03x10 - The Mallardian Candidate

[bunniefuu]

[quacks]

[elevator bell dings]

Cretin.

Liar.

Drunk.

Agent.

Hello...

[muffled spanking noises
woman moaning and groaning]

And just in time
for discipline hour.

[groans]

You! Bumper car!

You think you can go plowing
into a law-abiding,

if-I-can-b*at-the-statute
-of-limitations citizen

just 'cause you're too lazy

to take off
those sunglasses indoors?

Hey, don't point
that white cane at me!

Great. Now I missed them
dressing her wounds.

Look, Mr. Duckman,

we've alphabetized
all your files.

We put all the cases
you've solved

in this folder.

And all your failures
over here.

Divided by type--
"miserable failure,"

"total failure."

and "what-were-they-thinking-

even-hiring-you-
in-the-first-place failure."

My, my. How efficient.

In fact, you've inspired me
to do a little filing of my own.

Well, I'd better "head off."

[chuckles]:
I love language.

URANUS:
Will you be wanting
your coffee now?

Every day, Corny,

it's one thing after another--

the worm in your liverwurst,

the spot of urine
on your best tie.

Now some yutz in the hall
not watching where he's going.

Sometimes, I think I'm
the only one who notices--

who isn't totally oblivious
to everything around him.

I'm not Cornfed.

Oh, right.

The hat threw me.

I'm not wearing a hat.

That's what threw me.

Actually, Duckman,
you should know
who this is.

Of course I know who this is,
trolling-for-truffles.

It's that old crooner with
the San Francisco song,

who did one of those "unplugged"
albums and got popular again.

It's always a mistake
to skip our morning briefings

on who you know,
where you live

and what you're currently
under investigation for.

This is Iggy Catalpa,
the politically correct comedian

who King Chicken used
to try to drive you insane.

How come you always
get the back-story?

How come you got a scene
with Heather Locklear?

Duckman, you're the only one
who can help me.

What?
You're the only one
who can help me.

Come on, come on,
speak English, will you?

I'm sorry, Mr. Catalpa,
Duckman has never heard

that particular combination
of words before.

What Iggy means is that
he's not here to hurt you

because of a bill
you haven't paid.

Oh, really. Do go on.

I have uncovered
irrefutable proof

that right here
in our own beloved city,

there exists
a shocking conspiracy!

[dramatic crescendo]

An evil conspiracy that
encompasses the globe,

yet is so cloaked in mystery

as to befuddle
the finest minds of our age--

which is not to belittle the
many other minds of our age,

which, while they
may not the finest,

are nonetheless fine indeed.

Mr. Catalpa, what exactly
is this... conspiracy?

[dramatic crescendo]

It's villainy incarnate.

Every time I do my wash
in the laundromat,

I lose one sock!

[stifled chuckles]

[laughing harder]

[belly laughs]

Oh, man, watch out!

A sock!

Oh, my aching piles, stop...

One sock, huh?

The bastards!

If it's the
last thing I do,

I'll get to the
bottom of this...

conspiracy!

Uh-huh.

Well, how refreshing
it is to...

[dramatic crescendo]

Huh.

To have a client
who appreciates

the cost of
doing business.

But worry not,
Mr. Catalpa.

You can rest assured
that in my relentless
pursuit of the truth,

I'll buy only
what is absolutely necessary.

["Wooly Bully" intro playing]

♪ Wooly bully! ♪

♪ Wooly bully! ♪

Duckman, since you've
taken a case

for apparently
no other reason than

to ruin the client's
credit rating,

the least you
could do is...

♪ Oh, wooly bully! ♪
[snapping fingers]

I am taking wash
and putting it into the dryer.

Repeat: I am taking wash
and putting it into the dryer.

I am taking my underpants

and pulling them
below my knees.

Repeat: I am taking
my underpants

and pulling them
below my knees.

While the odds of Iggy's
conspiracy being true

are roughly equivalent
to the possibility

of a Bob Dole/Snoop Doggy Dogg
duet,

how can you totally dismiss it

without the slightest pretence
of investigation?

Please, Cornicle,
that guy's more paranoid

than all those people
who are trying to k*ll me.

Paranoia is vital
to the economy, Duckman.

It supports a cottage industry

of books, movies,
television shows, trade fairs

and-- ahem--
surveillance equipment.

Hey, name one
thing I bought

that wasn't essential
for this case.

The closet full
of Sansabelt, Armanis,

the Evian water-bed,
the 350 pounds of Mallomars,

the surround-sound CD system
you listen to

while checking out
the Sheryl Crow album cover

for visible panty lines...

I said one thing. Ha!

