(duck quacks)
(cars honking outside)
Gasp.
Excuse my uncharacteristic,
near-dementia level of excitement,
but I seem to have solved the FitzWalter case.
I proved that his wife is part of a sinister conspiracy
involving the international arms trade,
a renegade band of Cuban drug runners
and three members of the cast of Friends.
Corny, what's a three-letter word
meaning "opposite of night"?
Oy.
Hmm. Two Y's?
Mr. Duckman, the IRS called again,
and in the interest of full disclosure,
we've collected all your receipts
for the past 15 years.
We're not sure it's deductible.
Should we
send it anyway?
Oh, why, certainly.
Being open and honest
with government agencies
that want to put me in prison for the rest of my life
is one of my passions.
Why don't you fax it to them-- in person!
(both screaming)
(screaming)
(muffled screaming)
Now, where was I?
"Two-letter word that's a common greeting."
BERNICE: Prepare to die, you pus-colored canker sore
on the mouth of humanity!
Hmm, too many letters.
Whoa!
This is your son, Duckman.
Please, it's depressing enough that we're related.
He's deeply unhappy and you know why?
Okay, so I should have asked
before selling his rabbits for testing,
but, damn it, mascara makers got to live, too.
Tell him.
I'm unhappy because deconstructionism has lost much
of its moral force as a technique in literary analysis.
Also because Dad won't play in the father/son picnic games.
See?!
Well, as it happens,
I've been lusting for the chance
to bond with my son by passing him
an orange with my neck,
but Corny and I are in the middle
of a very important case.
(sobbing): Please leave.
(snorts): I'll do anything.
Please, just go.
Get out. Get out, please!
(shuddering)
Male menopause.
Good news, son!
A small block of time just opened up,
and I want you to know
that aside from other things I'd rather do,
there's nothing I'd rather do than spend that time with you.
(car engine revving)
Look at that weaselly psychiatrist Stein.
He thinks he's so hot
just 'cause his son can bend his knees
and breathe at the same time.
I'll show him.
Practicing for the picnic games, huh?
Well, my boy Ajax is such a jock,
he's already been indicted for gambling.
I'm sure he's very talented.
You saying Ajax is a klutz?
A clod? A mud-hugger? An elbow-eater?
A blinking bumbling boob who'll make a fool out of himself
and more important-- me, every time he tries to move a muscle--
assuming he has one?
Well, a hundred says me and my kid
will clobber you and your kid in the games.
Mr. Duckman...
You calling me cheap?
Two hundred.
I have no desire to bet.
That's it! 500 and the deed to my house.
Well, not my house,
it's my wife's house, only she's dead,
and she gave it to Bernice,
but I pay rent on it-- or at least I did once or twice.
Okay, once. Okay, the check bounced.
Okay, forget the deed to the house.
Make it 550.
How did he do that?
Damn shrinks and their mind games.
Ajax, son, do you have any athletic ability at all?
Sometimes, late at night, I can smell my intestines.
Is that an event?
Exhibition only this year.
Damn.
(school bell ringing)
(kids chattering)
Excuse me.
Do I sit anywhere?
This section is reserved for people
with just one name.
I'm Ajax.
Coolio.
Have a seat.
Excuse me, Coolio,
but I couldn't help noticing
that you look a lot older than the other students.
Are you really stupid?
Actually, I'm a fabulously wealthy recording artist
who's sold over two million albums
and had two #1 singles.
Oh. I'm really stupid.
Didn't you go to high school?
Valedictorian, but I don't have a diploma.
Why not?
Lost it. Moved a lot.
So it's been a while
since you were in high school.
You know, I'm kind of an expert.
It's my third year in this grade
so maybe I can give you some advice.
Always remember: It's not raise your hand
before going to the bathroom.
It's raise your hand, walk to the area with the toilets
then go to the bathroom.
Got it. When's recess?
(chattering)
Yeah, Manny.
Oh, I'm fine.
Look, I got to ask you to cancel the concert tonight.
I have homework.
Okay. Now, how do I tell him?
It's got to be done delicately, with sensitivity...
"Son, how you drop out of the games is up to you--
"crippling injury, communicable disease--
whatever makes you happy, just so you're home Sunday."
Ajax!
Hi.
"Hi," that's it!
Damn, I'm good.
Look out.
That girl's going to get hit.
(crowd cheering)
He saved her life.
She could have been killed.
I wonder if he's that fast in a gunnysack.
