Original subtitles

(door creaks open)

(whistles)

(duck quacks)

(sirens wailing in distance)

Welcome to O'McManohan's Old-Fashioned Pub Incorporated.

May I tell you about our fun, fun specials

like our all-you-can-eat- shuffle-off-to-buffalo wings,

our baby-oh-baby back ribs, or our leaning tower of pizza?

Get it?

"Pizza."

Save your Co2, Pee-Wee,

because nothing could be more special to me

than your finest malt liquor.

By the way, it just to happens to be all our birthdays tonight,

so keep bringing the complimentary

chilled monkey brains, or whatever it is you people do.

And I'll have a Shirley Temple.

I suppose you'll want to see some I.D.

Only if you're applying for the senior citizen's discount.

Eh-heh-heh-heh.

(mimicking): Eh-heh-heh-heh.

(screams)

'Fess up, Dad.

Why'd you take us out to dinner tonight?

To swipe a few tips off the tables?

To steal bottles from the dumpster for the recycling money?

To fall face first into the urinal

just so you could sue the restaurant?

Face first...

urinal.

Well, they're all pretty good suggestions,

but the real honest-to-Godfrey reason we're here

is to spend more quality time

as a family unit.

Uh...

and...

so that...

I, uh...

could, um...

pick up desperate, emotionally damaged middle-aged women

by pretending to be a devoted single dad!

(blubbering)

You remind me of my fourth husband

right before he blew his brains out.

(wheezing cough)

Buy me a drink?

Be careful, Duckman.

A cursory olfactory analysis

of this woman's sweat glands indicates that decades

of alcohol ingestion have permeated her cellular structure

and made her a prime candidate for spontaneous combustion.

Say what?

Oh... my... dear, sweet Lord!

So, who wants potato skins?

Um, perhaps the best way

to take our minds off the smell of burning flesh

is to begin tonight's karaoke contest!

(audience exclaiming excitedly)

Hot, steaming diggity.

I'd like to sing some Beethoven.

Ajax, you can't karaoke to Beethoven.

You need something with lyrics.

(laughing)

And to think I've been practicing

my whole life.

(sound of orchestra playing Beethoven's Ode To Joy)

(music stops)

What do you say, Corn Syrup?

Blow their minds with our patented Sonny and Cher medley?

I'd love to, except my sequined squaw outfit's

still at the cleaner's.

Well, then let's focus all our energies

into making sure you-know-who doesn't head up there and...

BERNICE (over mic): Evening, folks. How you doing tonight?

Waah!

I'd like to start off

with a song

by one of our country's greatest natural resources,

Mr. Marvin Hamlisch.

(screaming) MAN: No! No!

(all clamoring)

Sorry, lady.

We don't have any Hamlisch.

Then, uh, perhaps something by, um...

Oh, I don't know, uh, Andrew Lloyd Webber?

(audience screaming, gunshots)

No Webber! No Webber!

(screaming stops)

Maybe you should tell me what songs you do have.

Since we put all our profits

into buying more umbrellas for our fun, fun drinks,

the only karaoke song we have is

"Pop! Goes the Weasel."

(intro to "Pop! Goes the Weasel" plays)

Maybe we should slow things down a bit.

(slow, romantic intro begins)

(in sultry voice): * All around the mulberry bush

* The monkey chased

* The weasel

* The monkey thought it was all in fun *

(breathy): * Pop!

* Goes

* The weasel.

(cricket chirping)

Karaoke-- Japan's cruelest invention since hari-kari.

(audience laughing)

Duckman, please.

But I want to tell you--

Greenpeace ought to ban "wailing" like that.

Duckman, I am warning you!

Man, I've heard sweeter-sounding death rattles.

Yeah, you got a trained voice... and it derailed.

Polyps want a cracker?

That is it!

(rhythmic cadence): For years you've mocked me!

Well, I don't have to take your crap--

those putdowns and insults!

Well, I don't have to take your crap,

you craven oaf, you witless dope!

I don't have to take your crap!