[sighs]

[alarm blaring]

Someone is entering
the laundromat.

It's your family.

My family?

Oh, right.

The, uh...
washer, uh, broke.

I can't explain it, boys.

If I didn't know better,

I'd say someone sat on top
of the rotator blades

with the lid open

in some perverse act
of sexual depravity.

Why do I get
the sneaking suspicion

that it has to do
with that walking fiasco

who tries to pass himself
off as our father?

MAMBO [over speaker]:
Except it's hard to believe
Dad could sink any lower

in his pathetic attempts
to fulfill

his grotesque and unspeakable
physical needs.

I can't believe they say
that behind my back.

It's what they say
to your face.

I know. You'd think they'd at
least change a word or two.

Well, there's one good thing
you could say about Dad.

What's that?

Perhaps "one"
is the wrong number.

And to think this is the year

I almost remembered his
birthday and Christmas!

Hey, where were you?

Outside, helping that
Camp Fire girl den mother.

Okay, but next time, let
someone else sew her arm on.

You're tracking blood
on the mohair.

You know, Duckman, I...

Me, me, me!

That's all you
ever think about!

What about me?!

I'm having
a deeper personal
family crisis here

and I need to
talk to someone!

All the real detective teams
confide in each other--

Holmes and Watson,
Starsky and Hutch,

Hart and, uh... What
was his wife's name?

I'm sorry, Duckman.

I'll listen to your pain.

What is it you were saying?

Oop. Forgot.

Got to hit the crapper.

[screaming]

Hey, it's a documented
medical condition!

[gong sounds]

[ninjas yelling]

All right, let me through.

Damn ninjas are like roaches
in this city.

[grunts and groans]

Lay off the hootch,
nightcrawler.

I tell you, near-mythological,

Oriental martial arts warriors
today got no self-respect.

No, no.

Give me Iggy Catalpa's
stolen sock.

No, no,
some detective

investigating
this conspiracy

might see it
and follow us.

Hey, would you mind?

[all muttering]

Aah, screw it.

[loud thump]

[Duckman yells]

[groaning]

Wow!

Nothing like getting clubbed
by a professional.

You wake up clearheaded
and refreshed,

not like with those
sorority girls

who think it's so funny to drop
a concrete block on a guy

who just spent two hours
snaking a periscope

through a shower drain.

Hey, wait a minute.

I've been kidnapped.

Where have they taken me?

Where could I be?

Think, think!

What's my location?

What could this place be?

Ahh!

Road maps?
What kind of clue is that?

I need road maps
like I need these lists

of emergency roadside service
phone numbers

and all these applications
for the auto club.

[thumping on stairs]

[gong sounds]

All right, fashion victims.

What the hell's...

[beep]

CATALPA:
It's open.

Hi, Duckman, hang on a sec.

Yeah, Marty, I want gold down
three at the morning fixing.

I want the Mideast talks
inconclusive.

Right. Same as usual.

Back home, I want you
to keep on that

liberals-control-the-media-
conservatives-control-
the-government thing,

keeping in mind
that both sides

have worthwhile
and valid points of view.

I want Trudy Martin
to break a heel

outside her realty office
at 3:46 p.m.

And I want another sports
strike. What's left?

Okay, then,
beach volleyball.

Iggy, what's going on?

It's a... conspiracy.

[dramatic crescendo]

Thanks, Doc.

Welcome to
the World Domination League,

the secret force
behind every conspiracy--

the death of Elvis,
what really happened

to Monroe, Hendrix, Morrison...

And President Kennedy?

No, actually that was
a lone gunman.

But everything else was us--

the rise of Communism,
the fall of Communism,

getting prayers out of schools,
getting sex on TV,

the way pens don't work
in the post office

the Olsen twins.

You see, I'd been a failure
my whole life

as a stand-up comic,
a cardiovascular surgeon,

a development exec
for the Warner Brothers Network.

Then I saw this ad: "Evil
genius, full- or part-time."

And I realized, now more than
ever, we needed an evil genius

kids could look up to.

And all I have to do
is destroy the moral

and economic underpinnings
of a once-great nation, haaa!

I asked a good friend of mine,
who was also an evil genius,

and he agreed.

But why, Iggy?

Why do this?

The same reason anyone like me

would want
to dominate the world:

terrific
retirement package.
[phone ringing]

Ooh, it's the Division
of Poetic Irony.

I love these guys.

They gave Newt
his gay half-sister.

World domination. Iggy here.

Beautiful. Do it.

A bunch of animal rights
activists get eaten by bears.

How do they come up
with these things?

But, then,
this whole sock business...

it was just a ruse.

