03x11 - Pig Amok

[bunniefuu]

[door creaks open]

[whistles]

[quacks]

[woman sobbing]

Bernice, I-I'm so glad
you could be here--

you and the boys,
and, and...

well...

I'm sorry,
Widow Leibner.

I know Harry clearly
stated in his will

that Duckman be kept

at least 20 miles
from his funeral,

but he has a nose
for free food.

Where'd he go now?

He said something
about making a contribution

in Harry's memory.

[sniffing] Huh. This kind of
smells like the john.

Ow! Ooh! Ooh! Aa-ah!

Where's the damn light switch?
It's dark in here.

Whoops. Sorry, fella.
Touch you there again,

I'll have to charge you.
[chuckles]

[loud crashing]
Ow! Ooh!

[groaning]
Whoa...

It's about time,
you plumed plowhead.

Where the hell
have you been?

Bernice, funerals are a
deeply personal experience.

I prefer to mourn
in my own way,

which apparently includes
knocking myself unconscious,

funneling a barrel full of
embalming fluid down my throat,

then having an overweight woman
in a janitor's outfit

smear my face
with rouge and eyeliner.

Hey, I mourn the same way
I celebrate my birthday.

[grunts]

[choked sob]

Oh. Right.
Excuse me, uh, ma'am.

This must be
very difficult

but nobody will ever forget
your husband, uh, uh...

Curly?

Greasy? Bob?

[sobbing]

Uh, Mousse? Red?

Place-for-hat?

Uh, way-up-high-
on-top?

Uh, hand-touching-
the-things-that, uh,

stick-up-
out-of-your-head?

Uh, lots-of-thin-
sort-of-follicle-things

bunched-up-or-maybe-
like-sometimes

in-a-ponytail-or-a-
bun-or-something?

ALL:
Harry!

Doesn't ring a bell.

[grunts]
[crash]

[organ groaning]

This is his funeral.

Will you say something nice?

Okay, okay. Uh... oh, I know.

Mrs. Leibner, your husband
was an honorable man,

who always put
his family first.

Why, it was out of
consideration for you

that he concealed
his rampant h*m*.

[gasps]

In fact, the last thing
he said to me was

"Duckman,
don't tell my wife."

[screaming]
Duckman!

What? It's true.

He was protecting you.

He was afraid you'd think

you drove him to it,
but you didn't.

He said he stopped
caring about you


slept with a man.

[wailing]
There, there,
it's all right.

You can take some comfort,

knowing that Duckman will
someday be nailed in a box

and buried six feet
under the ground, too.

Tonight, maybe,
after he falls
asleep.

Well, it's getting
a bit late.

If someone else would like
to say something

while we wait
for our beloved Cornfed...

Widow Leibner,
in a moment as profoundly sad

as the passing of a life,

a reflection on the gifts
that life gave us

is often the only refuge.

Our time here is forever finite,
and as such, should be measured

not by its length
but by its quality alone.

Though your years together
may seem but a flicker

now that the flame
has been doused,

remember always
how brightly they b*rned

and let that memory
keep you warm.

[crickets chirping]

Sometimes at night,

I grow a second head
under my left armpit.

[all sighing]

It's all about giving them
what they want, isn't it?

[grunts]
[door slams open]

[panting]

Pant, pant, wheeze, deep breath.

Pardon my tardiness,
ladies and gentlemen.

I've been vomiting violently
all morning.

My septum is severely deviated,
and I've already passed three...

Ee-yah!

Four very large kidney stones.

Also, I've got a bitch
of an ice cream headache.

Well, I'm sure if Harry
could see how many of you

came out
on this solemn occasion,

the first thing he'd say
would be...

"Honey... horn-dog...
butt bongo,

ribbed and lubricated
for that feel of real."

[all gasping]

[clearing throat]

I'm sorry.

That was highly inappropriate.

Loin king!

Rear admiral,
squeal like a pig...

[squealing]

[gasping]

So, uh, we are here
in Harry Leibner's honor...

on her, off her.

On her, off her.

Yee-ha, yee-ha, yeee-haa!

To share our memories...

Memories. Mammaries.

Great big swollen mammaries,

meat melons, rib balloons.

"Potent pigs from the past"
for a hundred, Alex.

[snorting]

[sniffles]
The old softy does have
a way with sentiment.

And during all of this,
let us not forget
the widow Leibner.

Hamana-hamana-huh-wah!

[gasping and shrieking]

I'm a superfreak,
super-freaky, ow.

[screaming]

[grunting]

I'm, I'm sorry.

