Original subtitles

Duckman, "Guess where we're going"

is just a rhetorical question.

We've been guessing for five hours.

Tell us, already!

All right, Miss Quitter.

We're going to San Francisco

to Dick-Con '97--

the annual detectives' convention

because I-- Duckman-- have been chosen

to receive my industry's

lifetime achievement award.

All right, point made.

We'll go back to guessing.

It's true, I swear.

Allow me to quote the letter from the academy.

(clears throat)

"This long overdue honor is in recognition

"of Duckman's many outstanding achievements

and invaluable contributions to his field of expertise."

What a lot of horse haggis!

The only achievement in your career

is your total lack of achievement.

You have never, ever, ever solved a case.

Not once!

Ah, Bernice, my dear, small-minded, large-butted,

ESPN-morning-workout-show- hostess wannabe

being a good detective is more than just "solving" cases.

It's also, uh... uh...

other stuff.

Well, despite my nagging suspicions

that this is another one of your cock-and-bull stories

I'm still involuntarily feeling... pride.

Hey, me, too.

So this is what pride feels like.

I'm scared.

Hold me.

Uh, Dad, what do you call that sound a siren makes?

Why?

(siren wailing)

Damn unleaded plus!

Hold on, folks!

How's that? Straight?

Straightest thing in this city.

MAN: Hey, I heard that!

Ah! Dick-Con '97!

Where my coronation will come to a head

where I shall finally take my place

among the legendary detectives like, uh, the famous guy

and the guy who solved those cases

and old Miss What's-Her-Name.

DUCKMAN: Woo-hoo!

No doubt you've been awaiting me.

Duckman's the name-- as in guest of honor Duckman.

Tell you what, just back this baby into the lifetime achiever's space.

Use those rags you're wearing to give it a shine.

Then look between the seat cushions

for a little something for yourself.

Brochure, sir?

Must be French for "autograph."

There you go, babe.

My phone number's on there, too.

Give me a call

anytime you want to ride the "D" train.

Oh, and congratulations on your breasts.

Look, Cornfed, it makes it look

like I'm wearing glasses.

You always wear glasses.

Different glasses.

This thing is genius.

Observe.

Groucho... not Groucho.

Groucho... not Groucho.

Groucho... not Groucho.

Groucho... ah! That woman!

I recognize her.

Is she a former victim

or are you a former client?

Amazingly, neither.

Her name's Lauren Simone.

We went to Don Galloway's

famous detective school together.

We were bitter rivals.

She hated to see me succeed.

I was hungry for knowledge, doing groundbreaking research

in chastity belt metallurgy, lingerie tensile strength

and the legal difference

between search-and-seizure and just plain fondling.

Lauren ridiculed my theories, but I told her to just wait.

One day, I'd be a famous detective.

And now, Cornfed, that day has finally come.

(woman screaming)

DUCKMAN: Search and seizure-- it's legal!

You put up with a hell...

Well, well, as I live and breathe!

It's Lauren Simone.

How are you, my dear?

I hope that life has treated you better

than time has.

(laughs)

But enough pleasantries.

For we have come to the moment

when I watch your leathery face fall further,

as I tell you that I-- Duckman--

am here to pick up

my lifetime achievement award.

Ha-ha!

We will now pause

for jealousy to put its head up your ugly rear.

Hello, Duckman.

Actually, I already knew about your honor.

You see, I'm chairperson of the convention.

Oh. Well, I, uh, uh...

It's nice seeing you again, Duckman.

Can't we just bury the hatchet?

Oh... okay, sure.

Well, I must say,

she exhibited a magnanimous amount

of grace and self-controlitude.

I guess people really do change.

Perhaps.

(thunder rumbles)

While my Weather-Tron Storm Simulator

has no practical application,

it is really cool.

BERNICE: Look at all these men in tuxedos.

(purring)

I feel like a kid in a candy store.

Bernice, usually a set-up like that one

would demand I launch some zinger

about you being no kid

and that store ending up with no candy

but that would violate our family's new policy

of sweetness and glasnost.