No, a conspiracy.

[dramatic crescendo]

Thank you.

It's just the way we do
things around here.

Everything's got to be
an elaborately woven plot.

Plus, the WDL supports itself

by selling those cute,
little sock puppets.

So, now we can silence the one
detective who can stop us.

Well, thank you very much,
and if you don't mind,

I'll use that quote
in my new press pack.

Get real. The only reason
you're here is your friendship

with the most brilliant mind
the world has ever produced.

Charlie Rose? We're not friends.

It was one night. I was drunk.
Things got a little...

Cornfed Pig. He must die.

Corny? That second banana?

He's nothing.
I'm the brains of the outfit.

I'm the one you
should be assassinating.

I'm the one you should
be plotting to k*ll

and maim and
t*rture and...
[mumbling]

[chuckling]
Well, though he's
a bright guy.

Iggettes!
Hai!
Hai!

Take this duck
to Brainwashing.

Room 101?
No. Leeza's in for touch-ups.

Try 102.
[teeth chattering]

Hey, wait a minute.

Let go of me!

What?

Oh, nothing.

I was just saying it 'cause

you know,
you were dragging me away.

What a putz.

Hey, stop that.
Let go!

Just ignore him.

Hydrangeas, on the other hand,
can grow quite large.

They begin blooming in summer
and continue until early winter

if given the proper amount
of mulch.

Hydrangeas come
in a variety of colors:

white, pink, blue.
World Domination...

...League want to thank you
for taking time from exploiting

the global economy
to be here today.

The individual sitting
to my left

has been brainwashed to believe
he is attending a rather dull

yet informative lecture
at the Ladies Floral Society.

If you were


I'd like to plant
something in your mulch.

It became clear that
this Duckman would be

the greatest brainwashing
challenge we'd ever face

when our tests revealed that
he didn't have enough
brain to wash.

We began clearing what
we whimsically referred to
as Duckman's mind

by showing him 18 continuous
hours of The Wayans Brothers.

Then after gaining his trust

through the use of a variety
of rubber goods,

it was time to turn him
against the intended target.

Subjects will often resist
our reprogramming

for weeks, months, even years.

"Cornfed just pretends to be
your friend to ruin your life."

of course.

"The members of your family

"are all agents of Cornfed,
accepting millions of dollars

in porcelain poker-playing dogs
to pretend they despise you."

Why didn't I
think of it before?!

"Your failures in life--

"women, career, women,
family, women--

are all due to Cornfed."

It's the only
logical explanation.

IGGY:
Next comes the introduction
of the Trigger,

a signal which will
instantly turn the subject

into a superb k*lling machine;

in this case, the playing card,
queen of hearts.

Ooh-ooh-ooh..!

The results?

Duckman.

Why don't you play
a game of solitaire?

[grunts]

There!

The look of emptiness
that indicates

the subject's mind
has been completely drained.

Hmm. Red on black
or red on red?

Jack's higher
than a ten, right?

I wonder how you
cheat at solitaire.

Maybe if I distract me...

Excuse me a moment.

[punches landing]

[Duckman groaning]

[growls]

We've also programmed
an Un-Trigger,

a common everyday phrase
sure to be used

after the crime is committed.

This will cause the subject

to forget everything
that's happened.

Call the police.

Gentlemen, I give you
the perfect assassin,

the most deadly k*lling machine
in history-- Duckman.

A jack is higher than a ten.

[crickets chirping]

Mmm. Dinner
smells delicious.

Actually, that's
Monday's breakfast.

I always stay
five meals ahead.

Isn't that carrying
a**l-retentive,
micro-management

to a near-sociopathic
extreme?

Yes, thanks!

Oh, Corny, it's so liberating

to have
an intelligent conversation,

free from
the p*rn bleatings

of a certain mallard-adjusted,
manure-mouth.

Duckman's not here?

The most beautiful words
in the English language!

Has it occurred to you
that he may be missing,

even in trouble,

perhaps lying injured somewhere
in a rat-infested gutter?

Yes, but I try not
to get my hopes up.

Greetings, y'all.

It's great to be back
in the bosom of... of...

Duckman?

Duckman?

[sighs] Sometimes he
hangs on "bosom."

My family.

Cornectomy!

You probably came here,
wondering what happened to me.

Bernice invited me
for dinner.

Okay, I'll tell you.

[in monotone]:
I went for a walk.

Nothing unusual happened.

I went for a walk.

He may be an idiot, but he sure
has a way with an anecdote.

Let's eat!

[phone rings]

IGGY:
Would you like to play
a game of solitaire?

