Duckman (1994) s02e09 Episode Script

Clip Job

(Duckman moaning) Where am I? What's going on? Must remember.
(echoing): Think back (Duckman moaning) Where am I? What's going on? Must remember.
(echoing): Think back Must think back (echoing): a little farther (Duckman moaning) Where am I? What's going on? Must remember.
(echoing): Think back Must think back (echoing): a little farther Hmm.
Maybe volunteering for LSD research wasn't the best way out of the Reserves.
Wait! Now it's coming back to me.
I was sitting in my office, and there was this noise-- some kind of static-- almost like someone talking.
CORNFED: and as I held her in my arms (sniffles) her last breath of life escaping her lips I vowed to keep Mother's promise and rededicate myself to helping humanity.
(snoring) (blubbering) Oh! Sorry about that, Corny, but whenever someone starts off with "I never felt free to share this with anyone before" I'm into dial tone.
So, 10:30 a.
m.
-- time to check out the casabas on that fresh peach working the fruit stand.
(intercom buzzes) FLUFFY: Mr.
Duckman? There's a mysterious man in a ski mask who'd like to see you in the closet at the dark end of the hall.
Huh, sounds innocent enough.
I'm on my way.
Well, not literally on my way, but I'm on the way to being on my way.
Obviously, I couldn't be on my way if we're still talking about me being on the way, so if you two will quit yapping, I'll be on my way! Huh.
Office help.
(door slams) I only stay for the dental.
I only stay for the dental.
(Fluffy and Uranus yelling) FLUFFY: Mr.
Duckman why'd you eviscerate us with a hot curling iron? It's Tuesday.
Well, let's see.
Hall closet, hall closet Ah! Here we are.
Welcome, Duckman.
Care for a bubbling blue drink? Oh, grassy-ask.
Wait a minute.
As a detective, I've spent years staying alive on my suspicions.
What's the big idea? You just hang out in closets all day offering bubbling blue drinks to total strangers? Yes.
I buy it.
Of course, this isn't at all likeon Rockford Files, where the industrialist drugged Jim 'cause he was the identical twin of his missing brother.
It's a completely different episode.
Uh-huh.
Well, l'chaim.
Oh! You stupid, clumsy, idiotic, brain-dead, yellow imbecile.
Hey, wait, hold on there, buddy.
You really think I'm yellow? I've always seen myself as more a sallow ocher.
Here, check the butt feathers.
(groaning) Yow! Don't kill me, please! Don't kill me! I can give you things.
I can give you (gasps) I could sing a little song.
Now, mute.
What? Mute.
(clicks) Aha.
Ha.
Excuse me, uh, Mr.
Madman? You seem upset.
Maybe because I am! Have you seen the world lately-- I mean really seen it? The hate, the violence, the random sex and debauchery? Actually, that last one's escaped my notice.
If you could tell me where exactly to witness It's your fault! Yours! We'd already been driven to the brink of madness by years of irresponsible television, but now, I, like the rest of the world have been pushed over the edge by one series-- Duckman.
Yes? Duckman! Yes? Duckman! The series is called Duckman! Your life is the most immoral show of all time.
But even Who's The Boss? had that one where Tony lied about his bowling score, so what are you gonna do, hmm? Wait a minute! You're saying that I'm a TV show?! Not that an adult series about a certain verbal and rakish drake wouldn't be fascinating viewing-- maybe even get well-reviewed in papers like Newsday, Wall Street Journal and Village Voice then make a few top-ten lists and get an Emmy nomination.
Look, I'm a person, not a TV show.
I have a job, a family, a membership to the Suppository of the Month Club.
And I have another theory about what you think.
You have a few too many birds on your antenna.
Am I crazy because I'm the one viewer in America courageous enough to act? Do you expect me to sit around doing nothing like little Timmy just before he hit his head on that rock and Lassie's locked up in the pound but she gets the key from a cat who pushes it under the door? Oh, where are my manners? Harry Medfly, currently unemployed TV critic.
Duckman, currently tied-up detective.
I know who you are.
You're part of the reason this country's a grim, grisly pit of eels.
Did you know there were over 500 murders in this country the week after The Terminator aired? How about the week before? I didn't knock you out, kidnap you and threaten you with a knife to argue about violence.
Okey-dokey.
Starting to get the picture here.
What say I promise to stop being a TV show, take you to Big Lance's Rubber Novelties and Woo-Woo Lounge, get you ten percent off all appliances and we call it square? Change channels.
Change channels.
You don't believe me, do you? It's time to see what I'm talking about.
(remotes clicking) (whistles) (quacks) Okay, Medfly, what was that? What are my family and friends doing in it? Are they in danger, too? And most important, who was that luscious piece of tail walking by in the beginning? It's my duty to expurgate you from the airwaves along with everything else that degrades and demeans humanity.