Besides, we're here tonight

not to bury you, but to praise me.

I hope this doesn't sound grandiose,

but tonight, I begin my preordained ascent

toward the global adulation I so richly deserve.

For what is greatness...

(orchestra plays bright fanfare)

And now, here's the legendary P.I., Morton Tannenbaum,

to help present our final award of the evening--

our lifetime recognition award.

First, Mr. Tannenbaum,

after 60 years as a detective

do you have any inspirational words you can share?

I once did Herbert Hoover's wife while he watched.

(orchestra plays bright fanfare)

Yes, well...

We all know who this year's recipient is.

Let's welcome him up...

Duckman!

(orchestra playing jaunty melody)

Boys, you'll always remember the night the legend was born.

Uh, Duckman, I've got

one of my patented near-psychic bad feelings about this.

Quit hogging screen time, Cornish.

I'm about to meet my destiny.

(laughing): Whoo!

Wow! This is so incredible!

I mean...

(clears throat)

Wow! I never expected this.

Ah... well, there's...

there's so many people to thank--

my agent, my manager...

uh, let's see...

my accountant, lawyer, personal trainer,

nutritionist, voice coach...

We did it, Eli!

My florist, my mailman, the Dalai Lama...

Oh! My family--

my sister-in-law, Bernice,

and my sons, Charles, Gumble...

Mambo!

Whatever...

And, of course... Ajax.

(sobbing)

(sobbing)

But... ultimately, this...

this is my night.

I, uh... I don't get too many honors.

Okay, I don't get any.

That's why this means so much to me.

You know, you work kind of hard,

you sort of do your best

and... sometimes it seems like you don't know why you do it...

why you keep going out there every day,

getting slapped down by life.

Well, it helps to get something like this

and know that your peers think you're doing a good job.

(audience laughing)

You folks may not believe this

but... well, I actually haven't solved that many cases.

(laughter grows louder)

No, no, it's true.

I guess I'm just choosey about the cases I take on.

(laughter grows even louder)

Geez, I'm killing

and I haven't even gotten to my blue material yet.

"Lifetime underachievement award?!"

But... but...

(laughing)

No, it can't be!

My invite said I was getting the achievement award!

Whoops! Must have been a typo.

Yes, I distinctly remember nominating you

for the underachievement award.

(laughing) You?! No! No!

Ladies and gentlemen,

our honoree

for a lifetime of pathetic failure--

Duckman.

(boisterous laughter and applause)

(glass breaks)

(woman screams)

(groaning)

Oh, she humiliated me again.

I'm the laughingstock of my profession.

That was the worst experience of my life.

I'm sorry, Duckman.

You didn't deserve what happened back there.

You're a decent person

whom we all admire for our own reasons

and you should know we all respect and care for you.

I stopped believing you somewhere around "I'm."

My nostrils flared, didn't they?

Duckman, you'll wake up tomorrow

and you probably won't even remember this.

Okay, maybe not tomorrow, but the next day.

Well, someday.

Okay, one day, you won't even wake up

and this'll all be over.

Of course, odds are, people will defile your grave.

Uncle Cornfed!

Sorry. I was swept away by the moment.

Dad, we're still glad

we could share this trip with you.

That's the worst part--

being humiliated in front of my sons.

I've worked hard to prepare you boys

for a lifetime of broken promises

and dashed expectations,

but this is different.

I just hope this doesn't affect you permanently--

that you can gather yourselves together

and somehow get past this trauma.

(toilet flushes)

(laughing)

Whoa. There's a tiny sink in here

just for washing your hair.

It even makes a soothing little whirlpool

when you pull the lever.

Duckman, it says here in the convention itinerary

that there'll be a best detective contest

tomorrow morning.

The winner gets a grand prize of $10,000.

Wee-hee.

Our business could really use that money.

Plus, we'd be able to add "award-winning"

to our business card.

We have business cards?

You designed them yourself.

Huh. Must have been during my Sudafed period.

This may be a last chance for redemption, Duckman,

a chance to prove yourself to those detectives.

