advertisement Duckman: Last one in the car mops up the vomit. Duckman: Did I ever tell you my Dad's last words to me? Cornfed: "Careful, son, I don't think the safety is on." Duckman: Before that. Duckman: I can't believe they shared their girlfriends with us, Corny. I just spent the night with the sexiest, most insatiable, voluptuous, adventurous, least-inhibited woman I've ever met. If she didn't suddenly get a headache... woo hoo. there's no telling what wild and tawdry escapades we might have experienced. How was your night? Cornfed: Like yours... minus the headache. Prof. Provenheim: I am here to introduce you to the greatest advance in civilization in this century. Ajax: CONDOMS. They held a vote at school. King Chicken: The students, professors, all animatrons. Robots. Duckman: Even Deanna, that lovely coed? King Chicken: Nope. I've never been able to make breasts. She's a muppet. Duckman: Ohh. To be Frank Oz for a day. Ajax: Once bread become toast, it can never go back. Ajax: If they made tugboats bigger, they could be the boats other boats tug. Cornfed: Once again, the U.S. is spending millions to oust a puppet they spent millions to get into office. They'll spend more millions on the coverup to hide having spent those millions and even more millions to discredit members of the media who report otherwise. It's a good thing they print their own money. Duckman: If words were cherry stems, my tongue would be in Sherilyn Fenn's mouth. Duckman: She's a bigger ripoff than those talk-to-a-nympho-in-prison hotlines that double charge you on your phone bill when they know you can't do a thing about it 'cause you can't tell anyone you called them in the first place... so I heard. Mambo: I'm tempted to die to I can get a head start on spinning in my grave. Duckman: My greatest fantasy involves you, some sausages down your pants, and pack of starving Rotweilers. Duckman: Can you believe it? Five hundred bucks for a parking ticket? Cornfed Pig: You parked in a handicapped zone. Duckman: Who cares? Nobody parks there anyway, except for the people who are supposed to park there and, hell, I can outrun them anytime. Charles: We saw a movie where, during a drill, terrorists took over a city. Ajax: Well, I saw a movie where, during a drill, terrorists took over a city. Charles: Ajax, that's the same movie. Ajax: They're all the same movie. That's why Hollywood movies are like visits from old friends. Ajax: You know, Dad, I think you're my favorite dad. Duckman: Only. Ajax: Only what? Duckman: Only dad. Ajax: Only dad what? Ajax: I like toast. Its the muffins that must be stopped. Eric Duckman: Remember kids, when you get to prison attach yourself to the biggest, toughest, meanest looking goon you can find. You don't wanna wind up as just anyone's bitch. Eric Duckman: Dwaah. Dwaah. A thousand times, DWAAH. Duckman: Damn ninjas are like roaches in this city. Beverly: It's not too often that you see one horse's ass on top of another. Con-Chicken: DWAAH. Duckman: Hey. Get your own wacky scream. [repeated line] Duckman: What the hell are YOU staring at? Duckman: I will rise from the ashes like a Tuscon. Ben Stein: Mr. Duckman, if the body is a temple, then you've committed countless acts of desecration. Duckman: Miracle Schmiracle, I bet those mindless pod people who believe in that thing still wait up for the tooth fairy. Fluffy: Why shouldn't they? Duckman: Because he's rotting in a Turkish jail. Mambo: Does a high ranking religious figure evacuate his bowels in a wooded area? Bernice: You spent the last six days watching that video tape where she learns what all her vacuum attachments are for. Sherry: You said you erased that. Cornfed: Erased, ran off thousands of copies... it's such a fine line. [Duckman's body is growing] Duckman: Doctor, something's wrong. I'm growing. Doctor: Duckman, those are called *erections*. They happen all the time. Duckman: No, I mean I'm really growing. Duckman: It's times like this that I wish I had a penis. Lenord Nimoy: Oh man. That's the last time I eat a headcheese hogie before bedtime. Duckman: We don't need no Dutch Elm/North Flem scum. EAT FLOURIDE LAWN JOCKIES. Bernice: DWAH. Duckman: That's enough with the Dwahs. I do the Dwahhs okay? YIKES. Mambo: What do you want to bet that he's doing something to further humiliate and embarrass us? Dr Stien: Mr Duckman if, as an adult, cannot act with a moderate of decorum I'll rip your eyes out and feed them to my dingos. Cornfed: Duckman maybe it's a good idea not to tick Dr Stien off. Duckman: What's he going to do? Oh Dr Stien is angry. Bernice: There's something fishy going on around here Duckman: Good. I'm glad I'm not the only one who's sensing a lot of suck ups around here. Mambo: Hey, everybody! Charles: Expensive electronic equipment and thick wads of cash are being delivered to three