Original subtitles

Life is like a hurricane

Here in Duckburg

Race cars, lasers, aeroplanes

It's a duck-blur

Might solve a mystery

Or rewrite history

DuckTales, ooh-ooh-ooh

Every day, they're out there making DuckTales

Ooh-ooh-ooh

Tales of derring-do, bad and good-luck tales

- D-d-d-danger - Watch behind you

There's a stranger out to find you

What to do? Just grab onto some DuckTales

Ooh-ooh-ooh

Every day, they're out there making DuckTales

Ooh-ooh-ooh

Tales of derring-do, bad and good-luck tales, ooh-ooh-ooh

Not ponytails or cottontails

No, DuckTales, ooh-ooh-ooh

It was a dark, stormy night, somewhere over the Black Sea.

I was on my way back to Duckburg.

I struggled to keep control, but it felt like I was flying through nature's bowling alley.

Then it happened.

I was surrounded by witches with feathers.

Or were they birds with faces that could stop traffic?

Then these feathered freaks clipped my wings.

It was all downhill from there.

Way downhill.

I could've sworn it happened, but Mr. McD thinks I'm making it up.

Looking for an excuse to crash. Professor Von Drake, is he right?

- Am I a crashaholic? - Positively not.

Your problem is the result of too much input in the cerebral cortex.

And when the data input meets the mama input,

you do the hokey-pokey and you turn yourself around...

Wait a minute. What am I saying?

Your cerebellum has been subjected to too many external stimuli.

Is that good news or bad news?

We psychologists have a technical name for your problem.

- You're cuckoo. - Big deal.

Mr. McD's been telling me I'm cuckoo for years.

Yes. But sooner or later, snap!

Your mind will break.

Ouch!

Like my knee. Ooh!

- Is there a cure, Doc? - Perhaps a full-leg cast.

- No, for me. - Oh, yes.

Whenever you begin to see figments of the imagination, I want you to relax your mind.

Like this.

Ohm.

While you're ohming, imagine your favorite thing -

raindrops on roses, whiskers on kittens...

Bright copper kettles... Stop me before I break into song already.

Heh-heh.

Practice this is for one week,

and you'll never see a figment of the imagination again.

And... if I do?

Then we'd better find a big clock to put a cuckoo like you in.

Now, you try.

Ohm.

OK, lads, just a wee bit farther.

Almost there.

Got it! Curse me kilts!

They just don't make coats like they used to. 30 or 40 years, and they fall apart.

Now, then, it was the quest for the Golden Fleece, you wanted to hear about, was it?

Yeah, we have to do a book report on it.

"A Golden Fleece was kept in the Valley of the Mists, somewhere near the Black Sea.

"It was guarded by a sleepless dragon that was fed by Harpies,

creatures who are half women, half birds."

Hey, that's the same story Launchpad told us. Remember?

- Yeah, but I like his version better. - Me too.

Don't be silly, lads. Launchpad made that up.

Unless... You don't suppose...

It is possible?

Wait! Uncle Scrooge, where are you going?

To get a new coat. Come on.

Ohm.

Hey, Launchpad, what are you doing?

Getting rid of the figments of my imagination. This relaxes the brain.

How can you relax what you never had?

Are these those creatures that attacked your plane?

Hey, what are my figments doing in your book?

Ohm.

Launchpad, what you saw were Harpies, real Harpies.

No, it was my imagination. The doc convinced me. I'm cuckoo.

Ohm.

I'm not arguing that.

But if they were real, that means the Golden Fleece might be real, too.

That's gross. Why would you want gold fleas?

Not fleas. Fleece! Gold wool - the most sought-after item in Greek mythology.

Since I was knee-high to my father's kilt, I've dreamt of finding that Golden Fleece.

It would make me the happiest duck alive.

- What would you do with it if you found it? - Well, I'd weave a gold coat.

What else could I wear for 40 years that would still go up in value?

Let's go!

I can't find that Black Sea place, Mr. McD.

'Course, it's hard to read the map with these crazy foreign words.

It's not foreign. It's upside down.

Aah!

- Did you see Harpies? - No.

I saw absolutely nothing.

Yipe!

What did you see? What did you see?

- Aah! - Harpies!

We must be close to the Fleece. Quick, land.

Ohm.