Forgive me, all of you.

Something's happened,
something I can't explain.

But don't worry.

I won't ever, ever embarrass you
like that again.

He's in some kind
of trouble, Dad.

I'm sure
he could use a friend

to help him through
whatever's wrong.

Yep. Hope he
runs into one.

So, who we going to get
to do that eulogy now?

Pardon me.

During Cornfed's
St. Vitus-like convulsions,

this note fell
out of his pocket.

"Things to do:

"Pay the paperboy.

"Pick up a gallon of milk.

Die in 24 hours from
a congenital disease."

Oh, my Lord!

Cornfed,
tell me it isn't so!

He actually pays
his paperboy?

Duckman, this says
Cornfed's going to die!

Die? That would mean another
funeral and more eulogies

and spending another weekend
afternoon with our neighbors.

I've got to do something!
Don't worry.

I'll channel all of my
vast detective skills

into tracking Cornfed down
and saving his life.

Can doors lead outside?

ALL:
Uh-huh.

Corny dying.I had to find him
and talk to him,

but he disappeared.
I checked his usual hangouts.

Well, okay, I have no idea
where he hangs out,

so I went to my usual hangouts,
but no Corny.

So I tried the one place
a man can go

when he wants to be alone.

I've been looking
everywhere, Corny.

Tell me it isn't true.

You don't really have
only 24 hours to live, do you?

Actually, it's


Oh, sorry. You know,
once that Chia Pet sprouts,

you just can't take
your eyes off it.

So, what is it?
What's wrong?

I feel rather awkward
talking about it.

Here, watch this
explanatory documentary

made possible by a grant
from the Chub Corporation

and viewers like you.

[folk music playing]

NARRATOR:
1863-- Vicksburg,
Chattanooga, Gettysburg.

Through the worst rebel fire,

General Travers Dodd Cornfed
leads the Union

to victory after victory.

After the w*r,

he distinguishes himself
in a variety of fields.

CORNFED:
But on this day,
my fellow Americans...

[soprano singing aria]

[bat strikes ball,
crowd cheering]

NARRATOR:
Then in 1875,

while helping longtime
companion Melville Dewey

organize his bookshelves,

a special-delivery
letter arrives.

MAN:
"I seek a favor, old friend.

"Relations with the savage
tribes of Massapequa

"are at an impasse,
"and we are sorely in need

"of the whale bone mines
they control.

"Our corset industry
depends on you, Cornfed.

"Love to Melville.

"President Ulysses S. Grant,
White House, Washington, D.C.

E-mail, President F.
Anachronism dot com."

CORNFED:
"Dear Melville,
I'm writing you this letter

"even though you're
standing behind me,

"reading over my shoulder.

"My country needs me.

"Please look after
my estranged wife

"and my young sons
and tell them of my excitement

"on departing for the wilds
of Massapequa.

I know that an unforgettable
adventure awaits me there."

NARRATOR:
But it is not to be.

While welcoming Cornfed,
the tribal elder says,

"This is my only daughter.

Isn't she beautiful?"

But Cornfed speaks
only a little Massapequan

and translates it as

"I would consider
it a great honor

"if you would make
loud donkey sounds,

then pretend to vomit
at my feet."

The results are disastrous.

The elder became enraged

and fed him
an odd Massapequan berry,

which actually altered
Cornfed's genetic structure.

Witnesses said he became
like a man possessed,

crazed with lust.



Oddly, years later,

the same affliction
struck his son, Atticus Cornfed,

when he turned 26.

Somehow, the Massapequans
were able to affect the DNA

of not just
Travers Cornfed himself

but the entire Cornfed line.

How? You'd have
to ask either a doctor

or someone who plays one on TV.

We in television medicine
know very little

about the medical impact
of Massapequan berries.

There have been experiments,

most notably by Chad Everett
and James Brolin,

but with no definitive results.

NARRATOR:
And so, from inventor and
adventurer Travers Dodd Cornfed

to private detective

and former rust remover
Willabald Fivel Cornfed,

all males in the Cornfed family
carry a genetic flaw

corrected only by the release
of various chemicals

during the sex act.

At a certain age,

a Cornfed male will be set upon
by strange spells and seizures.

And from the moment they start,

he has 24 hours
to lose his virginity or die.

Willabald Fivel?

[laughing and snorting]

Willabald Fivel?!
[laughing]

I didn't even think

Willa knew a Fivel.
[laughing harder]

Um, remember the dying part?

Oh, yeah. Well, truth is,

I was kind of tuned out
on that part. Wordy.

