All language subtitles for Duckman - 3x12 - The Once and Future Duck-ing

(low, sustained booming notes)

Hey, hey. Hey!

If I wanted to get spit on,
I'd go back to summer camp.

Sorry, Dad.

We were practicing
for our annual tuba recital.

You know, the one you
promised to attend.

I did?

Don't worry, Dad.

We didn't expect you
to break your streak

and make this year's
recital either.

Though you will be missing
our moving salute

to dead rock stars

whose first names
begin with "J."

But rather than spend one more
crucial juncture in our life

mired in disappointment,

we've decided
to select and invite

a brand-new father figure
who won't let us down.

Warning! Red alert,
red alert!

Must deal with immediately.

Children dangerously close

to forever replacing you
with surrogate father

due to insensitivity, neglect

and selfishly putting
your own needs before theirs.

3:00-- late for my groin wax.

Wait a minute,
wait a minute!

What kind of
a father am I?

Uh, is that
a trick question?

Boys, I'm going

to go to this recital Friday

if it's the last thing I do.

Rest assured, I'm
clearing my calendar

of everything that day
just to make room for you.

Word to the wise, boys!

When it comes
to delivering on promises,

Duckman's dependability rating
is just below Scud missile.

Ta-ta!

Feeling a tad nippy.

Dad!
Dad!

(distant scream)

Ajax, why the long face?

I understand it has
something to do

with the flagrant misuse
of forceps during my birth.

By the way, Dad,

I think I may have
done a no-no just now.

Ajax, how many times
have I told you?

The toilet is on the left.

The laundry hamper's
on the right.

Oh. Two no-nos.

Actually, it seems

that while trying to set
the alarm on my clock radio,

I may have ripped a hole
in the time-space continuum.

Ajax, what are you saying?

That, through a freak accident,

I super-charged the atoms
of a condensed space,

separating the positive
and negative ions

creating a portal in time

through which anyone
who ever lived or ever will live

could enter our world.

Uh-huh. And who
told you that?

That nice man from the future
in my bedroom.

Yeah. Well, just clean up
those ions and atoms

as best you can,
will you, son?

A-okay, Dad.

And as for you boys
replacing your dear old dad

with someone else

because of my past failures
as a father,

I want you to know, this is
the dawning of a new Duckman.

A Duckman who will be there
front and center Friday,

cheering you on
as you play your piccolo.

Tuba.

Tuba.

For I am nothing

if not totally devoted
to my sons--

Charles and Uma.

Mambo.

Mambo and Uma.

Charles and Mambo.

Charles and Mambo.

(chuckles)

Of course, Uma's
my firstborn...

but then which one's Oprah?

CHARLES:
You mean Ajax.

Oh, damn. Right.

Let's take it
from the top.

You're, uh...?

Charles.

Charles.

And you're?

(snoring)

(moaning)

(electrical buzzing)

Oh!

I say, old chap,

what in the blue blazes
are you blinking at?

You, Mr. Goodbar.

What, are you
some kind of pervert

who gets his kicks breaking
into people's bedrooms

and fantasizing
what you'd do to them

if they were Lauren Holly?

I used to be.

Yeah, it is fun.

Oh, dear me.

There's something
frightfully familiar about you.

Yeah, you, too.

(sniffing)

(both gasp)

You're me!
You're me!

I don't understand.

It's impossible.

Unless...

something Ajax
said earlier...

I may have ripped a hole
in the time-space continuum.

No, something else.

A-okay, Dad.

That's it.

But what could it mean?

Well, whatever I'm doing here,
it is quaint to revisit

what I fondly refer to
as my "blows chunks" period.

Of course, this was all

before Charles and Mambo's
tuba recital.

Recital?

You see, this season of my life

calls to mind the two most
dreaded words a man can hear.

Breast reductions?

I'm referring
to "child alienation."

My fatherhood skills--
that is to say, yours--

were, shall we say,
sorely lacking

until I pledged
to become a better parent

starting with attending
their recital.

It was there

I happened to sit by
and chat up

a software designer

who was developing
an interactive game

featuring a wisecracking,
single-father duck detective.

We became partners.

I became rich

and was able to afford lessons
in this pretentious diction.

The rest is...
well, future history.

What a dream!

That's what I get
for listening to Ajax.

Still, there was a moral there--
something worth heeding.

But if I go to sleep real fast,
I won't have to learn it.