Mr. Duckman, if you're here about placing your kids
in an orphanage again, we can't help you.
Your sister-in-law won't allow it.
Oh, yes, my sister-in-law
always has the boys' best interests in mind,
especially when she's parading around in front of them
stinking drunk with nothing on but the radio,
but I digress,
for today I've come about another matter.
You see, I want to adopt a child.
No, not really a child, a... a man,
and to make your minimum-wage job even easier,
I know exactly which man I want to adopt--
the mega-popular singing superstar Coolio.
Now, while his parents still being alive
might present a few, you know, problemos,
I'm not above a little snip-snip
to the old brake lines, if you dig my lingo.
(yells)
Wow! They really do make it difficult to adopt these days.
Well, now what am I supposed to do?
Those picnic games are three days away,
and I'm stuck with a son who's got the motor skills of a mummy
and to make things worse, there's that damned bet.
Everywhere I go, the specter of that diabolical Dr. Stein
follows me, laughing, laughing...
Ha ha.
My plan is working perfectly
for you are my puppet
and I, the puppet master.
Ha ha.
No! Stop! Get out of my head, Stein!
Nobody calls me a puppet
except my actual puppet master, capisce?
Oh, my.
You can't sit out here and swat
at imaginary thought balloons all day.
Here. If you want to gain custody
of a full-grown adult,
just get him to sign this waiver.
(Duckman sobbing loudly)
(sniffling)
Hey, cheer up, mister.
Like my grandma used to say:
"When life gives you lemons,
make lemonade."
She sounds like she was a wonderful woman.
You must miss her terribly.
Not at all. She lives just a few blocks...
Oh, why must those we love die?!
Why must they leave us so alone?
Wait. You're Ajax's father, aren't you?
You're not alone.
But I have so much love to share,
too much for one son.
Ajax says he's got two brothers.
One, three-- you can't reduce this to numbers.
There's no room for your famous Vulcan logic in this.
This is about something you feel here!
What is this, cashmere?
So much love to give!
If loving fatherhood is a crime,
then I'm guilty with special circumstances.
Ajax is a really sweet kid.
You must be a great father.
If only I could find someone,
someone who needs a father like me in his life,
who needs love and companionship.
But who? Who?
Well... there are orphans.
You?
Why, that's crazy.
You already have parents.
Still, it might work. I mean, you're right.
It would be no disrespect to them
to make this humble heart of mine sing once more,
to give my life new meaning
by allowing me to spread
just a little more love in this world
to sign this bothersome, yet necessary, legal form
that will indemnify me from all lawsuits
in the event of death or injury while in my care,
or I could use it to write my farewell note.
No, no, no, no! Please, please.
I'll sign.
Oh, bless you! Bless you!
You don't know how hap-- and there--
how happy this-- and initial here--
how my life has been--
press hard; you're making three copies--
...made complete!
Here you go, Mr. Duckman.
Please.
Call me "Da-da."
(door opening)
Guess who's coming to dinner?
(gasps)
It's C-C-C-C...
C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C...
CHARLES: Before you swallow your tongue,
Aunt Bernice, we'll say it for you.
It's... The guy from my class who's not stupid.
Otherwise known as Coolio,
and for reasons known only to me
and the good Lord above,
he's agreed to become my new son.
Coolio will be living here?
My be-all and end-all?
My alpha and omega? (straining)
A man whose streetwise scowl
hides a heart with more gold
than there is in his posse's teeth?
Whatever you need, whether it's fast money,
loose chicks or theological discourse,
you come straight to your dear old ducky Dad.
He's so cute!
Strap on the feed bag, my boy.
You'll need your strength
when Ajax and I start training tomorrow morning.
Um, Dad, why will baby brother Coolio
need his strength when you and I are training?
Coolio will train with you, pushing you on
to greater and greater heights
by strictly coincidentally
practicing the very same games
that you'll be practicing.
(grunts)
I think my lung just collapsed.
If it's all right,
I'll be lying prostrate in my room.
Oh, right... your room.
Uh, Coolio has taken it over
but don't worry.
I moved your stuff to the biggest room
of them all-- God's bedroom.
Better get out there, son.
I think I saw a couple of chipmunks
doing it inside your pillow case.
Thanks, Dad.
If you'd like, you could stay in my bedroom.
Uh-uh, sonny boy.
That way lies madness.
We got us some bonding to do,
and this time, I won't even use any epoxy.