Expurgate, as in give lots of money to? As in cancel, get rid of, send into eternal oblivion where people will never see or hear the name Duckman ever again.
You mean put me on cable? No.
I mean kill you.
(grunting) (pop music plays) (buzzer rings) I came as soon as I heard Duckman was missing.
Me, too, but then I got a little worried.
Ha! (TV plays indistinctly) Kids, I'll need your help in locating your father.
Dad's missing? Then who's this? Ajax, that's my kickboxing workout bag.
Oh, that would explain his lackluster presentation at father-son night.
I need you to remember his exact movements during the last two days.
Well, when he got home Friday, he went to the TV.
Then he went to the bathroom.
Then he came back to the TV.
Then he went to the bathroom.
First thing Saturday, he watched TV.
After going to the bathroom.
Thanks.
I'm beginning to sense a pattern.
Given that police organizations are woefully overburdened and that every minute counts in the first 24 hours of a victim's disappearance, I suggest we undertake our own demanding and difficult investigation-- beginning with interviews of anyone who's spoken to or seen your father during the past two years combined with a systematic survey of all emergency care facilities within a 50-mile radius and a door-to-door canvassing of the city.
We have nachos.
It can wait.
Don't you see? TV's sole reason to exist is to sell products.
Crime pays, as long as you have a sponsor.
This guy's bughouse.
It's time to use the old reverse psychology.
Uh, you're right, Medfly.
I am the reason TV has become a cesspool of decay and degradation.
Get rid of me and all the world's problems will disappear.
Okay.
Damn, he's good.
Look, Medfly if this is the end, I just have one teeny-tiny little request.
What did you have in mind? To slip into something more comfortable, say, Sharon Stone? Ha-ha! You see? You see? You think of women as nothing more than a collection of anonymous body parts! What are you talking about?! I think of women as breasts, legs and butts.
What's anonymous about that? Anyway, who says lusting and plotting 10, 12 hours a day to brush up against them's a crime? The Supreme Court.
(chuckles): Yeah.
Like they're in charge of interpreting the law for the whole country.
Come on, Medfly, sex is a normal part of life-- it's healthy.
Birds do it, bees do it, even no, wait, they eat their young.
But the point is, so I like sex? It's not like I go overboard with it.
Oh, no? Shazam! Lady, those things real, or did you have to pay to make them point that way? Uh, sorry, I-I didn't hear you.
I was staring at your breasts.
I look at breasts and I, uh, I'm a detective.
(chuckles) But mainly the breast thing.
(clamoring) (shrieking) (groans) Come in, come in, I'm Duckman.
And this is Hooters-- I-I mean Cornfed.
So, eat to please you-- uh, pleased to beat you.
Sorry, just a little horny-- tired! Tired this morning.
Little tired.
Homina, homina ha wah! It's times like this I wish I had a penis.
Can we get you anything? Uh, D-cup of coffee? Duckman, Duckman with a D.
In fact, PhD, Loveology.
Perhaps you'd care to stay after class while I grade on your curves? Look, the traffic chopper sky babe! Hey, mama! How 'bout landing on my zero-niner? I'll wear a windsock! Hey, nurse.
I got a thermometer that'll make you bedridden for a week.
Where you going? It's time for my exam.
See? I'm turning my head and coughing? (coughs) Now, it's your turn.
Nurse? Nursey? (remote clicks) What? How ?! Where'd you get that stuff? You must have had hidden cameras everywhere-- in my home, in my office, even in my Hmm, no wonder that itch cream never worked.
Oh, this is even more tiresome than all those endless reruns of your first 13 episodes.
You know where I got those clips.
I taped them off television.
But then, that would mean Yes, yes, yes! You are a television series.
Actually, I was gonna say you know how to program a VCR.
What's the secret? Egad! How can one person be so oblivious, insensitive, hateful, tactless, boorish and ill-tempered to everyone he meets? It's a gift? (growls) Okay, so I've had an off day or two.
Day or two? Ooh, refresh me.
Middle finger straight up mean a left turn in this state? You parked in a handicapped space.
So what? No one ever notices, except the people who are supposed to park there and hell, I can outrun them any day.
Hey, Rickshaw, let's spring roll into action! My egg foo young'uns and me need a ride, chop-chop! What is this-- the year of the snail? She's got a face that would scatter a leper colony.
You know, like those really ugly broads who are always yelling about equal rights when all they really need is a little (clucks tongue) honey in their hives.
Long-haired, fat-bellied, goofy-tattooed, '60s-throwback Village People wannabe biker freak.
Mantra-chanting, incense- breathing, herb-sucking yahoos.
Brainless, knuckle-dragging bohunks.
Cheese-eating, cocoa-guzzling yodelers.
Thin-skinned, no-humored pansy.
Dim-bulb melon-head.
Mindless pod people.
Magical mystery turd.