(applause and cheering)

(whistling)

Hey, there, I'm Rube Richter,

President of Def Mute Records.

Never before have I heard anyone

so passionately articulate the anger

of today's modern-day woman.

You're like Alannis Morissette--

only much less weird-looking.

Why exactly are you telling me this?

First thing tomorrow,

I want you in the studio

so we can get these rants on record.

Baby, I'm going to make you a star.

Me?

A star?

(melodramatic music playing)

Me... a star.

(dreamy music playing)

Knock it off!

Bernice, this here's your producer-engineer,

Street Daddy Crip.

Word up.

Just lay down what you did last night,

and we'll be on top of the charts,

number one with a bullet.

Do people still use those archaic expressions?

Take a chill pill, Daddy-O. (clicks tongue)

(hip-hop/techno rock blend)

(rhythmically challenged): * For years, you have mocked me *

* Well, I simply will not take it anymore *

* And I'm quite serious about that... *

(stammering)

* Shut your mouth, close your trap *

* Shut your mouth, close your trap *

* Shut your mouth...

Something's wrong here.

Something's missing.

I've heard more passion from a Narcoleptic Quaker.

I still can't believe that never sold.

This recipe for success

is missing one very pungent ingredient.

(indifferently): * For years, you've mocked me *

* Well, I don't have to take your crap... *

(yawning)

Oh, Bernice, that was you.

I thought I stumbled into some sort of a sonic slaughterhouse.

(with more energy): * Those putdowns and insults!

* Well, I don't have to take your crap! *

Wonderful, Bernice. Just wonderful.

Shed a few hundred pounds, you'll be the next Mama Cass.

(snarling ferocity): * You craven oaf, you witless dope! *

* I don't have to take your crap! *

(slurping)

RICHTER: Congratulations!

According to the latest SoundScansurvey,

you just recorded the number-one song

(popping) in the country.

Now get ready for "Bernice: The Hear-Her-Roar Tour."

32 cities plus Fresno.

ALL: A tour?

Well, I guess this is it.

Wish I could have gotten to know you better

but between your constant putdowns,

and my unusual bathroom habits--

well, sometimes these things work out, sometimes they don't.

Arrivederci, Roma. It's time we say...

Actually, Duckman, we'd like you to join the tour

as, uh, Director of, um... Motivational Services.

Uh-huh, let me make sure the chronic caterwauling

hasn't burst my eardrums.

Did you just say you want me to accompany her on...?

Hmm... Franklin discovered electricity,

but what if I need a stove, too?

And an almanac.

What exactly are my duties?

You'll earn a weekly salary by tapping into Bernice's psyche

channeling her pain and...

Just keep cheesing her off, okay?

Well, Lord knows I'll give it a try.

Now, if you'd kindly point me toward the powder room,

I got me a mike stand to pass.

I hate to spoil the party,

but I never agreed to any tour.

Recording the song was fun,

but abandoning my role as surrogate mom

for a full-time ride

on the sweaty underbelly of rock 'n' roll?

I'm sorry, Rube, but I'll have to say no.

But Aunt Bernice, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Good point.

You can reach people through the power of music,

change their very lives.

What he said.

And the kiddies can tag along and see the country.

23 skiddoos! All right!

Praise the Lord.

Just know that anytime you feel you've had enough,

say the word and we'll go straight home. Deal?

Deal! Deal!

Uh-uh-uh.

Put the hugs on hold, Bernice.

It's makeover time.

Blood-splattered tiara?

Mud-stained combat boots?

Dirty, sweaty wedding dress?

I don't know, Rube.

Do you really think this is me?

Bernice, from the moment I first saw your face,

I knew you were more special than special could possibly be.

If you'll just place yourself under my tutelage,

well, I'll make you the shiniest star

on this whirly-twirly teacup ride we call life.

Oh, do you really mean that, Rube?

It's not just some shameless, self-serving lie?

Baby! I'm a record company executive.

Hi. I'm Kurt Loder and this is MTV News.

Def Mute's unlikely new recording artist, Bernice,

is causing quite a stir on the club scene lately.

