Original subtitles

(whistles)

(people jeering)

(honking)

(horn blaring)

Mr. Ajax, that was a little too close for comfort.

Sorry, Captain.

I had to divert the power from the main reactor

to heat up this Hungry Man Romulan Salisbury steak dinner.

I'd heard tales of Simulac 12's

resemblance to 20th Century Earth,

but I had no idea what a god-awful suckfest it was.

You think the Federation would mind

if we turned it into an extra large asteroid belt?

(laughing)

You're unusually quiet, Mr. Cornfed.

Don't you have any of your famous Vulvan observations

to share with us?

Just one--

I suggest we stop buying our transporters at Kmart.

DUCKMAN: Space-- the final frontier.

WOMAN: Duckman!

These are the voyages...

Duckman, I'm talking to you!

of the Starship Enterprise. Its five-year miss...

(thud)

This is no time for your freak outbeat poetry.

We have an emergency!

What's up, Lieutenant Bern-Horror?

Bern-Hura!

I'm picking up a distress signal

from a colony on the far side of the quadrant.

They're running out of supplies.

They-they're dying!

Wish I could help, but I've got a crisis of my own.

I just scarfed down a handful of Klingon souvlaki

and I got to run to the little commander's room

to give new meaning to the term "Captain's log"

if you catch my drift--

and if you come too close, you will.

(chuckling): Captain's log...

Out of my way, Ironside.

Will someone please take Commander Pike-ma-ma

back to her quarters

for her hourly intestinal decrusting?

(buzzing)

Oh, for crying out loud, enough with the buzzer.

Message received.

Mr. Charls-kov,

how long before we arrive at the crybaby colony?

At present speed,

five hours and 11 minutes, Captain.

I just hope we can reach them in time.

They always exaggerate these distress calls.

You get there and the horrible plague engulfing the planet

turns out to be eight guys with herpes.

Hummina! Hummina! Ha-wa!

(static)

What I wouldn't give to neutralize her shields,

divert power to my forward thrusters,

lock my sensors on her coordinates,

and fire the ol' photon torpedo.

Who be she?

That's the leader of the dying colony,

you turd-tufted Trigonian tapeworm!

According to my scan of the planet, Captain,

it's populated entirely

by a couple thousand lonely, horny triple "X" babes

who are h-o-t, hot.

I see.

Red alert! Red alert!

Warp factor eleven-teen!

Mr. Ajax, give us everything you've got.

There's no more power, Captain.

Oop!

Whee!

By all that's holy,

I vow to do everything in my power

to save those desperate young breasts...

I mean, inner thighs...

I mean, women.

Ah, hell. Breasts and thighs.

To infinity and...

Different franchise, sir.

Damn your Vulvan logic.

Captain's log, (chuckles) Stardate 90210.

After a light breakfast,

we beamed down to the planet's surface.

For my landing party, I chose First Officer Mr. Cornfed,

Medical Officer Art Bones McSalvo

and expendable crewmen, Fluffy and Uranus.

As purely extraneous cast members,

Fluffy and Uranus's sole purpose

is to be killed upon arrival,

thus allowing the rest of us

to get on with the damn story.

Ah, the hell with it.

(screaming)

That's odd.

While the leader claimed to be running out of supplies,

this planet is, in reality, a cornucopia

of plant life and vegetation.

WOMAN: Perhaps it was the only way to get you here.

I am Aurora, Aurora Abramowitz.

(gasps)

Welcome to the Pleasure Planet.

My people derive great pleasure

performing acts which give you great pleasure.

Simply ask for anything of a pleasurable nature

and it's our pleasure.

Kids, you can stuff the prime directive

where the solar system don't shine.

We're talking orbital orgy!

Careful, Captain.

This may be a trap.

Oh, of course-- a trap.

That's what's happening here.

We're trapped.

A planet of mouth-wateringly, gorgeous horny women

want us to pleasure them

in every bizarre, self-indulgent manner

we can think of

and it's a trap.

Why couldn't I see it?

As you can see, Aurora,

my crew can use a little R&R.

It's our pleasure.

Mmm.

Khan Chicken.

Duckman.

Does this mean the sex is off?

So, Captain Eric Tiberius Duckman,

we meet again.

Khan Chicken, you magnificent space bastard,

you'll never get away with this.

"Th' unconquerable will and study of revenge,

immortal hate, and courage never to submit or yield."

Milton.

Oh, yeah?

There was a young lady from rowjob...

Silence!

Don't you see?

It had to come to this, Duckman.

You and I represent the polarity of existence.

You are light and I am darkness.

You are life and I am death.

You are Hootie.

I, the Blowfish--

not the band, but the poison ones

you get in restaurants, you know?

Anywho...

this universe ain't big enough for both of us.