Launchpad, stop that. I don't want to land that quickly.

- Now look what you've done. - Yeah.

Those are some of my best crash scores yet.

It's no wonder he doesn't wear a crash helmet. What's to protect?

W-w-what's that? A Harpy?

No, no, no. Unfortunately, it's just your imagination running wild again.

Uncle Scrooge, don't tell me you wanna see Harpies.

Sure. If they're real, then the Fleece might be real, too.

What was that? A Harpy with a bad case of asthma?

Uh-oh.

Wasn't there something else guarding that Golden Fleece besides Harpies?

The sleepless dragon. We must really be close.

Dragon? Let's get outta here!

No! We must go on. I've got to have that Fleece. It's too important to me.

Launchpad, haven't you ever wanted to make a dream come true?

Sure. But facing a dragon is making my nightmare come true.

Go away, owl.

I said scram! You're bugging me!

Aah!

Ohm. Ohm. Ohm.

Launchpad!

Let me go! Let me go!

Yikes! Don't let me go!

Oh, what a find. What a dinner this'll be.

Yeah, real tender.

D-d-dinner? T-t-tender?

Hands off, sisters. This one's all mine.

Keep your talons off of him.

Every time we get someone for our great feast, you want him all to yourself.

Now, off to the kitchen, girls. And get the caldron warmed up for dinner.

Dinner? I've survived 3,876 crashes, and this is how it's going to end?

Help!

Launchpad!

Launchpad!

Curse me kilts! This fog is as dense as he is. We're getting nowhere.

Let's see what the good old Junior Woodchuck Guidebook says. Uh...

"When lost in ground fog, form a Woodchuck totem pole."

What does an Indian woodcut have to do with anything, Huey?

Huey?

See? Another few feet, and I can see above the fog.

Brilliant! Count me in.

Hey! Harpy headquarters straight ahead!

A little to the left. No, no, to the right.

Straight. Watch it! We're heading for a tree.

Now... which way, lad?

The way you like to see the money go in your money bin.

You mean up, up, up?

You said it!

It's no use. It's too steep. We'll never make it.

- We've got to get up there. - Yeah.

What if the Harpies are doing terrible things to Launchpad, like torture?

- Or tarring his feathers. - Or brainwashing him.

Would that be a small load of wash.

I have an idea of how to get up there. Follow me.

The helicopter won't fly again, but that doesn't mean we can't.

Are you sure it will work, lad?

The Junior Woodchuck Guidebook is never wrong, Uncle Scrooge.

Maybe so, but these helicopter parts have been cursed

by the touch of Launchpad McQuack.

We better hurry, then. Launchpad might really be in hot water.

How's the stuffing going, girls?

Ducky. This'll be the best feast we ever had.

Ready, Uncle Scrooge? Climb on!

- Are you sure it's safe? - It's the fastest way to get to Launchpad.

And the sooner we find Launchpad, the sooner we find the Golden Fleece.

Don't just stand there. Start pedaling!

Don't worry, Uncle Scrooge.

Launchpad taught us everything he knows about flying.

Now I'm worried.

- Any sign of Launchpad? - Psst!

- Launchpad! - You're OK!

- You're alive! - You've gotta help me. They're cannibals!

Shh!

- Turn him loose this instant! - Not until he agrees to be our big deipno.

Never. Never! I'd rather be eaten alive! Whoops.

- Forget I said that. - Big deipno? What's that?

We want him as our royal dinner guest.

You mean you don't want me to sit in the stew pot?

- No. We want you to sit on the throne. - Yeah.

But if I had my way, I'd marry you. He ruffles my feathers.

Launchpad, this is a golden opportunity to get the Golden Fleece.

Surely the big deipno can get these Harpies to tell him where it is.

- I don't know. Sounds risky. - Please, Launchpad.

I've got to have that Fleece!

Well, if it means that much to you, I'm just a "deip" who can't say "no."

Great. Here's me plan. Now...

Bring on the royal raiments.

We'll be right back with the next course.

Good.

Boy, this sure beats crashing helicopters for a living.

Where did a cute thing like you learn to be a pilot?

In flight school. I took a crash course.

- Ahem. - Oh, yeah.

Say, Anastasia, baby, where would a big deipno like me find the Golden Fleece?

