01x01 - I, Duckman

[bunniefuu]

[whistles]

[footsteps approaching]

[screaming]

[screaming]

This sounds like more
than we can handle.

[chuckling]

Amusing.

It's not without a certain
understated omniscience.

[screaming]

Unhand her, cad,
or I'll have to disarm you.

[chuckling]

Save that for my next book.

Stay back,
Duckman,

or it's going
to get ugly.

I said
stay back!

One more step, and
I'll... I'll...

and I'll...

pull back
this curtain.

That's right,

it's This Could Be Your Life--

the show that each week
takes a memorable personality

we can cross-promote
with the evening news

and asks the
burning question:

What makes him or her
so unique, so special,

so one-of-a-kind,

we'll watch them on TV

rather than have go out and
have a life of our own?

Tonight's guest

that incomparable
crime-fighting hero--

Duckman!

AUDIENCE:
Duckman! Duckman! Duckman!

[whispering]
What? Really?

Well, Duckman,
according to your family,

you're not an incomparable
crime-fighting hero.

You're not
special or unique.

In fact, there's
absolutely nothing

memorable about
you at all.

[screaming]

Whoa!

Smoke!

Smoke!

I need a smoke.

Ow!

[slurping]

Mmm.

BERNICE:
What's the matter?

You seem a little down
this morning.

It's okay.
You can tell me about it.

I'm here for you.

If you really want to know...
Uh-huh.

I had that dream again--
Oh...

the one where no one cares
about anything I say or do.

Quiet, you worthless sack
of pillow stuffing!

I'm on the phone!

We'll talk at lunch.

Duckman, you left feathers
on the sink last night,

you were supposed to get
your dog neutered--

I caught him looking funny
at the hamster again--

and you've been smoking!
I can smell it on your breath!

I was not smoking!

You can't accuse me of something
I wasn't even doing.

Oh, yeah? Then you were sucking
on the bottom of an ashtray

like some pathetic and
disgusting nicotine junkie.

That's better.

I'm telling you
for the last time, Duckman,

I don't want this house

smelling like one of your stale,
old cigarette butts.

[breaking wind]

Like my
stale old butts

are the problem
around here.

Grandma-ma can't help it.

She's comatose.

Ow!

And you will be, too,

if you touch
the children's breakfast.

Fine. I'll make

my own damn breakfast...
again!

No fats, no preservatives,
no red and yellow dyes.

Hmm. Shows you what happens
when you let a bunch

of pasty-faced, pansy-wiped
scientists

get you all worked up
over a few carcinogens.

Yeast cakes--

every bite a
nutritional potpourri.

Uh, morning, son.

How's school?

[choking]

[spits]

Ahh!

There's my stopwatch.

CHARLES:
Is not!

MAMBO:
Is so!

CHARLES: Is not!
MAMBO: Is so!

Your theory totally overlooks
the ontological side.

And yours underestimates
the Cartesian perspective

on antisocial pathology.

Freudian.
Jungian.

[grunting]

Charles, Mambo,
knock it off.

You're giving me
a headache.

Boys, not in front
of Grandma-ma.

Yeast cakes!
Yeast cakes!

BOTH:
Good morning, Grandma-ma.

That's it.
I've had it.

For all the response
I get around here,

I might as well
be invisible!

I know your mother d*ed.

I know she left you
and the house to her sister.

But I still live here!
I'm still the man of the house!

And I demand to be heard!

[voice fading:]
To be recognized! To be...

[breaking wind]

DUCKMAN:
So, my sister-in-law

is a walking Cuisinart.

My children do treat me

like some kind of skin rash.

At least I'm freeway-close!

[crashing]

MAN:
My tire!

I don't get it.

I brake for animals

if they're big enough
to dent my car.

I don't pop any zits
above the eye line.

I treat others the way
I'd like to be treated.

[tires screeching]

Same to you, sister!

Devote a lifetime to the church,
they think they own the road.

It would just be nice
for once to be noticed--

get the kind of attention
I deserve.

Note to myself:

More thumbtacks

in the bird feeder.

What the hell are you
staring at?!

Hello, Mr. Duckman.

Being aware of your
little digestive problem,

we made you
a bran muffin

and a mug of steaming
liquid grits.

Be good
to your bowels

and they'll be
good to you.

We also called your
doctor to tell him

we think you've been
a naughty detective.

You've been
smoking again.