Female audiences everywhere can't seem to get enough

of the snarling chanteuse's

"Mess With Me, Guys, And I'll Mess With You" lyrics.

(upbeat music playing)

BERNICE: * I'll tear your arms off *

* And your legs off

* And your (bleep) off

* And then I'll make you eat them *

* I'll make you eat them *

* I'll make you eat them *

* I'll make you eat them! *

* I'll make you eat them!! *

* I'll make you eat them!!! *

* I'll make you eat them! *

Bernice's popularity continues to grow.

Legions of female fans,

or "Bernicians" as they prefer to be called,

are emulating their outspoken spokesperson.

She, like, totally understands our anger against guys.

* Hate you, hate you, hate you, hate you, hate you *

* Hate you, hate you, hate you, hate you, hate you *

* Hate you, hate you

* H-a-a-ate you!

Oh, I love her lyrics, especially the "hate" part.

I don't know, like, how she does it--

like, what her secret is.

Well, it's official.

The country's come down

with a serious case of Bernice fever.

It's hard to pick up a magazine lately

and not see the dynamic diva's face on the cover.

Will this tour ever end?

Seems like we were born on this bus.

But look on the bright side.

I've been able to moon people in 28 states.

(unzips zipper) DUCKMAN: Make that 29!

As Bernice continues to climb the charts,

she transcends the boundaries of pop music

to become a bona fide social phenomenon.

Nancy from Secaucus, New Jersey, writes:

"Dear Casey, after all these years,

"I finally realized

"that my husband is a lying, cheating sack of filth.

"I'd like nothing more than to flamb� his 'nads

"and serve them to all my guests.

"So, Casey, for that special person I hate so much,

"please play 'Burn In Hell, My Baby',

"the latest song

by that vociferous voice of my generation: Bernice."

(Bernice screaming)

LODER: And stay tuned for tonight's MTV Music Awards

featuring performances by Soundgarden,

Smithereens, the liver of David Crosby

and the long-awaited television debut of Bernice.

Aunt Bernice, since you have a few hours before the awards,

we were hoping to do a little sightseeing.

I'm burned out, dudes.

We hardly see you anymore.

Even Courtney Love says

you're a reckless and irresponsible parent.

And that you wear too much makeup.

Hey, boy... it's tough on top.

You try being responsible for this tour and this record

and having that damn Annie Leibovitz

follow you everywhere you go.

And another thing,

I don't know quite how to say this,

but you've been partying an awful lot lately.

When was the last time you worked out?

Well, things got pretty sweaty

between me and Cypress Hill last night.

Aunt Bernice, let's go home.

We want things to be the way they were before.

Please?

(door opens)

(fans yelling and screaming)

Aunt Bernice Aunt Bernice! Aunt Bernice!

Don't go! Wait! What about us?

Please! Come back.

(audience cheering)

Well, we finally made it, Corn--

the MTV Awards.

Can't wait until Bush performs.

I didn't know Bush was your favorite band.

It's a band?

Hey, Ice-T, did you see that one coming, too?

All the way down Sunset, man.

We've got trouble.

It's Aunt Bernice.

Okay. What'd she do this time?

Belittle her befuddled assistants?

Punch out more paparazzi?

Throw up in Kennedy's hair?

That was all you, Dad.

I threw up on Kennedy?

(gagging)

Aunt Bernice is starting to lose herself.

She's being seduced by the decadence

and narcissism of rock 'n' roll.

We want to go home.

Wait, whoa, stop, huh? Are you saying

you've sopped up enough of the Bernice gravy train?

Kidulas, this is the very best thing

that's ever happened to us.

Hey, we're hanging out with Tommy Lee!

But none of it's worth anything

if Aunt Bernice has to pay the price.

Uh, no offense, Tommy.

(sobbing)

Dad, we're afraid if Aunt Bernice keeps this up,

we may lose her forever.

DUCKMAN: Whoo-hoo!

Duckman, if anything should happen to Bernice,

you'll be left with her familial and domestic duties.