So, I shall now annihilate you

in the most brutal and melodramatic way possible.

The Ceti eel.

(panicked moan)

(cracking)

It will bore into your cerebral cortex

inflicting an agony both cruel and exquisite.

Feed, my pet.

(popping)

Hey, my sinuses feel great!

Do they sell these at Petco?

Next time, I employ a parasite that lives off brains,

I will use it on someone who has one.

(imitating Schwarzenegger): I'll be back.

Different franchise, sir.

I don't care.

I'm evil.

(evil laughter)

He's not really a people person, is he?

We got to escape before el pollo loco gets back.

It's time to haul out the famous Duckman charm.

Oh, goils.

(delighted screaming)

Can I score the space hubba jubba, or what?

And I'm preshackled.

Most illogical.

Uh, this time, I got to go with you.

(smooching)

No, not the Vulvan nerve pinch.

I know a variation of that,

except it only works on the prostate.

Damn it!

Why hasn't the Enterprise sent a search party?

Who the hell is in charge up there?

(doltish laughing)

Is it possible for us to pop a wheelie?

Logic dictates that if we head to the surface,

the ship's scanners can locate us.

Screw logic.

My very human intuition tells me

we're sure to find daylight

by going into this ominous pitch-black cavern.

Uh, Houston? We got a problem.

Different franchi...

Shut up!

Damn it, Eric, what is it?

(both gasping)

BOTH: Khan Chicken created a duplicate Duckman.

A fascinating dilemma.

Which is the real Duckman?

What are you rubes waiting for?

I'm 100% pure virgin Duckman.

As your commanding officer--

and for purposes of Emmy consideration

lead actor in a prime-time animated series, thank you--

I order you to blow Bozo the Clone here to kingdom crumbs,

then start blasting the hell out of everyone else you can.

I want killing, and lots of it

and if either one of you tries to wussy out, kill him, too.

No. I am the real Duckman,

but I insist you not shoot the impostor.

He's still one of God's creatures

and we must treat him with respect, considerat...

(death ray zapping)

Good call.

Gee, thanks.

Your validation means, oh, so much to me.

DUCKMAN: Is he dead.

Damn it, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a rodeo clown.

Well, I'm not a rodeo clown.

Who's Jim?

Fine! Have it your way!

I'm a rodeo clown and you're not Jim.

That is most ill...

(spitting)

Okay, fun stuff, but where were we?

Oh, yeah, running like hell.

Set your butts on hustle, space cadets.

I got me an appointment with a 40 of Romulan malt

and a diaper full of tribbles.

KHAN: The only appointment you have, Captain Duckman,

is with death.

I considered many cool ways to destroy you--

weird plastic things that stick to your back,

giant flesh-eating clouds,

even a big molecular destruction chamber

that I'm having custom-made at a place in Van Nuys--

but then, sometimes

you want something simple and brutal--

death by phaser.

Your phaser.

Good-bye forever, Duckman.

(frightened moaning)

(beeping)

That is most...

Uh, weirdo.

We got to get out of here...

but how?

Captain Duckman.

Paging Captain Duckman.

White courtesy insignia.

Three to beam up.

Okay, any mail for me while I was out?

Sir, we found an alien stowaway.

It has no money,

but it can work off its passage as a tailor.

Make it so.

Captain's log...

(laughing)

Captain's log...

(thunderous rumbling)

Red alert!

In the words of the Russian playwright, Sean O'Casey,

"We've been hit."

It's Khan's chicken-of-prey.

Fascinating.

Apparently, Khan has developed some sort of cloaking device

which allowed him to follow us undetected.

Mr. Sulu...

Mambo. Whatever.

It's show time.

Aye-aye, Captain.

My lord, we've been hit.

Duh.

Maureen, release the Khan bomb.

(screaming)

(grunts)

Cornfed.

Needs of the few outweigh the needs of the...

Wait, no.

Needs of the many

can often be as important as, uh...

Blah-blah-blah, get me a soda...

Yes, sir.

And some of that great filet of sole you make, too.

Of all the soles I've ever tasted,

his had the most... cumin.

The rest of you hypochondriacs

cauterize your wounds on your own time.

Right now, I want fireworks.

Wait. I've got an idea.

Engage self-destruct mode.

And?

And I'll be in the shuttlecraft, getting the hell out of here.

I understand there's a Hooters on Rigel 12.

Don't you have any plans

that won't cost the lives of your entire crew?

Unbelievable.

Okay.

Open hailing frequency with Khan.

I'll pretend I'm surrendering

and as soon as his guard is down,

we'll turn him into intergalactic roadkill.

Yes, this is ingenious, brilliant, foolproof.

You're on.

DUCKMAN AND KHAN: Oh, you are too powerful for me.

I surren...

(both yelling angrily)

"We shall go on to the end.