(snoring)

(bike bell rings)

Ha-ha, you missed.

(groans)

(raspy voice):
Forgot... the ads.

And what's this?

"Friday, 8:00 P.M.

"The grand opening
of the Grand Opening

"offering the sleaziest
in adult videos.

"Just in: Just In.

Coming soon: Coming Soon."

Whoo-ooh-ooh!

Well, I guess I know
where I'll be

Friday night at 8:00...

Yikes!

Who the hell are you?!

And what is that
disgusting smell?

(slurring):
I was going to ask you
the same thing.

(burps)

Wait a minute.
I'm awake now.

That means me being rich
wasn't a dream.

That means Ajax really did
open a hole in time and space.

That means you're
from the future, too.

You... you're me,
aren't you?

I hope not.

You're ugly.

But last night,
I was the upper crust.

Now I'm just the crust.

What happened?

Like I got the answers?

I barely know when I'm going
to soil myself next.

Well, at least one thing's
still the same.

Oh... now I remember.

It's when I decided not to go
to Charles and Mambo's recital.

I was on the way
to a new video store opening.

I rear-ended some
pointy-head software designer

and he sued me
for everything I had--

as if he needed my collection
of bound and gagged Ken dolls.

This is incredible.

As long as this time-space tear
stays open,

I can see the future.

I already know if I go
to this recital, I'll be rich.

Now I can avoid
all the wrong stuff

and do all the right stuff.

I can become the most powerful
person who ever lived.

I can truly be
the master of my fate,

the captain of my destiny.

I can know what happens
on Melrose Place next week!

Yoo-hoo!

(loud chomping)

(all sighing contentedly)

(belches)

Waiter, more dead animal.

Of course, monsieur.

And more
thousand-dollars-an-ounce,

free-range,
sun-dried caviar as well?

Tell me, does it
come by the bucket?

But of course.

Then hop to it, frenchy.

I'm gonna develop a taste
for this crap yet.

Merci...

Mademoiselle Mandeltort.

Please, call
me Estelle.

(laughing)

Not that I care
when they arrest you,

but aren't you
the least bit worried

about using stolen credit cards?

Hey, I plan to pay them off.

And if Estelle doesn't like it,
tough titmice.

I'll be able to afford more
lawyers than she has chin hairs.

So, exactly when do we
make the transition

from semi-honest,
poverty-line proletariats

to selfish, indolent
millionaires?

Right after your recital Friday.

Let me guess-- you'll be
out in the parking lot

selling the parents' cars
to chop shops.

Scoff away,
ye of little faith.

I plan to be in attendance,

firmly kick any replacement
parental figure out of my seat

and be the father
you never had--

one who can afford
to buy your love.

Well, I'm off
to the little ducks' room.

Best thing
about an expensive meal--

it feels as good going out

as it does
coming in.

There's never enough paper.

(whooshing)

Oh, no!

Now you're
a hardened criminal?

What of it, pencil-neck?

Great. I'm about
to kick my own butt.

Who the hell are
you, wise guy?

Well, uh...

you see, it's kind of hard
to explain, but I'm you.

Oh. Space-time continuum thing.

Wait. That means
you're the reason I'm a con.

It wasn't enough to
make all the money

off of the
software, was it?

You had to do all them
bogus write-offs

that tipped
off the IRS

and got me the
triple life sentence

that turned me into
the subhuman piece

of soulless prison
scum I am today!

Nice pecs though.

Okay, okay, I won't do it.
I swear.

I won't write off a single
cockfight as entertainment.

You'd better not.

And while I'm here,

one other hot
tip for you--

tomorrow some
broad in pink's

going to offer to
give it up for free.

Don't do it!

40 seconds of fun

ain't worth no
lifetime of ointment.

You understand
what I'm saying?

Yeah! I lasted 40 seconds!

I understand, I understand.

And don't
try pulling...

Whoa!

(tuba playing "Foxy Lady")

This mastering-my-fate business
isn't as easy as I thought.

(doorbell rings)

Well, at least I'm ready
for one thing.

Say no to the 40 seconds of fun.

Rhonda "Up All Night" Shear?

I was walking past your house

when I heard those
mellifluous sounds

wafting from your window.

Grandma-ma?

When I hear that, oom!

My breasts go pah!

And I'm consumed
with an overwhelming compulsion

to make hot, sweaty love
to the owner of the house.