Hey, Dad, I can't wait for the games tomorrow.
I've been practicing the sack race all morning.
Watch.
Ow... ow...
Ajax, I've got some bad news.
Well, bad for you, good for me.
Ajax, after pretending to give this a great deal of thought,
I've decided to choose Coolio for my partner in the games.
(gasping)
No, no, before you say anything,
let me just assure you,
my original plan was to think of some incredible lie
to let you down easy
but I decided that would be insulting
to you and not worthy of our relationship,
and the only thing I could come up with
involved the space shuttle and an escaped monkey.
So, aren't you glad I told you the truth?
No.
Just consider it another one of life's painful lessons, son.
Whoever said, "It doesn't matter if you win or lose"
must have been riding in the back of the loser bus
covered in human filth.
Yeah, well, maybe we can do the Christmas thing together
unless, of course, I'm too hung over.
(Duckman whistling) (sniffling)
But I wanted to be your partner.
(trumpet playing "Reveille")
(claps)
Up and at 'em, Coolio!
I've whipped up a high-energy breakfast of popovers for you--
each pastry individually injected
with my own special steroi...
uh, protein supplement.
Okay, joke's over.
Hup, two, three!
Speak to me, Coolio! Speak!
You're too young to die!
Duckman, that's obviously just a crude dummy of Coolio.
I was wondering why he had a note pinned to his head.
"Dear Duckman, I have enjoyed staying with you
"and being your adopted son,
but the time has come to go. Love, Coo."
Hey, it's smudged! We'll never know who wrote this.
I'll go out on a limb and guess Coolio.
He's run away from home.
But he can't! Today's the big day!
Luckily, my razor-sharp detective instincts
tell me exactly where to look.
Coolio?!
(flies buzzing)
I'd better not find out
you're behind Coolio's disappearance, Stein.
I bet a lowlife like you'd do anything to win.
Yeah, not that I'm actually making a second bet there.
Mr. Duckman, how can I make this clear?
I never made a bet.
I never intended to accept any money from you.
'Cause you think I'm a welsher?!
That's it, Stein, I'm doubling our bet!
(both sighing)
Yuck, it's like he's inside my head.
Get out. Get out.
Okay. To find Coolio, we're gonna have to
use this doodad I just mail-ordered.
It's your basic spectromographic fluxoscope.
It hones into Coolio's electromagnetic frequency
and leads us straight to him.
Observe.
(explosion)
(screams)
Perhaps we should use more conventional methods
to find Coolio.
You're right.
Look, the fluxoscope burnt Stein's front lawn
in the shape of Ernest Hemingway having sex with a squid.
Assuming Ernest Hemingway stands for "Coo"
and squid stands for "lio",
I think we've got our first lead.
Duckman, your efforts are admirable.
Assuming "admirable" stands for "ludicrous."
But perhaps it would be easier to just go to Coolio's mansion.
It's only five minutes away.
(laughing)
Just go to his mansion?
Oh, yeah, sure.
We'll just go to his mansion.
We'll walk over to where he lives
because it's easier to do that
than a bunch of things that'll just waste our time.
Here we go.
We're walking to his mansion.
Oh, this is much easier.
Here we are-- ringing his doorbell.
(doorbell chimes) Oh, great plan.
I guess he'll just answer.
I was expecting you, Duckman.
A little sooner, though,
given the detective skills you bragged about.
Traffic... you know.
Look, Coolio, son, I'm assuming you just came back here
to pick up some magical sneakers or something,
so why don't I just go wait for you in the car, and you just...
Duckman, I can't compete in the father/son games with you today.
What?! Why not?!
Because it's not right.
I left because you have a real son
who wants to be with you,
and because I wasn't feeling safe anymore around Bernice.
But you agree to be my son.
What about the long-term commitment
we've made to each other?
Damn it, I bought you a Speak & Spell!
I said I'd be your son because I wanted to help you.
You seemed desperate for love.
Well, at least desperate.
Duckman, sporting events aren't about winning.
They're about the love of competition--
the bond created between people trying their hardest--
the brotherhood of all who follow
in one of civilization's oldest and noblest traditions.
Uh-huh. What do you want? 10, 20?
Come on, work with me, kid.
Duckman, if you win the games with me,
it's no victory at all.
Man, that's wack!
Sorry?
"Wack." You know, "weak."
Anyway, do the right thing, Duckman.
Enter the games with Ajax.
Coolio is right, Duckman.