houses on North Phleghm. Bernice: [North Phleghm Neighbors gasp] TRAITORS! Ben Stein: Let's book. Bernice: Who are you? Duckman: She's Beatrice. Beverley: No I'm not. Duckman: Yes you are. Bernice: She knows who she is you moron. Bernice: If you're my sister then do you know what that means? Duckman: A threesome? Mambo: Would you please tell her quickly. Charles: Aunt Beverly is your other sister who got misplaced in the hospital Bernice: Do you know what this means? Eric Duckman: A threesome? Beverly, Bernice: No! TRIPLETS! Bernice: So you've heard about? Beverly: Yes I know. Bernice: And after she married Duckman she died. I'd love it if you would stay. Beverly: I don't know. I don't want to be a bother. Charles: [Jumping up and down excitedly] Oh that would be great. Mambo: OOH! Stop jumping! [Duckman is sentenced to 5000 hours of community service] Duckman: 5000 hours? That's 45 minutes! Cornfed: Actually, it's seven months. Duckman: Damn metric system. Duckman: Hi Beverly Beverly: Hi. Look I'm sorry for pretending to be your dead wife. Duckman: No that's okay. You stayed with me when you didn't have to. You saved my life. Beverly: It was my pleasure. Duckman: By the way. When I was unconious did I say anything embarrassing or private? Beverly: No! No! If you did then I've long forgotten it. Duckman: Oh okay. Well, goodnight Beverly. Beverly: Goodnight Eric. Charles: So it's decided. When this hideous marriage takes place and screws up our heads Mambo and I will stick up convenience stores. Mambo: and Ajax you'll be a street hustler. [Ajax dressed in a street hustler costume] Ajax: I'm way ahead of you. Ajax: He was killed when a group of hungry nuns went running towards the snack booth. He was pushed into the cotton candy machine and he got mutilated in the whirling batter of spun sugar. Bernice: Another senseless religious confection death. Cornfed Pig: You're aware that while it affords one the momentary illusion of satisfaction, the spewing of bile is never a permanent solution. Eric Duckman: I'll be tireless in my efforts for Duckman doesn't know the meaning of the word 'quit.' Cornfed Pig: Apparently, the word 'clue' slipped through the cracks as well. Salesman: I'm not an actor, but I play one on TV. And that's why I bikini wax with the new and improved 'Gee Your Groin Looks Well-Groomed.' Nurse: Ma'am, please wait outside. The doctor may need to start slamming his fist on the patient's chest and yelling 'Live, damn you, live., and that can be hard to watch. Cornfed Pig: Color me kooky, but something very odd is going on around here. Cornfed Pig: I haven't felt tension like that since I got stuck in an elevator with Pat Buchanan and RuPaul. Eric Duckman: How are you, my dear? I hope that life has treated you better than time has. Eric Duckman: Ha Ha Ha. We will now pause for Jealousy to put its head up your ugly rear. Eric Duckman: They towed my car, Cornie. And for no other reason than it was illegally parked and had $1200 in unpaid tickets. Cornfed Pig: Also, you stole it. Eric Duckman: No shineola, Sherlock. Eric Duckman: OK, son, now you're starting to scare the viewers. Cornfed Pig: You can't keep us here, you know. We're Americans. We have rights. Eric Duckman: Including the right to bear arms. So, uh, could we, like, have some guns? Cornfed Pig: The password is 'Bad Writing.' Eric Duckman: Until Esperanto comes back, you want to ease off on the foreign mumbo-jumbo? Bernice: Something funny's going on here. Eric Duckman: It's about time. I'm getting sick of all the social commentary. Cornfed Pig: This is Cornfed. In the name of humanity, will you agree to peace talks? Man: How are things on your end? Eric Duckman: Fine since the sores healed. Cornfed Pig: It's my fault, I was attempting an actual conversation. Eric Duckman: Well, nice knowing you, son. Not like I don't love you or anything, but you know how people are. They'll assume that sort of thing runs in the family, and frankly I got a tough enough time picking up chicks to begin with. So good luck, be careful, and maybe we'll see you on TV sometime lip-synching Over The Rainbow at one of those Pride parades. Eric Duckman: You realize, of course, this means war... Cornfed: It sounds like it's having an hallucinogenic effect. Not like a drug which is harmful and wrong and just say no, kids, but spacey nonetheless. Emcee: The best way to take our minds off the smell of burning flesh is to begin tonight's karaoke contest. Duckman: Quiet. I can't hear myself lie. Duckman: Talk about a crime, I can't believe I wore those platform shoes. Cornfed: Be careful, Duckman. A cursory olfactory analysis of this woman's sweat glands indicates that decades of alcohol ingestion have permeated her cellular structure and made her a prime candidate for spontaneous combustion. Duckman: Don't blame me, you rug-wearing