And he said...

Quote...

"Keep it up and his heart
will burst and splatter

all over the inside of
his tar-filled lungs."

End quote.

So we set traps

in all your
cigarette packages.

[grunting]

[truck horn blaring]

Don't worry about Fluffy, sir.

That's the good thing
about being stuffed.

We're very resilient.

That Mr. Duckman--

he's getting much better
at expressing his emotions.

So what if they
work for free?

The last thing I need
this morning

is a couple of touchy-feely
secretaries some cat coughed up.

[door opens]

Fine, thank you.
Just peachy.

And how are you today?

Aces, Duckman.

I'm doomed, Cornfed, doomed
to live an unnoticed life--

an anonymous drone
stepped over

and unappreciated
till the day I die.

Is it me or does your
hair have more body?

Are you
listening to me?!

I'm invisible, Corny.

I'm falling through the cracks
without leaving a mark.

My own family ignores me,
and who can blame them?

There's nothing special
about me, nothing unique.

I'm just one more duck detective
who works with a pig

and lives with the twin sister
of his dead wife,

three sons in two bodies
and a comatose mother-in-law

who's got so much gas,
she's a fire hazard.

Sure, but there are things

that stand out
about you, too.

Like what? Name one thing
about me that stands out,

that I'll be
remembered for.

[engine droning outside]

Is that a zeppelin?

Oh, nice!

You see, I'm not unique!
I'm not special!

I don't even have a coffee mug
with my name on it!

It's the dream
again, Duckman.

You're letting it win.

I know, I used to have
a recurring dream.

I'd dream I fell and hit
my head on a fishbowl--

hurt myself just bad enough

to work graveyard shift
at a convenient store.

A group of Hare Krishnas
always came in at 4:00 A.M.

and bought 16 gallons
of Mr. Slushy

and a package of
banana-flavored Ding Dongs.

Then the Swedish bikini team
jumped out of a magazine

and read Moby d*ck to me

inside a giant carton
of cottage cheese.

"Why?" I'd ask myself.
"What could it mean?

"Am I mad? Or is the world

simply a mystery too
complex to understand?"

Mm-hmm.

Um, getting back to me!

[intercom buzzing]

FLUFFY:
Mr. Duckman,
a package just came.

URANUS:
But we think
we should send it back.

It's wrapped in
non-biodegradable plastic tape.

Just open it!

Not that I ever get
anything good.

No one out there cares
if I live or die either.

Good news: someone cares.

It's true, Corny!

Someone sent
a b*mb to me!

Someone actually
wants me dead!

But who? I can't
think of anyone

who would want
to k*ll me.

Well, there's your paper boy,
the neighbor with the dog

you set the bear traps for,
the cab driver's union,

the father
of that ballerina...

Never mind. I know
who it has to be. Let's go.

...two of your uncles,
Scout troop 44...

Mr. Duckman, if you could find
our arms and legs?

This radiator's
getting a tad warm.

[alarm sounding]

DUCKMAN:
Thanks for letting us
see the prisoner, Warden.

Obviously,
this is a very serious matter.

[stifled laughter]

I'm the one
who had him arrested.

I'm sure he's
seeking revenge

by trying to violently
end my life.

Why do you think
it's him?

I'm a detective, Warden.
We make a living on our hunches.

I was able to eliminate
others I've captured

because our cater-to-everyone-
but-the-victim legal system

let them off on technicalities.

They weren't guilty.

Yeah, yeah, that kind of thing.

Can we just get on with this?

Lucky for them,
they're behind bars.

I'd love to teach
these brain-dead,

bread-and-water-eating
scumbags some manners.

Did I mention
we're on the honor system?

A little prison humor, fellas.

Fact is, some of my best friends
are brain-dead,

bread-and-water-eating scumbags.

PRISONERS:
Oh, okay.

That's
all right.

DUCKMAN:
What happens, Warden?

What snaps in a man?

What makes him sink so low

that he ends up spending
an empty lifetime

in a hellhole like this?

Good dental plan.

Oh, oh. You meant
the prisoners.

Who knows?

Too many violent cartoons
when they were kids.

Rehab.

We like to acclimate prisoners,
not just back into society,

but into
high society.

There are those, of course,

who are too far gone
to be rehabilitated...

the white-collar
criminals.

There's g*ng
activity brewing.

They're wearing
their colors today.

Inside traders
in the red ties.