Oh, I can never tell you that. It's a secret. Top secret.

Ah, come on. For little old Launchpad's sake?

I can't. Agnes would kill me if I ever told anyone it's in the Hall of Echoes.

Come on, lads. It can't be much farther to the Hall of Echoes.

Echoes... echoes...

- The Hall of Echoes? - Echoes... echoes... echoes...

- This place is neat. Listen to my echo! - Echo... echo...

Yes, but it's a maze. We'll never find that Golden Fleece.

- Echo... echo... echo... - Fleece!

Echo... echo... echo...

Amazing! It only echoes the word "echo."

Fleece... fleece... fleece.

Stay close, boys. We don't want to get separated.

Uh-oh. Too late.

- Boys! - We'll be right there, Uncle Scrooge!

Stay put, boys. I'll join you.

Oh, no!

Now I know why they call this thing a maze.

It's amazing you can ever find your way around here. Come on, boys.

Let's get after that Fleece. And stay together!

How will we know which passage to take?

Simple. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.

Ohh...

This looks more like meeny than moe!

Blow me bagpipes! How will we ever get that Fleece?

What does it say about dragons?

"Dragons are a myth. They don't exist."

Tell that to boiler-breath in there.

Forget that book, lads. I have an idea. Now...

Yah, yah, yah-yah, yah-yah!

Yah-yah! Can't get us!

It's mine! The Golden Fleece is all mine, scot-free!

Move it, lad.

It's a dead end!

- We're trapped! - Like bread in a toaster.

Hot Scot!

- Had enough? Care for dessert? - Uh...

No way. I'm stuffed.

That's what we've been waiting to hear. Time for the great feast!

Bring the big deipno!

Feast? Didn't I just have one?

Do we have to take this one to the feast? Can't he stay here and marry me?

No, Anastasia! You know after stuffing a bird, we have the feast.

But one more bite, and I'll pop.

Don't worry, cutie. The feast isn't for you.

It isn't? Who's it for?

Din-din! Come and get it!

Don't tell me... I'm din-din?

But I thought I was the big deipno.

You are. "Deipno" is Greek for "dinner."

According to Harpy tradition, we have to feed the sleepless dragon.

- Nothing personal. - But you treated me like a king.

How else could we fatten you up so easily?

Launchpad, look out!

Quick! Do something!

- That old goose has the Fleece! - After him, girls!

Run, boys!

Aah!

Let me out! Let me out of here!

Come on, lads. Let's get this waddly thingy moving.

But what about Launchpad? We can't leave without him.

- It's every man with a Fleece for himself. - Uncle Scrooge, what's gotten into you?

Faster, lads!

There he is!

Turn loose that Fleece!

Never! I stole it fair and square!

Uncle Scrooge, you told us never to steal.

That never stopped you from stealing bases in the Little League.

- But that's different. - You're right.

Gold is more important than baseball.

But that's still different.

Aah!

Uncle Scrooge!

Aah!

I can't fly any farther. We'll crash!

I'm used to it. Try.

Mr. McD, help! Please!

What have I done? Nobody's life is worth this.

I let my greed pull the wool over my eyes.

- I can't believe it! - Look what you've done!

I had no choice. He was about to roast my friend.

- How can we ever thank you? - Thank me?

This is its first nap in 3,000 years.

Frankly, one more day of listening to his roaring, and I've had gone cuckoo.

I can recommend a good doctor for that.

- Uncle Scrooge, you're all right! - That I am, lads.

Although, for a while, I had my doubts.

We thought you were a goner. Pancake City.

Well, it would have served me right. I cannot believe what came over me.

Abandoning a friend over a silly old piece of wool.

- Who needs a coat of gold anyway? - Yeah.

We'd rather have an uncle with a heart of gold than one with a coat of gold any day.

I guess I owe you a word of thanks, too.

If there's anything you want, anything I can do for you...

- Marry me. - Uh...

Anything except that.

Come back, lover boy!

Get away from me, you figment!

Oh, no. Don't tell me you're still seeing the imaginary Harpy.

Yeah. And now she wants to marry me. Imagine that.

You must continue the exercise

and tell yourself she's just a figment of the imagination.

- Tell that to her. - Aah!

Move over. We're both going cuckoo.

Ohm.

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