suburban psycho. Duckman: Heck, I got suits pending against me from three different dating services and the teen chatline. Duckman: Yes, well warn us next time you're planning on thinking. Duckman: What do you say, Corn Syrup? Blow their minds with our patented Sonny and Cher medley? Cornfed: I'd love to, except my sequined squaw outfit's still at the cleaners. Duckman: I'm taking a vacation. Where's my bathing suit with the padded bulge? Fluffy: It should be in here. Uranus: Right next to your foam rubber pectoral enhancer. Cornfed: From the moment she opened her mouth I wanted to sublet her tongue, move into her larynx, and re-do the upper incisors in mauve. Well, not exactly mauve, but mauvish. Ajax: Gravity is not just a law, it's also a good idea. King Chicken: Duckman do you remember when you had a toothache? Duckman: Yeah, my dentist was arrested for mal-practice. Who was the replacement? You? [King Chicken looks smug] Duckman: DAMN YOU CHICKEN! YOU CHARGED ME $50! Duckman: Willabald Fivel? [laughing] Duckman: Willabald Fivel? Cornfed: Uh Duckman. My problem? I have to have sex with a woman or else I'm going to die. Duckman: Oh yes. Don't worry Cornfed. I'll find you a woman. [snickering] Duckman: Willabald Fivel! Cornfed: Before we get down to these peace talks I have one preliminary request. Would you please stop shocking Duckman? Venom: Damn! I just got it working. Venom: I call this meeting of the Block Neighborhood Association to order. Now I have a way of ending this quickly, painlessly, and quickly. I move that Dutch Elm Street annex North Phlegm Avenue. [North Phlegm Neighbors groan] Margo Duck: I think it would be good to be under the direction of a strong, benevolent tyrant like Mr. Venom. Dr Stien: As a doctor I think it's an ideal way to deal with this. Art Desalvo: I never thought of it before but I think it's an idea that's worth considering. Cornfed: You got a letter from the IRS. Duckman: I'm outta here! Forward my magazines to that PO Box in Rio. Cornfed: Duckman, you can't hide from the IRS. They're everywhere. Duckman: Excuse me sir, I'd like to reclaim my father's body from storage. [Terry Duke Tetsloff turns around] Duckman: Terry Duke Tetsloff! Terry Duke Tetsloff: At your service Mr Duckman. Duckman: Wait a minute aren't you that sleazy con-man who sold my family a defective home security system, gave an overpriced funeral to my mother-in-law when she wasn't really dead and artifically enseminated my sister-in-law with my sperm? Terry Duke Tetsloff: The very same one. Say are you here to reclaim your father's body? Duckman: Yep. Terry Duke Tetsloff: I'll just go and get it and remember no ticky, no body. Duckman: Hey cantino boy. I need a tall glass of water. My sister-in-law and her birthday suit just gave me a libidoectomy. Judge: Mr Tetsloff, is your home security system defective? Terry Duke Tetsloff: Only if you're dumb enough to go in there and try to fix it yourself. [Duckman has spilled something on his chest causing a stain that looks like a Rorschach inkblot] Duckman: Well now look what you made me do! I gotta go in there with a picture of me and Vanna White frolicking naked with a tribe of pygmies on my chest! Cornfed: Hmm. Looks like synchronized swimmers crocheting mittens in a pool filled with truffles to me. Duckman: You're sick. [on Duckman's Rorschach-like stain] Bob Hiney: Any particular reason you got a picture of a drag queen on a Shetland pony licking a flaming banjo on your chest? Duckman: All right, never mind that! [more on Duckman's Rorschach-like stain] Val de Ree: Excuse me, why do you have a picture of me, a rabbi, and six drunken longshoreman rolling around on a rubber bed on your chest? Art 'Bones' McSalvo: Damn it, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a rodeo clown! Duckman: I work hard everyday to provide food and clothes for my family. Mambo: [heading out the door] Bye dad. We're going out to the mall. Although we haven' had a pair of jeans that fit us in the past 2 years. Duckman: Okay so I provide food for my family. Ajax: Bye Dod. I'm going out to eat and then I'm going to go for a walk in the city's seedy underbelly to learn things that you'll never comprehend. Duckman: Why is it that everything I say ends up becoming some perfectly timed joke at my expense? Bernice: [walks into the room] I didn't hear you otherwise I would have made a joke at your expense. Dr. Susan Fox: Cornfed, I'm sensing that you have "issues". Cornfed: Oh, I have issues all right. Like that time he made me miss my mother's funeral so he could carterize his lucky goiter or that time he got drunk and gave my phone number out to all of those prostitutes or that time he sold all of my furniture to buy those Who's The Boss comemorative plates. Duckman: They were supposed to triple in value. DAMN YOU TO HELL TONY