If that's the kind of thing
smart people watch,

I'm glad I'm, uh...
[chuckles]

What are
not-smart people called?

I have a genetic problem.

I only have 15 hours
to lose my virginity

or I'll d-d-die.

Die! Die! Die! Die-e-e!

Masticate my hot monkey pogo!

Okay.

Yeah, but you must've known
about this, uh... thing.

No, this kind of
problem's

a little awkward
for Dad to talk about, too.

So I had to wait
until yesterday

when he finished
making the tape.

You know how that goes--

casting decisions, rewrites,
this location, that location.

You want it now or
you want it good?
Exactly.

You can't b*at the
production values.

Got it all up
on screen, didn't he?

Anyway, I don't get it.

All the women you've known,
and you've never had sex?

Fed the meter?
Shellacked the furniture?

Jellied the doughnut?
Booted the hard drive?

Sent the pink Mustang
to Lube Masters for a tune-up?

[gulping]

Knickknacked Patty's whack?

Gave Ms. Pac-Man
something to munch?

Cast a secret ballot
for Goomaster General?

Study spermnography?

Point made, and no,

I don't base my relationships
with women on sex.

What else is there?

Common interests,
intellect, a shared humor.

Well, pig of my heart,

if it's sex you need,
it's sex you shall have.

I'm flattered,

but tradition says it
has to be with a woman.

Unless that's not
what you meant.

Uh... no.

Of course that's
not what I meant.

[chuckles]
Don't be ridiculous.

♪

Always start with
the workout freaks, Corny.

Nothing like a woman who
keeps the playground neat

if you know what I'm saying.

And need I even mention
breath control?

Now, go and do it
just like I told you.

You're buffed.

Work out a lot?

Nutrition's important.

Care to chow down on my meat
and two vegetables?

Yep, definite lesbo.

If you're nauseous, don't worry.

It goes away after
a few more times around.

Cultured chicks
spend a lot of time

talking about passionate solos
and crap like that.

Plus seeing all those nude
statues and paintings

makes them horny.

Just give her the line.

[clears throat]

If you let me bow
your stratavarius,

I'll let you
finger my oboe.

We need women who never
meet desirable men.

That's why we're here.

If you can't score at
a Star Trek convention,

you might as well be dead.

Hi. My name's Cornfed.

I was wondering if you
might like to join me
for a cup of coffee.

I'd love to.

I was beginning to wonder

if there was anyone in
here I could talk to.

Jump my bones, McCoy!

Let's say we unplug
our devices,

you check out
my captain's log,

and I'll make sure your photon
torpedoes are fully armed.

[loud crash]

It's so typical of women.

When you weren't
looking for it,

when you didn't care,
they swarmed all over you.

But need it just a little,

and they smell your
desperation a mile away.

Yeah, that was the reason.

Look, there's a half
an hour left.

Maybe we could still...

Quiet! It's over!

It's bad enough I'm
losing my best friend.

Do you have to taunt me
with false hope?

Sorry. I was being selfish.

[both crying]

BERNICE:
Well, Duckman,

being you would
make me cry, too,

but that doesn't
explain Cornfed

unless he really is going to...

It's true, Bernice.

Cornfed is one of those
Massapequan berry-induced,

genetic
reconfigurations.
[gasps]

If he doesn't lose his
virginity in the next
half hour, he'll die.

We've tried everything
We looked everywhere.

I swear the only woman in the
city we didn't come onto is you.

Ah! The agony of it all!

Willabald Fivel,
we hardly knew ye.

How can I go on without you?

Walking into that office
every day,

seeing the place
where your desk was,

but which will now be filled

with that pool table
I've had my eye on.

Though I've beaten
and I flayed you

[loud rumbling]
like sands through
the hourglass,

so were the days of your life.

As it says in Matthew 4:16,

"Nay, though the sibbleth
doth begat

that the serpent be taken
unto thine own breast."

I don't know what it means

but I can always remember it
because of the word "breast."

And the memory of your
charming rendition

of "Seasons in the Sun"
in Latin will forever linger.

BERNICE [moaning]:
Oh, Cornfed!

"Oh, Cornfed" is right.

My friend, my compadre,
you will be missed.

[electrical crackling]

[mellow tune playing]

"If music be the food
of love, play on.

"Give me excess of it;
that surfeiting.

The appetite may sicken,
so die."

My appetite already d*ed

when I realized
you went spelunking

in the forbidden cave.

And will you please
knock it off?

[both gasp]

Look, I understand
big decisions are never easy,

but you really chose her
over death?

