02x09 - Clip Job

[bunniefuu]

[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 k*ll me, please!
Don't k*ll 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 v*olence,
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 thr*aten you with a Kn*fe
to argue about v*olence.

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... k*ll 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 b*at 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 k*ll me.

Do you have any proof?

This note.

"Dear Dr. Milo,
I'm trying to k*ll you."

Hmm, nothing more definite?

You want to learn something,
do exactly as I do.

Imitate my every move.

[yells]

I found a g*n...

Probably a toy.

[g*nsh*t]
[bird squawks]

[yelling]

...and a Kn*fe.

Proves nothing.

[thud]
[bird squawks]

[grunting]

...and this b*mb.

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.

[expl*si*n]
[bird squawks]

This was not a m*rder.

MAN:
Val, put down that g*n!

You're my wife. Don't sh**t!

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 k*ll 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]

[expl*si*n]

[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 night...uh,
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-b*at
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?