Yeah, sure--

to further prove how pathetic I am.

I'll just take the ol' Pasadena on that.

It's time to cut my losses and leave this bass-ackwards burg.

Boys, pack my shoes.

I'll get the linens and towels.

The winner will also get this winsome trophy

inscribed "Best Dick '97."

(gasps)

It's so shiny and gleaming and phallic.

Okay, I'll do it, Corny.

I'll show them all.

Look out, redemption!

Here come the duck!

One minute until the test begins.

(sighs)

By the power of Grayskull,

I have the power!

Hey, eyes front.

You may begin the test.

You have one hour.

(cheering)

DUCKMAN: Must be some sort of trick...

(grunting)

Clever fiends.

Cornfed.

Cornfed!

What the fu...?

Okay, skip that one.

Number two.

"If a man drives 40 miles an hour,

leaves the station at 2:35..."

Ah, try number three.

Ya-ha!

Go to the fourth.

Surveillance...

Confession...

D'oh! Wait.

I get it.

(screams)

That was the English version.

Oh, I can't solve any of these.

(loud dripping)

Cornfed.

Hey, buddy.

How you been? Great.

Uh, hypothetically speaking, just shooting the breeze--

let's say you are in a windowless room,

a corpse with multiple con... con... contu-si-ons

and abra... abra...

Duckman, I can't help you cheat.

You have to do this yourself.

Otherwise, you'd never be able to respect yourself.

That would be bad.

Oh.

But I can't.

I'm not going to help you.

LAUREN: One minute left on the test.

Cornfed, time's running out.

Please, please, please, please, please.

Do it for the agency.

I'll go distract Lauren.

Groucho, not Groucho.

Groucho, not Groucho.

Groucho, not Groucho.

Groucho, not Groucho.

Groucho, not Groucho.

Groucho, not Groucho.

Groucho, not Groucho.

Groucho, not Groucho.

Groucho, not Groucho.

Return to your seat.

Time's up, detectives.

Pencils down.

Pencils, dicks.

Well, Duckman,

since the only thing your booklet is good for

is recycling,

what's say we just go ahead

and throw this away now.

Grade it, baby.

(gasps)

A p-p-p-perfect score?!

Yay! Yay! Yay!

B-But that's impossible.

That can't be.

You're an idiot.

You had to have gotten help from someone.

(whistling)

Underachiever, my tafta tuchis.

I got a perfect score.

I'm a friggin' genius.

* You put your dog down

* And thrust your pelvis, huh!

* Thrust your pelvis, huh!

Duckman. Congratulations, Duckman.

Here's your "Best Dick '97" trophy.

(applause)

Thank you, everyone.

While I did this all by myself,

I'd like to give an extremely small passing mention

to my best friend...

(people screaming)

Cornfed, you're gone.

There's only one logical explanation--

you're invisible.

You've invented an invisibility ray that can be...

No, Duckman, look!

Oh, no. The process doesn't work on hats, belts, or coins.

It's completely useless.

Duckman, will you put your pinhead on pause?

Cornfed's been kidnapped!

That's worse.

Ladies and gentlemen,

it appears that we have a devious kidnapping on our hands.

In times like this,

we need the greatest crime-solving mind of our age.

So, tell us, Duckman--

where is Cornfed?

I can easily solve Cornfed's kidnapping

through the careful examination of these "glues."

Clues.

Whatever.

First, this belt.

Eh... hmm... belt.

Cornfed liked to belt out show tunes.

That's it-- he's been kidnapped

by the ghost of Liberace.

(spectators groaning)

This Duckman doesn't seem to be

such a hot detective after all.

I'm frightened and disoriented.

(laughing)

Hey, hey, easy with the trophy envy.

Attention, everyone.

Duckman's bungling investigation

has shown us he's unworthy of the title of best dick.

(spectators laughing)

Hey, wait.

Come on, I was just getting warmed up.

Here we go.

Exhibit "A," Cornfed's belt--

removed, as if he had to go to the bathroom.

SPECTATORS: Ooh!