I was smart to buy.

Take me, Duckman!

Oh, take me now!

I've been expecting you.

(gasps)

(sobbing)

Just goes to show
a man in control of his destiny

can do anything.

(doorbell rings)

Hi, Lap Dances To Go.

You're the lucky recipient
of a free session,

since it's already paid for

and I can't find
the right address.

You mean...?

You're the...?

He said pink dress.

Rhonda! Come back!

I'll wear
lederhosen.

(horn honks
and tires screeching)

(thudding)

Oof!

That's got to hurt.

I don't get it.

The future mes are
telling me what to do

and I still get it wrong.

(yells)

What horrible future

caused you?!

Oh.

Whew.

Got to get a hold of myself.

And not the usual way
I get a hold of myself.

Wait. If I plan all my moves
and their ramifications,

then I can't go wrong, right?

Let's see,
recital equals wealthy,

carry the one,
Charles, Mambo, happy,

subtract the surrogate,

divided by video store opening,

factor IRS, makes me
girlfriend in prison,

multiply future kids,

exploding bathroom
with transvestite...

(gasping):
I can't go on.

Too many choices.

Go to the recital,
don't go to the recital.

Suddenly, it's the biggest
decision of my life.

Too much pressure.

Too much at stake.

Every move I make,
every breath I take,

I got gang o' dopples
to answer to.

My future, my family's future,
is hanging in the balance.

Too frightening.

(takes deep breath)

Best just not to do anything,
then nothing will happen.

Just sit here as if paralyzed.

Under no circumstances
move for any reason.

I have an itch on my forehead.

(crickets chirping)

(humming
"The Marriage of Figaro")

Still stiff
as a board, huh?

First time a woman's
said that about you in years.

(cackling laughter)

(grunting)

(incoherent mumbling)

Swallow your
food, Ajax,

then ask the question.

(gulping)

(incoherent mumbling)

No, your father didn't
leave the chair

for three hours today
on his own.

I took him to Hemphill's
Department Store

and rented him out
as a mannequin.

He'd still be there

if it weren't
for those bratty kids.

I spent the half the afternoon
belt-sanding gum off his butt.

(doorbell rings)

Our new father figure is here.

It's time to go.

Everyone,
meet Gunnar Jan Skulvestalk,

Norwegian physicist

and part-time lifeguard at the
Culver City municipal pool.

Oh, my. Resuscitate me.

Tee-hee.

Gunnar,
this is our Aunt Bernice.

This is Ajax.

And the lump in the chair
is our father.

Ah, the Duckman.

The boys go on about you.

Is it true that you
actually believe

there's a rip in the
time-space continuum

and visits from future
incarnations of yourself

have left you in a state
of hyper-paranoid paralysis?

No!

Well, yeah.

(shrieks)

I talked!

(laughing)

You're right.
He is an idiot.

(all laughing)

Yeah. Hard to imagine

why we'd ever
need a surrogate.

Duckman,
you feathered fool,

what you're suggesting
is physically impossible.

Shall we go, new family?

And tell me more stories
about him.

I haven't been
this amused

since pushing the last father
I replaced into a fjord.

(all laughing)

(screen door closes)

I got to go to that recital.

What if that makes
something terrible happen?

Then again, if I don't go,

that could make something
terrible happen.

It isn't fair.

I have to decide between two
equally frightening options.

If I wanted to do that,
I'd vote.

Shaddup!

(screams)

And sit down! You just added

ten years to my sentence.

Sitting, of course,

having its
downside as well.

(burps)

Tell me something:
Why does red wine

come out yellow
when you puke?

They're back!

Every move I make

changes what I am
in the future.

I can't sit, I can't stand.

Maybe if I go to another room.

I'll go to the kitchen.

(growling)

Nice choice, Sparky.

(yells)

Maybe the bedroom.

(screams)

The hall.

I'll just stand in the hall.

Excellent. This is
the inspiration

for my most
beloved poem--

"Ode to a Hall"

which, upon publication,

led to a life
of fabulous refinement

and great taste.

So, the hall is good?

Who knows?

You could misinterpret
the inspiration

and end up a deranged psychopath
on an eight-state chop spree--

an insatiable machine--

always more killing,
more killing, more killing!

I'm quite sure
you'll end up

with a life of great taste...

More killing...

Great taste...

