Duckman (1994) s03e10 Episode Script

(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-beat-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 kill 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 kill and maim and torture 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 killing 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 killing 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 anal-retentive, micro-management to a near-sociopathic extreme? Yes, thanks! Oh, Corny, it's so liberating to have an intelligent conversation, free from the pornographic 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 torture 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 kill itself off.
No! The human body is mostly not for eating.
No! (Duckman sobbing) I tried to kill 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 kill myself.
I'm going to go out right now and kill 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 killing 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 kill 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.