This sculpture
is just the beginning.

I've also decided
to petition the Vatican

for her sainthood
and change my name to Cornice.

Isn't it beautiful,
Mr. Duckman?

If more people
were expressing
themselves

as openly as
Mr. Cornice,

this would be a
much happier world.

Well, I don't know
about express-ing

but I'm a big fan

of expresso.

[both scream]

So, where were we?

Ah, right, the battleaxe
you're in love with.

BERNICE:
Duckman!

The post office delivered

your hate mail
to the house again.

Anything worth looking at?

No. Just the usual
death threats

letter bombs and human feces.

You always make it sound
worse than it is.

How do you know
it's human feces?

Hi, Corny.

Swoon.

Down I go.

Cornfed, I hope
you didn't misunderstand

what last night was about.

I still want us to be friends.

Friends? Friends?

But I want you
to marry me.

Marry you?!
Marry you?!

Cornfed, I can't...
marry you.

There are obstacles, sure.

You're a duck, I'm a pig,

there'll be talk, slurs.

No, Cornfed, I,
I can't marry you because...

I don't love you.

[yelling]

So, pot roast
tonight?

You peg-legged
puke-meister!

We've got to go after him

before he does
something horrible!

He just proposed to you.

I'm thinking horrible
is behind him.

[yelling]

You go first.
I'll catch up.

[body thuds]

[seagulls crying]

[police siren wailing]

[circus music playing,
clowns laughing]

Damn police clowns.

Scoff if you like, Duck,

but these clowns
and their delightful antics

have saved many a life.

Pig on the cliff!

Watch this!

[circus music playing]

[chuckling]

Okay, the clowns are good,

but I still don't want to live
if I can't have my love.

I got to go up there

even if it means putting myself
in grave personal danger.

What, all of a sudden
I'm supposed to mean what I say?

Corny!

[yells]

Sorry, I guess I didn't need
the bullhorn.

[straining]

Listen to me, Corny.

I'm more than
just your partner.

I'm someone
who owes you money.

And instead of that money,

I'm gonna give you
some priceless advice.

Don't throw your life away
for that walking hefty bag.

You've insulted
the woman I love.

In the centuries-old tradition
of my family,

I challenge you
to a duel to the death.

You never mentioned
that tradition before.

Dad's making another tape.

[groans]

Stop!

You can't
k*ll Duckman!

Why?

Uh... geez.

Why? Ooh, boy,
that's a stumper.

I thought I had a reason

and then, whoosh,
right out of my head.

Wait! I got it.

Because you're too good
for that, Cornfed.

You're the only genuinely good
human being I've ever met.

That's why
I admire you so much.

Admire but not love.

Corny, wait,
you can't do this.
You can't jump!

There's another reason
you have to stay alive.

What?

Me.

I'm no good
without you, Corny.

I'd be lost
if you weren't there.

You're honest
and brave and wise,

and I'm just...

well, maybe two of those.

Corny, I-I've never really
told you this before--

I've never said this
to anyone before-- but...

I need you.

Corny, you'll meet
the right woman someday,

and I know you'll make her
very happy.

It's okay.
I'll be all right.

If you call
a dead soul

condemned to swim in
a sea of bitter tears

for the rest of
his days all right.

[wind whistling]

Why, it's
Penthouse
magazine

publisher
Bob Guccione.

Hello, Cornfed.

I heard
what you said.

You know, sexual issues

are more complex today
than ever before.

That's why it's crucial
for young people like yourself

not to enter
into any sexual relationship

without first building
a foundation

of mutual love and respect.

Remember, the most sensual
parts of the body

are the mind
and the heart.

You're right, Mr. Guccione.

And, Duckman, I hope you've seen
the lonely, empty existence

that a life of loveless
debauchery can lead to.

I certainly have, Mr. Guccione.

Then my work here
is done.

Now I must return to my empire
of sensual delights,

tantalizing eroticism

and the world's
most desirable women.

Take me with you, please.

Whenever you need me,
I'll be right here.

Remember, the only safe sex
is abstinence...

or fantasy.

If you must have
sex, wear a latex condom.

Which reminds me.

This month in Omni,
"Condoms that think.

Science fiction
or science fact?"

On newsstands now.

Wow. That sure was nice
of Mr. Guccione to come by.

He's everywhere
he's needed, Duckman,

and in your own
perverse, inept,

venal and corrupt
way, so are you.

Willabald Fivel?!

[laughing]

[tribal chanting]

GUCCIONE:
Condoms that think.