Exhibit "B," these dimes.

The sort of dimes one might need to use a pay toilet.

SPECTATORS: Aah!

There's four of these dimes

indicating the fourth stall of...

(sniffing)

Hmm? Lavender, with a hint of Lysol.

Cornfed is being held hostage

in the ladies' bathroom.

Follow me.

Hey, this is the first time

I've been in a ladies' room legally.

By legally, of course, I mean... ever.

And now, direct from Kidnapville

a man for all sausage-- Cornfed.

* Ta-da!

(gasping)

(gasping)

Hold your horses, sonny.

I should be done in an hour.

My God, Cornfed!

What have they done to you?!

(groaning)

Corny, corny, corny.

13 hours of investigation, and ten of those were spent

trying to find my way out of the ladies' room.

Lauren's right.

I'm a lousy detective.

And now I'm a lousy detective who lost his best friend.

There's something charming about her.

Maybe it's her alluring lack of consciousness.

I could use the sympathetic ear

of a person that can't possibly bore me back.

Bonjour.

Aah!

Oh, great. I found the only company

misery doesn't love.

Ah, shut up, you mush-headed thick wit.

I'm in no mood for your antics tonight.

In fact, the sight of you makes me feel worse.

Well, then, I'll be happy to join you.

You won.

You got what you wanted.

You're successful, famous, respected

and you've completely humiliated me.

I've dreamt for so long

of the day when I'd make you look like a fool

when I'd ruin you, and today

when I kidnapped Cornfed to humiliate you

knowing you could never solve the case...

Wait. You kidnapped Cornfed?

Is he okay?

Ah, don't worry, he's all right.

So my plan was working fine.

I thought it would be the happiest day of my life,

but it's not.

Not nearly.

Yeah, goals never work out.

That's why I don't bother.

Wait a minute.

You're not happy?

Can you believe it?

I mean, that ladies' room scene was perfect.

You were a complete moron,

wearing your stupidity like a badge of honor.

Flaunting your idiocy, begging for a fall.

Yeah, it's this thing that I do.

Some people can cook, some can sing...

So, there you were, putting both feet in your mouth

and when I looked at you, all I felt was...

was sympathy.

I felt sorry for you, you big jerk.

You looked like a little puppy.

Wow. And this time,

I wasn't even licking myself inappropriately.

I looked at you and, and realized...

realized...

I realized I like you.

A lot.

You know, like in... like.

Yuck!

Excuse me?

I think back at Galloway's

I had a little crush on you, but you were so repugnant,

so disgusting, so grossly unsavory

a relationship with you was not part of the plan

I had for myself,

so I must have over-compensated,

turned it to hate.

But when I saw you in that bathroom,

looking so lost and hurt, I knew it wasn't hate.

So that's why you always tried to embarrass me--

stealing my homework, changing my grades,

sending me those fake notes from our teacher saying

"You suck. Get out of my class."

I never sent any notes.

Oh.

Anyway, all this time, you were in love with me?

Keep it in your down, Chester.

I said I was sublimating, not insane.

I just have a decades-old crush that needs closure.

Did you, um... ever have any romantic feelings for me?

More than likely,

but for me to be interested in a woman,

my only requirement is that she have legs and a pulse

and I even waived those in New Orleans last year.

I think a few dates with you should finally rid me of

any unresolved romantic feelings.

What do you say?

I say we've got a moonlit night,

one of the most beautiful cities on earth,

and a pocketful of stolen credit cards.

But forget about that last part.

Let's swing, baby.

(chuckling)

You know, Duckman,

I feel great.

I really do.

But I still can't help feeling I'm forgetting something.

(water dripping)

(muffled): Hello.

Hello!

Anybody out there?

Duckman, is this you?

Come on, this isn't funny.

Lauren, if it's you, just say something.

Somebody talk to me.

Hello?

(water dripping)

Hello!

Anybody out there?

Hello?

(water dripping)

Come on, this isn't funny.

Somebody talk to me.

(speaking unintelligibly)

DUCKMAN: We did it, Eli!