Dancing queen.
Dipstick Sushi-sucker Butthead! What the hell are you staring at? What the hell are you staring at? What the hell are you staring at? What the hell are you staring at? What the hell are you staring at? What the hell are you staring at? What the hell are you staring at? What the hell are you staring at? (clicks) Wait! This isn't fair.
You just took a bunch of comments out of context and strung them together to make me look rotten Snappy editing, though.
All right, look, so I have a little attitude.
I'm a detective.
All the great detectives Great? You think you're great? Grating.
I may have said "grating.
" Let's have a look.
If you want to track her down, why not use your detective skills? Don't toy with me, Cornfed.
Why the hell would I want to rely on those? I believe someone is trying to kill me.
Do you have any proof? This note.
"Dear Dr.
Milo, I'm trying to kill you.
" Hmm, nothing more definite? You want to learn something, do exactly as I do.
Imitate my every move.
(yells) I found a gun Probably a toy.
(gunshot) (bird squawks) (yelling) and a knife.
Proves nothing.
(thud) (bird squawks) (grunting) and this bomb.
I get these every day.
You're sure putting a lot of faith in these, uh what'd you call them again? Clues.
Yeah, right.
(explosion) (bird squawks) This was not a murder.
MAN: Val, put down that gun! You're my wife.
Don't shoot! I can't hear myself think.
Got any more of those glues? Clues.
I'm one letter off.
Crucify me! (clicks) I still don't get it.
How did you get all this stuff, and all from my bad side? You remind me of the Beaver.
Oh, a TV reference.
Now, where was I? Either about to snuff out your life or make a bowl of popcorn.
Oh, well, no law says I can't do both.
How do you like it cooked: air-popped or canola oil? Canola oil's for cooking? (grunting) (dialing) (rings) KZRC is my million dollar station.
Corny, it's me.
I've been kidnapped.
Dammit.
Duckman, good thing you called.
Tell me where he's hiding you.
In his secret hideout.
This is going to be a difficult conversation.
I need to have some idea of your location.
Do you hear any distinctive noises, no matter how small and insignificant, coming from the outside? (distant bell ringing) (gulls squawking) (engines whooshing) (fog horn sounds) (cars rattling) Nothing that would help.
Yike! Uh, hello, All My Children hotline? I missed today's show.
What happened? You shouldn't have done that, Duckman.
Prepare to die.
(fiendish laughter) (ominous music plays) Don't you hate it when they do that right before a commercial? (grunting) I know what you're thinking, but this has nothing to do with the fact that my column just got dropped and my wife just left me, taking my Franklin Mint clown plate collection.
Oh, well.
Gaze one last time upon yourself, Duckman, before you're permanently removed from the schedule.
No! No! No! Horrible, isn't it? Yeah.
I am yellow.
Off we go.
Don't kill me! Please! Please! Please! Please! There are people who need me, who depend on me for their livelihoods-- Fluffy, Uranus, Cornfed.
(fiendish laughter) Sorry-- just thought of something funny I saw on Family Matters.
That Urkel cracks me up.
Now, as for your employees There's something you should know, Duckman.
I've never told you because I'm a little sensitive about it.
I'm a virgin.
(laughing hysterically) I'm, uh, Duckman.
And I'm insignificant.
(laughing hysterically) Stay out of this! Ha! A virgin! Hoo-hoo-hoo! Uh, excuse me, I'm beginning to annoy me.
Unbelievable! Yow! Hoo-hoo! (clears throat) Excuse me.
No inski-outski! Ha-ha! No bofferino! Uh, excuse me.
Never nailed the hammer on the head! Whoo-hoo-hoo-hoo! Bacon breath! Bacon fat! Spam for brains.
Spare rib! Ham-head! Pork rinds! Clove-foot! Moron! (chuckles) Fluffy! Uranus! My two favorite whatever-you-are's.
(squeaks) (squealing) (gasping) (explosion) (yelping) Mr.
Duckman Mr.
Duckman (shrieks) (muffled yelling) (squealing) (shrieking) (barking) (door creaks) FLUFFY AND URANUS: Oh! Mr.
Duckman! (toilet flushing) (gurgling) (screams) (drilling) (Fluffy and Uranus screaming) DUCKMAN: So that's where I am.
The old used piñata and plastic phone tab warehouse.
(gasps) Wait, Medfly! There's just one more thing I have to say in my defense.
Maybe I am a little rough around the edges.