More killing...

Great taste...

(screaming)

Turns out they were both wrong.

Hold still, you moron!

Kill me. Kill me, please.

That's it! I'm getting out!

I got to get out
of this house.

I'd rather you didn't.

I can't stand it.

I can't live with this kind
of pressure.

I'm calling an institution.

I want to be locked

in a padded room where I can't
change anything.

Put down that phone.

The woman you'll be marrying's
about to call.

(ringing)

Don't pick it up.

She's trying to murder me.

Nothing's happening.

Finally.

That one didn't change me.

Hmm-mm.

Think again, girlfriend.

Please! You have to stop!

I can't keep having
different mes

popping in and out of my house.

Perhaps I'll be a refreshing
change of pace.

James Madison.

I took advantage
of your continuum rip

to clear up a few things
about the Constitution.

Freedom of speech is absolute

and applies to everything
and everyone, no exceptions,

and Joe Average does not have
a Constitutional right

to own a gun, for God's sake.

We're not stupid.

Gesundheit.

I'm you
three seconds from now.

I don't care who you...

(sneezes)

are. I want you
out of my house.

Thanks a lot.

No, that's not
too much to ask.

All I want to know is whether

I should go to the recital
or not.

Is that too much to ask?

Stop doing that!

Stop doing that!

Why are you repeating
what I say?

He's from two
seconds behind you.

I'm from 12
seconds ahead.

You're what?!

You're what?!

Stop that!

Stop that!

Will you please
Will you please

stop repeating
stop repeating

what I say?
what I say?

(screams)
(screams)

Ow! My ears!

Yes, it could.

This couldn't
This couldn't

get more
get more

annoying.
annoying.

And tell the other one

to stop answering
before I say anything.

Sorry.

Ow! My ears!

I'm not from any
particular time!

I'm "Speaks Unnaturally Loud"
Duckman!

Where I come from,
everyone talks like this!

Ow! My ears!

Ow! My ears!

You want to keep it down?

I got
a splitting headache.

I can't stand it!

Just tell me if I should go
to the recital.

Go to the recital.

Don't go to
the recital.

Go!

Don't go!

Go!

Don't go!

(screaming)

(sobbing)

(group chanting continues):
Go... Don't go...

Go... Don't go...

Wow! I'm really here.

This is my future.

You're me.

Who are you?

I'm you 18 years ago.

I was about to get married

when I suddenly
found myself here.

So I guess
you know my future, right?

I mean, how often do you get
a chance like this?

There are some things
I got to know.

For instance, my marriage--

Am I doing the right thing
marrying Beatrice?

Do we grow old together?

You're going to love her
until the day you die.

Maybe I don't need
to know any more than that.

All right. All you mes,
get in here now.

I don't care
if you know what

I'm going to say,
or if you disagree with me

or if you think
I'm making a mistake or what.

I'm gonna talk
and you're all gonna listen.

I just realized that the best
thing about life

is that we don't know
how it's going to turn out.

Being surprised is all we have
to hold our interest.

And, as far as I can tell,

your life ends when you start
trying to control your fate.

I don't want to know
how every move I make

affects my future.

I'm just gonna do
what I think is right

and hope everything turns out
for the best.

I'm making my own decisions
from now on.

And I'm gonna start
with this one.

ALL:
No!

I know for a fact
your insurance won't cover this!

(orchestra tuning up)

(breaking wind)

Say, handsome,
there's someone out in the lobby

who needs to speak to you.

He says it's urgent.

Very well.

Oh, my.

You suppose he'd be interested

in any other kind
of surrogate work?

Now, what's so important...?

Don't worry,
it's physically impossible.

Sit down!

Stand up!

Open the door!

Don't open the door!

(all chattering)

(screaming)

Hey, hey, nay-sayers.

Well, inspect my butt
for flying monkeys.

You actually showed up.

Dad!
I've been holding my breath.

Well, I'm here now.

What does that have to do
with me holding my breath?

Duckman, do the twins
know you're here?

Yup, I caught them
right before they went onstage.

I told them the only father
they'll be having

now or any time
in the future is me.

I finally learned that analyzing
every move you make

for its possible effect
on the future

is an insane and empty exercise.

For example: I chose
to sit here, in this chair.

I could just as easily
have sat in that chair.

Makes no difference at all.

I'll... just...

The two most dreaded words
a man can hear.