S & L executives
in the blue.

Zero coupon bonds!

Muni's!

Zero coupon bonds!
Muni's!

WARDEN:
It's a very delicate situation.

One misstep could cause
a full-scale riot.

[g*nf*re]

[alarms sounding]

[chuckling]

Frees up a few more cells.

WARDEN:
The cell of
Wolfgang cr*cker--

the cannibalistic maniac

who has committed some of
the most horrendous crimes

known to mankind.

[sarcastically]:
Ooh, I'm shaking.

I caught him once.

I think I'm ready
for whatever he's got.

[screaming]
[screams]

[chuckling]

Sorry.
Did I scare you?

A little fun I have.

People seem to expect it.

Please,
do come in.

You have a photo
session at 4:00--

with the mask.

The mayor's asked you to do two
more cannibal awareness spots.

The Beef Council called again
and so did Heinz.

Impressive, no?--

what a monstrously grotesque
crime and a good agent can do.

I don't believe
I caught your name.

You know who I am, pal.

I'm the guy
who put you away!

Oh, yes! Dogman...
Darkwing, Daffy...

Duckman!

Duckman! Precisely.

The one I tripped over.

We don't need
to go into that now.

His sister-in-law
was chasing him

with a waffle iron
when he slipped

on his son's skateboard
and rolled into the street

just as cr*cker was
running to his getaway car

causing cr*cker
to trip over Duckman,

flying into a
passing police car.

You think that was
an accident? Ha!

And now you've sworn revenge.

You're trying to k*ll me!

Yes, the parole board called.

They'd like to discuss
releasing you tomorrow at 2:00.

Can't. PTA is
here at 2:00.

Try breakfast, month
from Wednesday.

Getting caught
is the best thing

that ever happened
to me, Duct Tape.

I've become rich and
famous in prison.

I've even helped erase

the silly stigma attached
to my particular avocation.

You know, eat 20, 25 people
they label you.

But thanks to my book
My Favorite Finger Foods--


as a national best seller--

what was once
an unspeakable taboo

is now
a life-style choice.

Arnold's on one-- wants to be
in your next exercise video.

Two's Gabor about your new line
of greeting cards.

Call backs.

And, of course,

I've found
religion as well.

Now I only eat
fishermen on Fridays.

Only kidding.

My success guarantees that
I'll be loved by millions

while you'll live
and die in obscurity.

So, with regards to my

having you k*lled,
Dark Meat...

why bother?

Special delivery.

Ah... I'd say another
organ of some kind.

Fans...
if you'll excuse me.

I don't buy what you're selling,
cr*cker.

Every instinct I've honed
over all my years as a detective

tells me you're the only one
who could be trying to k*ll me!

[groaning]

Of course,
I could be convinced otherwise.

I'm feeling
a little frazzled--

like things are
starting to unravel.

I sure could use

a chestful o' smoke
about now.

Ow!

This bomber's going
to k*ll me, Cornfed!

He finds me
everywhere--

in my office,
in the prison...

In your car.

[screams]

DUCKMAN:
Close one, Corny.

At least this time
no one got hurt.

I don't want
to miss dinner.

I got to take one more sh*t
at talking to my kids--

connecting with them,
you know, before...

Hey, twins...

I just had a thought.

Bet it hurt.

First one's
always the hardest.

Is it possible to love
a sandwich so much

you don't want
to eat it

'cause then it'll be gone?

Hey, kids, I was thinking

we could spend
a little bit of quality...

Dibs on the window
closest to the exhaust.

Oh, Duckman, you're
three minutes late.

I gave your
dinner to a man

who came to the door
selling blenders.

And you got a message
from someone who said

you made a mistake
in your past

and you're gonna pay for it

by being blown into a thousand
little bits of flesh.

I'll be back at 9:30.

But wait!

Kids!

I wanted to...

[siren blaring]

The answer's up here.

The bomber said
I made a mistake in my past.

My whole past
is in this attic.

What a pigsty!

Oh, uh... figure of speech.

[grunting]

Huh.

Ironic, isn't it?

Your search
through the past

for clues to the
k*ller's identity

may actually provide clues
to your own identity...

the search in the end

becoming man's
ultimate search--

the search for himself.

You have a large wad
of broccoli

stuck between your teeth.

Here they are!
I knew I had them.

The answer's got to be in here--
home movies!

Actually, I've
been putting off

re-grouting that
bathroom tile too long.