Maybe I could be a little more tactful when it comes to dealing with women, coworkers, service food handlers, census takers, the Sheet Metal Workers' Union, people who bought Kathy Lee's cd of Christmas songs, small, high-strung, butt-ugly dogs, kids with really funny birthmarks on their faces, peppers, Trekkers, boomers, buppies, slackers What is your point!? My point, besides using a cheap and shameless ploy to buy time, is that despite all that you can't say I don't love my family! (remote clicks) Why do I give him these set-ups? You Lycra-clad, cauldron-stirring cackling, old warthog! (yelling) (grunting) Iron-pumping, steroid-popping, sideshow-attraction cow! (yells) (groans) My biggest fantasy involves you, liver loaf and a pack of starving Rottweilers! (yelling) Duckman! (screams) Today's the day he's going to spend with his children, bonding and being together.
Together?! When my butt starts singing show tunes.
Son, uh Here's five bucks.
Buy yourself a book on solving teenagers' problems.
(chuckles) Kids and their cute little death games.
Okay, then, what grade are the twins in? By "twins," you mean the ones who look alike? This is, uh, Bernice, Charles and Merengue.
Mambo! Whatever.
Charles? Mandingo? Mambo.
Whatever.
Charles and Simba.
Mambo.
Whatever.
Good night, Charles.
Good nightuh, Charles' brother.
(remote clicks) Off we go.
(grunting) There you are, Duckman cable-ready! When I switch on this TV, the signal from that dish will go straight to you.
The force of 500 soul-destroying channels frying the second favorite part of your body.
Well, I don't like the sound of it, but I guess I can do without my right hand.
I meant your brain, Potsie! Now you'll know what it feels like to be force-fed the filth that TV passes off as entertainment! That holds a pervo like you up as a role model.
Role model? Hey! I'm a waterfowl! I'm not a TV show! Even if I were, any halfway intelligent audience would know I'm not someone to imitate.
Who'd aspire to be someone who's gotten the stuffing knocked out of him so many times the only reason he gets up in the morning is because either he's really stupid or somewhere, deep down inside, beats the heart of a disappointed yet still hopeful idealist.
(majestic music swelling) A yellow-- yes, yellow-- teller-of-truth who's a spokesperson for the silent masses who'd love to tell it like it is who's an idol to be emulated nay, a god to be bowed down to! (music stops) (clears throat) But (chuckles): Uh, I'm not a role model.
Say good night, Gracie.
(gasps) (crackles) Ooh! (giggles) That tickles.
Bang! Zoom! To the moon, Alice! That's one giant step Beam me up, Scotty Submitted for your approval Right here on our stage Nanu-nanu! Ay! Hey-ya! Rah, rah, rah! D-ohh! Well, golly! Miss Brooks! Mr.
Wilson! Mr.
Grant! Lassie! Uh, heya, Normie! Hello, Newman Do the name Ruby Begonia strike a familiar note? Good evening Oh, no! What's happening? Just a guess, but it appears that an insane media critic kidnapped Duckman and is trying to reduce his cerebral cortex to marmalade by overloading it with a superabundance of American television from the last 50 years.
Hmm, nice reception.
(fiendish laughter) He's almost gone! Destroyed! Turned into the same non-thinking, lifeless shell all viewers will become because of television.
TV is everywhere! It's everything! Nothing can save us from its relentless, pitiless, all-powerful control-- nothing! Actually, there is one thing.
(clicks) (crackling) (grunting) Oh! My TV! You turned off my TV.
Book 'em, Danno.
While most people would go for the easy Jack Webb comparison I always considered Jack Lord my spiritual forerunner.
Cornfed, how'd you find me? Accident.
I was taking the family to buy a piñata and phone tabs.
It doesn't make any sense.
Why did you rescue him? He treats you like the sand in Gilligan's briefs.
He's my partner.
He's our father.
He's our father.
I have no excuse.
But you're violating the show's premise.
He thinks I'm the star of a TV series called Duckman.
He taped my life, forced me to watch the bad parts.
He didn't record the good times, like when I brought you guys home a new stereo system that just happened to fall off that truck.
Hey, Mr.
Demented, bug-eyed but strangely compelling in that off-beat kind of way, kidnapper we're no TV show! We're real! We're flawed! Just because we're not a 27-inch picture perfect family doesn't mean we don't l lo-lo lo-lo (shudders) Gosh, you're the bestest family a guy ever had.
(cheering) Damn half-hour format! I should have known there'd be a happy ending.
You call this happy? I'll be back, Duckman-- you'll see.
I'll be a recurring villain every fifth or sixth episode after people get tired of King Chicken.
I'm better looking, more intelligent, have a higher TV-Q Can you imagine Duckman's life a TV show? I'd rather watch fungus grow on toilet bowls.
You're in luck, Aunt Bernice.
Tonight, on a very special episode of Walker, Texas Ranger Dad, if your life was a TV series then this would have been one of those shows full of clips and highlights.
Which is a cheesy ploy foisted upon the viewing public to save money by doing less original production.
Charles, Mambo! That would be despicable.
What kind of cynical, anything-for-a-buck sleazoids would have me kidnapped and tortured for the sake of a cheap, tired creatively bankrupt clip show?