Speaking of food,
we're coming along
quite nicely

on our
science fair project

of reanimating
dead tissue.

You boys win
any more of those fairs,

and the other students are
going to call the police.

[all cracking up]

[knocking]
MAN:
Queen of Hearts Water Service.

BERNICE:
Come on in!
[door opens]

I had a really
good day at school.

Ajax, it's Saturday.

There was no school.

Perhaps that explains
why today's lesson

was "getting rolled
for your pocket change

by unwashed ne'er-do-wells
lying drunk in the playground."

CHARLES:
Well, did you communicate this

with law enforcement officials?

Telephone the proper
public uniformed authorities?

Call the police!

I've been having some problems
with a rental property recently.

The tenants want to get out
of their lease,

which was poorly drafted
by my lawyer.

It's a terrible lease,
just awful.

Isn't that a little harsh,
Cornfed?

Well, as my Ozark
Mama would say,

"What else you gonna
call the po' lease?"

[groans]

Look. On a whim,

I arranged my potatoes
into a queen of hearts.

That looks
like fun.

Anything that much fun
is probably illegal.

Well, then, call the police!

Call the police!
Call the police!

Notify the constabulary.

From the cadence of his voice,

I suspected Duckman was either
brainwashed or constipated.

Then I realized it was both.

Deciding to deal
with the brainwashing first,

I needed to know
for what purpose.

So I substituted a harmless
gag exploding device.

Now comes the difficult part--
deprogramming Duckman.

We'll have to tear apart
his entire value system,

resulting in emotional
and physical trauma,

possibly even a complete
nervous breakdown.

Ooh, let's party!

I don't understand it.

Nothing seems
to have an effect.

Perhaps we're overlooking
a basic concept--

you can't break down
Dad's value system...

Because Dad doesn't
have any values.

Of course.
We'll have to t*rture him
into having values,

then tear them apart.

Government is
a necessary structure

to impose on an otherwise
unruly society.

No!

People want to do good.

No!

Mankind has evolved

into a highly
intelligent life-form.

No!

The human body
is not for eating.

I can't take it anymore!

You're right!

All government
is corrupt.

No!

People are out to get you.

No!

Mankind is a
self-destructive species

that will k*ll itself off.

No!

The human body is
mostly not for eating.

No!

[Duckman sobbing]

I tried to k*ll my best friend.

I'm scum.

I'm sub-scum.

I'm a wasted, worthless,
wreck of a duck.

Well, he's back to normal.

I, I can't live with this.

I'm going to k*ll myself.

I'm going to go out
right now and k*ll myself,

and none of you
better try to stop me!

[door opens, then closes]

[yawns]

[clearing throat]

You're right, Corny.

I shouldn't
blame myself.

[dramatic crescendo]

Yes?

We'd like a...
map of the city.

Map!

As one might find
in an auto club--

an auto club that's not
a front for anything

like, say, this auto club.

Just a moment.

Brace yourself.

We're probably standing
over a trapdoor.

That's a refreshing change.

Good work bringing
Cornfed here, Duckman.

All on-site
assassination victims

are recycled
in the company compost heap.

Iggettes!

You fools!
That's for k*lling Charlie Rose.

This is Cornfed.

Sorry.
Sorry.
Our mistake.

[growls]

Duckman, stop.

Where are you gonna
get another sidekick?

Andy Richter's booked,
Andy Devine's dead,

Andie MacDowell
isn't a sidekick.

[gagging]

Luckily, I wax my throat
every morning

in case of just such
an ironic situation.

Ha!

Hooves,
do yo' stuff.

[deafening rumble]

[debris clattering]

Hmm, apparently, that wasn't
Iggy Catalpa at all,

just a robotic surrogate
designed by the WDL

to add one more
pointless plot twist

to this
overwrought conspiracy.

It's finally over.

Duckman, do you know
what this means?

Free maps.

Right.

That and the most
fiendish organization

ever to plague humanity
has been destroyed.

Oh, good.
By the way, Corny, uh,

sorry about that little mix-up
at dinner last night.

When you tried
to k*ll me?

Let's not quibble
over details.

The important thing is,

when it comes to you and me,
nothing can interfere with...

Ooh, free trip planners.

Yes, well,
thanks to us,

people can now go to bed,

knowing that their lives
are truly their own,

that the world can
write its own destiny,

that we are no longer
the pawns and puppets

of evil worldwide
conspiracies.

Excellent.

Everything went
according to plan.

[cackling]
[evil laughter]

Good.

They don't suspect a thing.

[maniacal laughter]

Perfect.

They're right
where we want them.

[fiendish laughter]

[evil laughter]

IGGY:
The finest minds of our age.