DANZA! Dr. Susan Fox: How does that make you feel, Duckman? Duckman: Like a bottle of open spit. Cornfed: You and what United States Peacekeeping force? Ajax: I found it a provocative piece of stagecraft, marred only by the author's over-weening pretense towards psychological insight. But the violence was keen. Roxanne: I do not like all of this fighting between Dutch Elm Street and North Flem Ave. Please walk this way. Duckman: [just as Ajax, Dr Stein and Art DiSalvo are about to walk the same way as the Dutch Elm Street Block association Leader's Maid] Do it and you're off the series. Agent Dennehy: This is the IRS! Throw out your wallets and surrender! Bernice: Okay you've got 10 seconds to cough up his flemball of a mother before I report you to the department of touchy, feely, fake religions. Duckman: I'm just one more duck detective, that works with a pig, lives with the twin sister of his dead wife, three sons on two bodies, and a mother-in-law with so much gas, she's a fire hazard. Duckman: I hope this doesn't sound grandiose, but tonight I begin my pre-ordained ascent towards the global adulation I so richly deserve. Charles: Aunt Bernice? Ajax: No. This is our new Aunt Beverly in our old Aunt Bernice's clothes pretending to be our dead mom Beatrice. If I can keep it straight you can keep it straight. Beverly: [thinking] Thank God Beatrice isn't alive to see this. Eric Duckman: [looking at Beverly's breasts] Buttercup! Iisa! Duckman: Comedy should provoke! It should blast through prejudices, challenge preconceptions! Comedy should always leave you different than when it found you. Sure, humor can hurt, even alienate, but the risk is better than the alternative: a steady diet of innocuous, child-proof, flavorless mush! Demand to be challenged, to be offended, to be treated like thinking, reasoning adults. And raise your children to be the same. Don't let a comedian, a network, a Congressional committee, or an evil genius take away your freedom to laugh at whatever you want. Duckman: Boo-freaking-hoo. Like I am supposed to take women and how they feel seriously? You ought to be accepted for your minds but you throw a hissy fit royal if someone isn't saying you look great 30 hours a day. You say you want a nice guy but you only give it up to the creeps. You get to stay home, not go to war, live longer, and have sex whenever you want! So remind me again what exact is there to complain about! [Duckman is outraged that his car has just been towed] Duckman: I can't believe they towed my car! And only because it was parked in a tow-away zone and I had $1,200 worth of unpaid parking tickets. Cornfed: Also, you stole it. Duckman: It was dark. How was I supposed to tell the difference between a parking lot at the mall and a Mazda dealership? Duckman: Somewhere, somehow they all got chewed up and spit back out. They don't taste like living anymore. Don't you see what's it's like living in this deranged, Waring blender of a world? Every day is an agonizing ordeal, like balancing a pot of scalding water on your head while people whip your legs and butt. Ah, you never forget your senior prom. You think I'm sick? Well the only disease I've got is modern life, a shnug-busting gauntlet of inefficiency and misery that's one long parade of letdowns, putdown, trickledowns, shutouts, freezeouts, sellouts, numbnuts, nickenputz and nimrods! All making every day as much fun as waxing a flaming Pontiac with your tongue! And even if you do luck into the possibility of some fleeting pleasure, like say if some nimphomaniac telephone operator with the muscle control of Romanian matslappers agree to a little strip air-hockey, it will be over before it starts, cuz some foul lacking, fedder reeking cab-jockey slams his Checker up your hatchback and the cab is owned by some pinata spanker from a Santa Ria culpa a culpa who starts shaking chicken bones at you and gives you a boil on your neck so big that all it needs is Michael Jordan's autograph to make it complete! And even with all this, with all this! I still drag my sorry butt off the Sealy every morning and stick my face in the reaping machine for one more day! Knowing when it's time to flash the cosmic card key at those pearly gates, I won't be in the coffin anyways, because some underhanded undertaker sold my heart, pancreas and other assorted good and plenty to that same Santa Ria cult! So does anybody really wonder why anybody is hanging onto sanity by the atoms on the tips of their fingernails, while life dirty dances on their digits, and is it really any wonder THAT I SEEM DERANGED? Cornfed Pig: I know over two hundred ways to kill a man. Sherry: You could glue an open jar of rats to his face. Then blowtorch the other side of the jar, so the rats have to eat their way out threw his face. Cornfed Pig: [pause] Two Hundred and one.