This first one goes back
to when I was really young.

I want to
be captain!

Okeydokey, Duckboy.
I just want to be fair

even though you have been
captain 37 times in a row.

I want it, I want it,
I want it, I want it!

What the hell
are you staring at?

Well, Duckman, just a reminder

that treating others
like this young mouse does

is the surest road
to a successful

and rewarding life.

I want it, I want it,
I want it, I want it!

So what? So the squeaky-voiced
little rodent

kissed a few rear ends,
made a buck or two.

Maybe there's something
in these.

Help, Duckman, help!

Eat your spinach

so you can break through
the ropes and save me!

Help!

Whoever got to be a hero
eating spinach?

[train whistle blaring]

There's got to be something good
I did in here.

Hello, Mr.
Ranger, sir.

Where should my son and I
take our pic-a-nic basket?

One last camping
trip together

before he goes
to college

and becomes better
than your average duck.

Uh, Dad... I've decided
not to go to college.

No college?

That would be
a big boo-boo.

You're going
to college

if I have to drag
you there myself.

[yelling]

Huh!

So I met Beatrice instead.

That wasn't a mistake.

TV ANNOUNCER:
Now for this week's jackpot
of $32 million dollars.

The winning numbers are


That's me!

Whoo-hoo! I won!

[chewing and swallowing]

[screaming]

Duckman, you're not using
my vacuum for that again.

I'll change the filter.

Honey, what am I
going to do with you?

Sometimes I think

if anything
ever happened to me,

I'd have to will those kids
and this house to my sister.

[both chuckling]

Don't worry, Beatrice.

Nothing's ever going
to happen to you.

Things sure have changed
over the years.

I miss her.

You know, tomorrow would have
been our wedding anniversary.

I forgot.
I guess I blocked it out.

It's the first one
I'll be spending without her.

That may explain

the way you've been
feeling lately.

[screams]

It's a dud, Corny. We're safe.

Hey, look!
There's a note on the package.

"I'll see you at your grave."

[evil laughter in distance]

It's him!

Time for the obligatory chase.

[tires squealing]

What a yutz--

trying to hide
in a glow-in-the-dark T-shirt.

Might as well send up
a warning flare.

[snorts]

What, no map?

[animals howling]

[screaming]

[screaming]

What the..? This is my plot.

Beatrice's is right next to it,
but I never bought a headstone.

I did, Duckman.
It's a trap.

I never saw it coming.

Oh, "rest in pieces,"
blow me up.

Did I mention

how much I enjoyed
your sense of irony?

Actually, I'm not going
to blow you up.

I'm going
to chop you up.

[screaming]

[chain saw buzzing]

[yelling]

Play with tigers,

you get covered
in yellow hair.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry,

but I had to do something
to get you back

after you took
those pictures of me

having an affair.

I know my wife paid you to do
it, but it ruined my life.

She left me.

She was the only thing
that made me special.

Now I'm a nobody. It's like
I never even existed!

Wait a minute, pal.
Hold the phone.

You're saying
I got paid on this job?

Gee, I'd remember that.

You know, you're right.

You're not the guy.

Sorry.

It's just that you look
a lot like him.

In fact, you look like a million
other duck detectives.

It's not like
you stand out or anything.

It's an honest mistake.

No hard feelings?

These things happen.

Listen, I'm, uh...

I'm a little too depressed
to take you down to the police.

Can I trust you
to turn yourself in?

Yeah, sure.

Boy, do I feel stupid.

You hear that, Cornfed?
I'm not special.

Even my own k*ller
doesn't think so.

Get ahold of yourself,
Duckman.

It's true, Cornfed.

I'm just like
that bomber.

I lost my identity
when I lost my wife.

But you still
have something

he doesn't, remember?

His chain saw?

Your children.

You're still the only
father they have.

That makes you special.

No one else could have
created the family you did.

I mean that in a good way.

Oh, what's the point?

Their own mother didn't think
I was up to raising them.

And maybe I'm not.

Maybe that's why
they ignore me.

Beatrice made me
a better person.

Without her here to help, I'm...
I'm just not a very good father.

[everyone talking inside house]

Happy anniversary, Dad.

First one without Mom.

We know it's tough.

We miss her, too.

But I did want to tell you,

the twins and me think
you're doing a good job, Dad,

and we love you.

DUCKMAN:
Thank you... son.