You'll be in charge of all the cooking and cleaning,

feeding Grandma-Ma, raising Ajax, Charles and Mambo.

Bilbo. Whatever.

Whatever. You'll be the sole parent, Duckman,

responsible for them 24 hours a day,

seven days a week, every single day

for the rest of your life,

(echoing): life, life, life...

Bernice, don't fear the Reaper!

I'm a-coming to save you!

Uh, lay some sugar on me, Ruby baby.

Yeah, I'd like that.

I really would,

but I've got to conduct some, uh...

important music mogul thingies.

Bernice don't need you!

Bernice don't need anybody!

Bernice number one in Southeastern Denmark!

Well, well, well...

if it isn't the downy down nut.

Bernice, I know I've said this every day since we first met,

but you look horrible.

How could you be so selfish?

Throwing your life away on booze,

ignoring your family.

But have you once ever thought about me?

I want to go out, have a few drinks,

get away from the family,

and I can't do that if you're not there.

Have you no shame?

Now, come on! We're taking you home,

hosing you down, and you're making us fish cakes!

How can I be so selfish?!

(screams)

Ladies and gentlemen,

uh, Sheryl Crow...

the Black Crowes...

Counting Crows...

and the winner for the least annoying Crow music is...

(Duckman screams)

(grunting)

(cheering)

EMCEE: Ladies and gentlemen...

Bernice!

(Duckman groaning and grunting) (hip-hop/techno rock blend plays)

See how she loves it?

She'll never give up rock 'n' roll.

I guess it means more to her than we do.

* You're the one who ignores your children! *

* You're the one who puts your needs first! *

* All you think about is me, me, me! *

(crash) *

BERNICE: Stop the music.

Stop the music!

(music stops)

What's happening to me?

My God, what have I been doing?

Keep pounding him, Bernice.

Show him who's boss.

AUDIENCE (chanting): Bernice!

Bernice!

Bernice!

Bernice!

Bernice!

Bernice!

No!

Bernice!

There's another song I want to sing,

and I want to dedicate it to my nephews.

(soft music playing)

* A child

* Is like a flower

* That grows

* Before your eyes

* As the seasons pass

* Children grow so fast

* Soon they're reaching for the skies *

* And you realize

* It's been home and hearth all along *

* Home and hearth that make a family strong *

* From summer

* To winter

* From spring to fall

* It's been home and hearth all along *

* After...

(audience booing)

Bernice, you sang about love,

commitment, compassion.

Are you insane?

People aren't looking for tenderness

in their angry girrl rockers.

They want blood.

You're finished, Bernice, wiped out, through!

In that case, let this be my swan song.

What am I going to do?

What am I going to do?!

Stanislaus the janitor tired

from the crazy rock stars

with their crazy rock star vomit.

(speaking foreign gibberish)

Wait. That's brilliant.

Never before have I heard anyone

so passionately articulate the anger

of today's modern-day Eastern European janitors.

Come with me, Stanislaus.

I'm going to make you a star.

I want to apologize to you kids.

We're a family,

and the truth is, I need you to take care of me

as much as I need to take care of you.

Now, what do you say we go home

and return to our old, wonderfully boring lives?

Yay! Yay! Yay!

Excuse me.

I'm the governor of our great state,

and I have some very bad news.

Congressman Kelk has had a fatal

and incredibly ironic heart attack

while engaging in an act of necrophilia.

(sniffs)

The only guy I ever voted for...

Democracy sucks.

Bernice, while I've always been aware

of your pain-in-the-ass civic activism,

you have now also become the embodiment

of, quote, "family values," unquote, period.

Thank you for the kind words,

but why are you telling me this?

Bernice, I hereby appoint you congresswoman.

Me?

A congresswoman?

(melodramatic music plays)

It wasn't me that time.

I swear.

("Yankee Doodle" overlapping melodramatic music)

* I'll tear your arms off *

* And your legs off

* And your (bleep) off

* And then

* I'll make you eat them *

* I'll make you eat them! *

* I'll make you eat them *

* I'll make you eat them. *

(Tommy Lee sobbing)