

Pinnstein, MD.

I thought you left already.

(yelling)

(grunts)

Out of the way!

Medical emergency!

Desperately ill man coming through.

(childish giggling)

Get out of the way!

Medical emergency! Emergency!

MAN: Left...

right... left...

Yes, Muriel, I knew our years of groundbreaking therapy

would pay off some day.

(screams)

(horn honking and tires screeching)

Help me, Doc. Something strange is happening to my body.

Mr. Duckman, as I explained to you before,

those are called "erections."

In the future...

But I need help now!

Come on, Doc, I thought since we're neighbors,

we could have some sort of barter arrangement.

I see.

I'll give you medical services

and you'll give me...

I'm sorry, but what do you have to offer in exchange?

Well, I'm a detective.

A detective.

So you conduct investigations?

Investi-what?

(sighs)

(thumping and rattling)

Mm-hmm.

Oh, my.

Good Lord.

No.

Mr. Duckman, you have a very rare blood condition.

(yells)

My thoughts exactly.

The catalyst

for your disease baffles me.

Excuse my laughable absurdity,

but have you recently ingested

a combination of battery acid

aerosol deodorant and Tiger Balm?

(chuckles)

As recently as last night.

Well, then, apparently, the electrolytes...

In English, Doc.

Sorry. The battery has...

In English!

The square thingy in your car

has a goo inside.

The unique combination

of that goo

with the other items you ate last night

has caused this new blood condition.

Every time you get angry now, your blood literally boils.

This, in turn, accelerates your hormone levels

and causes you to grow.

But how do we cure this?

There is no cure.

You must simply take care to avoid any aggravation.

Here's your bill.

Charge for office lighting,

additional fees for speaking to the doctor,

15% gratuity?!

Talk about your hypocritical oath.

Physician, heal thyself.

Nowadays, you need six kinds of insurance,

a letter from a bank and a sack of gold

just so you can wait in line for some...

(yells)

Actually, this bill seems fine.

(panting)

This is horrible.

I'm turning into some kind of monster.

Maybe I'm just getting self-conscious.

Maybe it's not that noticeable to others.

Hi, there.

How you doing today?

Please don't touch me.

I have children.

I don't deserve to die.

(screaming)

Good. Normal response.

Hey, deputy dog, what are you doing?

This car was involved last night in an accident.

That kid ran into me! The moon was in my eyes!

My vision was clouded by cheap alcohol.

Sounds credible to me.

This is a frame-up.

Never before has there been such an open and shut...

Wait a minute, I'm not done lying.

Why are you taking off?

You. You're huge.

My puny bullets would be useless against you.

(screaming)

Hold la phone.

I sensed a begrudging admiration on his part.

Maybe my new improved size

is making people treat me differently.

Unless I miss my guess,

people are now going to respect me.

This is great!

(squawking)

Hey, you, lady!

Stop talking to that guy,

'cause it's, uh, it's making it humid out here!

And both of you stop doing, uh...

all that other sort of stuff you're doing,

'cause it's too... something.

Woo-hoo!

He's right.

You do talk too much.

(loud chewing and slurping)

Ah.

How was your day, Dad?

Another day, another 12 inches.

Sounds like something you'd overhear

on Hollywood...

Boys, I want you to finish all your homework tonight

before watching TV.

Correction, boys.

You're to watch mindless TV until your eyes cramp,

then do whatever homework you can finish

as you're climbing into bed.

Duckman, that's ludicrous.

Actually, Dad's got a good idea.

What?!

By limiting

our homework time, he's challenging us

to think faster, right, Dad?

Well, that's right.

Okay, what is going on here?

Dad's gained stature in our eyes.

We now equate him

with other well-respected Goliaths,

such as David Letterman, Jeff Goldblum

and author-slash-genetic oddity Michael Crichton.

Come on, guys.

Time for mindless TV.

First one there gets to press his face

against the screen.

That's it, Duckman.

Everybody else may kowtow to you now, but not me!

Eee-ya!

(yawning)

(loud crash)

Uh, Bernice, things around here

will be, uh, a little different from now on.

Sounds good.

Hello, kids. You haven't offended me yet today,

but let's go ahead and assume you will.

(both gasping)

(yelling)

Ah, much better.

Those caraway seeds have been there a month.

Top of the morn, Corn.

Good weekend?

Duckman, what's happened to you?

You noticed.

I must counsel you

against such obvious overuse of steroids.

It's not jock rockets, Cornfed.

It's all natural.

I have an incurable disease.

Will your luck never cease?

Not as long as I keep ranting.

Now, straighten your tie, you slob.

Heh-- three more inches.

Er, Duckman, your new condition might lead to a few changes

in our business practices.

It's already happened, baby corn.

Out on the street, I ran into our deadbeat client,

Mr. Griswald Vanderhorn. He paid me on the spot.

Actually, he just kind of threw his wallet at me and ran.

Probably had to catch a bus.