We shall never surrender."

Churchill.

"Neener-neener-neener.

I'm a stud and you're the wiener."

Duckman.

Oh, yeah?

Yeah.

Oh, yeah?

Yeah.

KHAN: Oh, yeah?

DUCKMAN: Yeah.

Oh, yeah?

Yeah.

(laser zapping)

Duckman is... gone.

Oh, so is Khan Chicken.

ALL: Yay!

(low rumbling)

(booming)

What kind of Federation chicanery is this?

Yeah! What kind of Federation chica...

Hey, wait, I'm with the Federation.

(chuckles)

I always get them confused with the Kiwanis.

Oh, no! Wha...!

I...

am...

Kardassian.

Dwaah!

Hey, get your own wacky scream.

Greetings, your skunk-headedness.

I am Duckman of the Big Federation of Planets.

My mission is peaceful.

So, how's about you return us to our ship,

so we can continue our futuristic fly-bys?

I think not.

For decades, my people have observed you primitives,

battling each other across the vast expanse of the galaxy

and, frankly, we're sick of it.

Plus, I got Khan at 20 to one,

so I stand to make a mint.

Are you saying

you want us to engage in fisticuffs

like common barroom barbarians?

Correct.

Okeydokey.

Ooh!

Direct hit to the old dilithium crystals.

(laughing)

okay, in this sort of situation,

I usually opt for a thumb wrestle to the death.

Or not.

Ooh!

(growling)

Come on...

Very well, Khan...

you force me to resort to an ancient technique--

the wedgie!

Now, while you're busy pulling your Underoos out of your colon,

I'll be doing what I do best-- running like a woman.

(panting)

Duckman to Enterprise.

Olly-olly-oxen-free!

What's the frequency, Kenneth?

Me llamo es Duckman!

Surrender now, Captain,

and I promise your death will be swift and painless.

Really?

No. I'll probably

torture you for years,

then skin you alive.

He's cruel, but honest.

(yells)

I am one dead Duckman.

(chuckling)

"Dead Duckman"...

Even running for my life,

I'm incredibly funny.

There's... no way I could...

beat King Khan

without some sort of... weapon.

(sniffing)

Sulfur... I can use sulfur to make an explosive.

But... what else?

Must think... back to high school chemistry class.

Aw, hell, the only thing I remember

is Marguerite Moretti's tube tops.

Still, if I mix up a bunch of chemicals,

something's bound to happen.

Let's see.

Some common quartz...

powdered manganese...

a little crushed basil...

one whole egg...

half a cup of baking soda...

some K-Y jelly...

and a quart of brake fluid...

shake, don't stir...

So, Duckman...

how sweet it will be to end this centuries-old conflict.

Oh, Khan Chicken,

say... "ah".

Ah.

(whimpers)

I'm sorry...

Why did you want me to say "ah"?

It's no use, Khan.

I give up.

Put me out of my misery.

Wait! That smell!

Sulfur!

(sneezing)

How did you know I had a rare,

incredibly-contrived allergy to sulfur?

(groaning)

Now my angina's kicking in.

(retching)

(groaning)

Congratulations, Captain.

Quickly now, kill your enemy.

I won't kill him!

Yes-- he is evil and I am good,

but... goodness calls for something we...

primitive humans are quite familiar with--

compassion.

The compassion to spare his life,

because it is the just thing, the good thing,

the human thing to do.

If... you... truly respected the... sanctity of life,

then you... wouldn't... watch us... fight.

You would... get your rocks off...

at Danish donkey shows like we normal people... do.

Get up, Khan.

I've emasculated you enough for one day.

Let's show them we can stand side by side.

There. You see, Kardassian?

Compassion, forgiveness, generosity...

these are the things that make humans unique

throughout the universe.

Also cosmetic surgery.

Enough.

To our surprise, you have demonstrated the capacity

to rise above your petty differences

and unite against a common foe,

proving that your race

is the most dangerous in the galaxy.

Therefore, Earth must be destroyed.

(explosion)

Damn. And I just weather-stripped the patio.

Duckman, the Earth is no more.

All right, let's not get all weepy about this.

The important thing

is to make sure our stories agree

when we get back to Federation space,

because they are going to be pissed.

But if you cover my butt, I'll cover yours.

All right, Duckman.

Whatever you say.

You know, Kahn, if I learned anything

from this little charade, it's that you may be evil

and I, merely sleazy, but we have a lot in common.

We both really hate getting killed.

More than that, Duckman.

You and I both care.

Yes. We do.

We're passionate people.

Yes. We are.

I've always wanted you.

I know.

(smooching)

No!

Oh, man...

That's the last time

I have a head cheese hoagie before bedtime.

KHAN: Oh, yeah?

DUCKMAN: Yeah!