This was Ajax's chance to connect with you,
and he doesn't get many chances.
M-Maybe you're right.
Maybe I do owe it to the kid.
He doesn't ask for much--
just directions to the kitchen every morning.
He is a good boy.
But you're not!
You're out of my will, Coolio!
And you're grounded for two weeks!
Believe it or not, he's getting better.
(squirrel squeaking)
You're doing well.
I think we have a chance to win today.
Hello, son.
Hello.
I'm proud of your efforts, son.
Tomorrow we are sure to win the pie-eating contest.
Oh, how we will consume the mighty boysenberry.
Ajax, I've got something serious to talk about.
Me love squirrel.
Ajax... Squirrely...
Ajax! Squirrely...
Ajax, listen. For the past few days,
a man has been staying in our house.
I... I don't know if you noticed him.
(squirrel thudding) Huh, I thought they flew.
Anyhoo, what I'm trying to say is, I...
I've failed you once again.
I don't know what's wrong with me.
This is like the, I don't know, third time in your life now
that I've failed you.
Why do I keep doing this?
Maybe it's because once... long ago,
somebody's father let down his son.
And that boy's never gotten over it.
I never knew that happened to you.
Well, it might have been a Sanford and Son.
The point is, Ajax,
I want to enter the games with you.
You and me together. For better or worse.
What do you say, son? Are you in?
I'm in, Dad.
That's my boy!
Now, quick, we only have a few minutes
before the games start.
Better stretch out a little. Here, like this.
(Bones creaking)
Okay. We're stretched.
(snarls)
(crowd cheering)
(blows whistle)
(gulps)
(burps)
(crowd cheering)
(whistle blows)
(screams)
(yelping)
Ah! Ooh! Ooh! Stop! Eh! Ooh! Ooh! Ah! Ow! Ooh!
(crowd cheering)
(whistle blows)
(groans)
(crowd cheering)
The father/son picnic games are officially over,
and we can all be thankful for that. Am I right?
(crowd cheering)
I now present this year's champions...
Ben and Lionel Stein.
(crowd cheering)
I am ecstatic.
Ditto.
(crowd moans)
(snickering)
The longer Stein's unconscious,
the longer until I have to pay him.
Let's now welcome our most-improved competitor, Ajax.
(both gasp)
(crowd applauding and cheering)
I don't understand.
Dad and I finished last in every game.
You shot 14 people during the archery event.
I'd say that's an improvement over last year's 26.
Wouldn't you?
(crowd cheering)
And now to celebrate the Olympian spirit displayed today
and because plugging a song
is the only reason pop idols appear on a show like this
let's welcome to the stage the one, the only... Cujo!
(crowd cheering)
* Get on up
* Every ghetto got a different name *
* But they all the same
* So Coolio Loco goin' put you up on game *
* We got homeys who sell straps *
* Homeys who sell (bleep)
* Homeys who sell the bomb (bleep) Compton phat doves *
* Givin' the neighborhood blood *
* Buildings play a substance hole for thieves *
* Gangsters and thugs
* Scrappin' over who-knows-what *
* The loudmouthed one loc'd up *
* In front of the ice-cream truck *
* And broke all her lee nails while all the BGs bail *
* The little homey be getting out of camp *
* This time, he might get stuck *
* Attempted 1-8-7 and he a minor won't cry *
* So the D.A. wants him tried as an adult *
* The big homey just had a son, no jokin' *
* I think his baby mama is smokin' *
* 'Cause she's always broke *
* Old G's joinin' the nation and it's all good *
* BGs is retaliatin' *
* 'Cause the enemies done crossed out the hood *
* (bleep) mama smokin' whole county checks *
* (bleep) dealers who serve nickel pieces for sex *
* Be it wrong or right
* Right, right *
* These are the ghetto highlights *
* Young's going to school to be a doctor *
* Late-night sounds of gunshots and helicopters *
* Be it wrong or right
* Right, right *
* These are the ghetto highlights *
* To all the mother (bleep)
* Who think they (bleep) don't stink *
* Rollin' ODs and in the pen for robbin' banks *
* Be it wrong or right
* Right, right *
* These are the ghetto highlights *
* This is just a little somethin' from a (bleep) *
* That's still gonna be a (bleep) *
* If he don't get no bigger *
* Be it wrong or right
* Right, right *
* These are the ghetto highlights *
* Get on up
(fading out): * Get on up...
DUCKMAN: Man, that's wack.