What I meant was...

My whole life's changed.

Suddenly, I'm a respected member of my community

and being a peeping tom is so easy now.

I'm happy you're happy, Duckman.

Sorry, no time for happiness.

Anger is my fuel.

Punch me out when you leave.

I've got a 1:00 rant scheduled at the DMV.

Then I'm gonna hang out on Main

and yell at passing cabbies.

You believe that lady I, uh...

took out last night?

She charged me the same rate she charges NBA players.

Love to commiserate, Dad,

but I'm still upset about you using up

all the hot water this morning.

It's harder to reach those hard-to-reach places.

Besides, what happened to my saint-like stature?

It went the way of our crushed toilet.

Dad, we need to talk to you about...

Yo. Don't bogart the cruncharoos.

Ohh...

But I wanted the toy whistle inside.

(whistling): You, you, you!

It's always about you!

(gagging)

Have a little consideration for me!

I'm the freak of nature here.

Are you? Are you really?

That's it.

I'm going to the office.

(grunting and cursing)

What the hell are you staring at?!

(tires screeching)

Aah!

Whew!

Well, here's my turn.

The safe driver always signals.

(yelling and screaming)

(bell rings)

(angry muttering)

(grunting and cursing)

Hello. Sorry I'm late.

Didn't quite get your name.

Ix-nay on the pig-Latin.

Who's the occidental tourist?

He's all-star fork ball pitcher

and rookie sensation Nomo Wontdoshow.

He's willing to pay us five million yen

to find out who's stealing his emery boards.

Duckman, perhaps if you wait outs...

Nonsense. How-do?

Name's Duckman.

Private dick. Always like to do

the meet and greet with new clients myself,

you know, press the flesh and grab the gab

then let my intern here take over the detail work.

Your offer of 5,000 pesos is amusing.

Lets us know you're a hard bargainer.

Not only is he not understanding a word you're saying,

but you're crushing his priceless arm.

Ah! Ooh! Ouch! Ugh!

Wants to think it over, huh?

Skittish sort, but I think...

Duckman, I think...

I think you should take a leave of absence.

What?! Why?

You're no longer performing

at your usual mediocre level of competence.

Look, do I have to remind you

what it says on our office door?

"We've moved.

Forward all credit inquiries to..."

Under that!

Duckman Detective Agency.

Not Cornfed, not Corn Pone,

not Cornacious J....

(muttering)

I'm sorry, Duckman. Take some time off.

You have to stop growing and the only way to do that

is to stop your ranting and griping,

your interminable complaining

and constant childlike whin...

(clears throat): I mean, you have

to change your temperament.

You're right.

I'll, uh, I'll go now.

Be a dear and drag me by my feet.

Hey, down in front.

Quiet, you bellyaching munchkin!

(self-conscious laugh)

Oopsie. Remember, Daddy's not allowed

to gripe or rant anymore.

It causes him to grow and grow

and that makes his life even more unbearable.

Hmm! Duckman, are there any chips left?

I'll check the kitchen, Bernice.

(screaming)

You stupid bi...

(laughing)

That's okay.

Accidents happen.

Dinner ready soon?

Not for you, big turd!

(laughing)

That's it!

I'll teach you!

(laughing)

Come back here, you ugly...

(breaking wind)

You! I've had quite enough

of your sassy back talk, young lady.

(breaking wind)

Oh, man!

What have you been eating?

Shut up, all of you!

Look what you guys did!

You just made me grow another two feet.

I ought to...

(laughing hysterically)

What am I doing?

Stop ranting.

It's only going to make me grow more.

Okay, okay, I'll stop ranting, I'll stop ranting.

Just shut up! Don't yell at me.

I'm only telling... Telling me what?!

(screams)

Dad, you look weird.

Look weird? Listen, punk, I'm...

Yow! What the..?

Down in front.

Shut up!

I've got enough...

(screaming)

(panting)

(yelling)

Duckman, you've been ranting again,

haven't you?

Eh... no!

I suspected things might come to this,

given your phenomenal lack of will power and self-discipline.

Cornfed, I tried, really I did.

There's just no place in this house

or anywhere in this city

for a height-advantaged guy like myself.

I can't keep growing like this,

but I can't stop griping because everything sucks!

Ah... everything's succulent.

See? It's no use.

I'm now my own worst enemy.

I'm number two, so I try harder.

Cornfed, there's no place left for me in this world.

There's only one thing for me to do.

Right. I'll get you a gun.

What? I meant I have to go into exile.

Get me a gun?

Er, to take with you into exile.

Oh. Yeah. Thanks, buddy.

Phew.

Well, gang,

your pappy's off to exile.

Boys, there comes a time

when every man must pass on to his sons

the knowledge he's accumulated over his lifetime.

(inhales deeply)

There is nothing...

nothing...

ointment won't cure.

Well, that's it. Might want to write it down somewhere.

Corny, you ready?

So long, boys.

Charles.

Mambo.

Ajax.

(screaming followed by thud)

Bye, Dad. Bye, Dad.

(ship's horn blowing)

(sniffing)

Couldn't you have gotten us a barge

without any garbage on it?

Uh... no.

They were out of them.

Bastards! Oh, well.

The only thing to do

is turn this into an adventure.

* Farewell and adieu *

* To you fair Spanish ladies *

* Farewell and adieu *

* To you ladies of Spain *

(with Cornfed): * For we've received orders *

* For to sail back to Boston *

(voices fading): * And so nevermore shall we see you again *

* Farewell and adieu to you fair... *

* For we've received orders for to sail back... *

Hey! Land ho!

Thank God.

Say, pretty nice.

Over here's some sand.

Oh, and look-- over there's some more sand.

(laughing): I love it.

It's so... sandy.

(crying)

I can't lie to you.

It's lonely.

I'm scared, Corny.

Hold me.

Duckman, it'll hurt less

if we make it quick.

That's what I said to that lady last weekend.

I think I'll go now.

Good luck, Duckman.

I'll keep your files organized.

So long, partner.

(ship's horn blowing)

I had files?

So long, world.

Physically and mentally unfit for life within society,

I cast myself out.

Here, alone, I shall live

and here shall I die.

(sighs)

Here I have a world with nothing to protest.

Maybe this is best for me.

Perchance I nestle in the embrace of madness,

but suddenly, finally, I am at peace.

(ship's horn blowing)

He's coming back--

old what's-his-name in the suit,

but why's he coming?

Maybe he's gonna hit me up for money.

Ah! That's it!

The bastard's probably out peddling subscriptions.

Must build crude weapon.

Something strange about him.

D'wah! Geez! Cornfed!

I'm honored that you took up my role

of ranting against the world,

but don't you think you overdid it?

Hey, if you're thinking that you're now

gonna live here with me, think again!

Duckman, you have...

Just turn that stupendous

stink schooner of yours right around.

Find your own island

where you can live by your weird pig rules,

drive your own little pig cars, and dance to your pig records.

Duckman, it's not I who's become large.

It's you who's grown small, very small.

This barren island is devoid of any reference point,

so there was no way for you to know your size was changing.

I'm... I'm small?

But why? How?

Through extensive medical research, I discovered

that there's a flip side to your blood condition.

Without human contact,

without an emotional bond with other people,

your blood turns cold and dormant,

your hormone levels decelerate

and you begin to shrink, eventually to nothingness.

Duckman, if you stay here, you will die.

But if I go back to civilization,

I'll just keep growing until I die that way, too.

What sort of choice is that?

It isn't fair!

You know, that hurt more than I would have expected.

Duckman, maybe you could learn to balance your life--

offsetting your aversion to society with your need for it

and, even if you can't learn that,

wouldn't you prefer being around people who care about you?

People who've missed you?

Your boys, Ber... me.

There's a lot waiting for you back there,

including a hot shower which, frankly, you could really use.

Hey, Corny, it's working.

'Cause of contact with you, I'm growing!

Cool!

So, here's what we'll do.

I'll keep living here, and every so often,

you can come and visit me and stay for a day...

or maybe just for 20 minutes. I think that'd be enough.

Kidding! 'Course I'll go back with you.

Hey, I'm back to normal-- all of me.

Uh-h-h...

Hey, hey, this is much smaller than originally.

(laughing): Honest. I swear.

Yes, I'm sure.

Hey, let's get out of here, Cornfed.

A world without people isn't a world at all.

Besides, this place is just too damn sandy!

Cornfed, tell me of the world.

Have my sons grown strong and sturdy?

Do people now wear aluminum clothing?

Has man finally colonized the red planet?

Duckman, you've only been gone eight days.

Oh.

Well, how was I supposed to know that?

It's not like I had a calendar with me, okay, smart guy?

Okay, Mr. Filofax-day runner- digital-electronic-organizer.

That's it! Turn this sludge scow around!

I tried holding it in.

I tried being reasonable, but I can't!

Not with comments like that!

Not with the world just waiting to jump down my throat!

Duckman, look-- you're ranting

but you're not growing.

What were you just eating?

I don't know-- pizza crust, some old clams,

motor oil-- 40 weight, I'm guessing.

That unique combination must be

the antidote for your blood condition.

Duckman, you're cured.

You can return home

without having to worry about growing again.

Course, you've still learned

a lesson about balancing various aspects...

I didn't hear a word after "cured"!

The duck is back

and, boy, do I have a list of things I'm p.o.'d about now!

Corny, let us celebrate my recovery

by singing another sea chantey.

* Show me the way to go home *

* I'm tired and I want to go to bed *

* I had some motor oil about a minute ago *

* And it's gone right to my head *

Yeah!

* Wherever I may roam *

* By land or sea or foam *

* You can always hear me singing this song *

* Show me the way to go home. *

Another day, another 12 inches.