(duck quacks)
(Duckman slurping and eating noisily)
Mmm... mmm...
(gobbling)
The boys are still visiting Bernice in Washington?
Yes.
Hey, is that a new suit?
Why, yes, yes, it...
was.
Don't you look in a mirror before you go out?
Quel slob!
Hey, uh, Bev, the grub's okay, but FYI,
try not to mix "cutting food" with "slurping food."
All this utensil shifting is slowing me down!
What chef doesn't love to hear that?
Corny, would you like some crayfish étouffée ?
That would be splendid.
Thanks.
(Duckman laughs)
"That would be splendid."
Why not just hang a sign around your neck saying,
"I want to boink you"?
You can use mine. It's, uh, around here somewhere.
Mmm.
This is fabulous!
Bev, are you sure you're not Cajun?
(both tittering)
Excuse me?
How come he gets to use language like that?
That word offends not just me, sir, but all womankind!
How dare you refer to that most prized, intimate body part
the toy surprise in the Cracker Jack box of love
in such a crude and tasteless manner?
"Cajun" is the style of cooking you just ate 11 pounds of.
Oh.
Then what's "Thai" again?
Bev, if you like Cajun cuisine,
you should meet my Aunt Jane.
She lives on a catfish ranch in Louisiana.
Who cares about Louisi...?
Wow, I'd love to go to Louisiana.
Ah, Louisiana...
City of Lights on Asia's emerald isle!
Bev, I was planning to visit Aunt Jane
in the other Louisiana this weekend.
Why don't you come along?
Wow, I'd love to!
Hmm? What's with Cornfed and Bev?
Methinks my old partner is trolling for trout
right here under my sniffer.
This is very bad form, indeed.
If anyone's going to get to "pound the percale" with Bev,
it should be me.
Until Cornpone came around trying to get his dud milked,
Bev was getting to know the real me,
the me I have inside,
the me I've never been to, the me that's not half-bad,
or if you're a pessimist, not half-good.
Given enough time and medication,
Bev would definitely fall in love with me.
And given enough typing monkeys,
she could write the works of Shakespeare.
(chuckling) "Typing monkeys."
(imitating monkey howling)
(door closes)
What the...?
Wait! I'd love to go with you!
Louisville, Indonesia, here we come!
(gasps)
Well, as I live and breathe.
Willebald.
Aunt Jane.
These are my friends.
No, don't tell me. I ought to know
from what you've been writing about in your letters.
You must be Beverly!
Even prettier than Willebald described you!
Oh, you're sweet.
Thank you.
And you must be Duckman.
Why, from Willebald's letters,
I'd have thought you literally had a penis for a head.
Charmed.
How are things going, Aunt Jane?
Not too good.
I can barely make my loan payments.
My hands are fixing to drive my herd to Texas.
I'm afraid it's my last chance to save this ranch
where my pappy and his pappy before him lived and died.
Yeah, great story.
Which way to the spa?
Oh, look, we ain't got nothing fancy here.
Beverly here can have my spare room.
I hope you boys would rough it with the ranch hands.
If by "rough it," you mean a room
without a minibar and free hookers,
then, uh, we have a problem.
Duckman, we really should bunk
with the ranch hands.
Huh? What, are you Amish?
Hmm. Cornfed, listen to you.
"Bunk with the ranch hands."
Muy, muy macho.
Yeah, bunkin' in the bunkhouse
sounds like a right plum puddin' idea there, matey.
Now, if'n you'll 'scuse me, little pards,
I got to go rope me some steers,
bust me some broncs and cow me some pies.
Nice shootin', Tex!
Though loogie-hawking will cost you serious points
in the better bed-and-breakfast guides.
Who the hell are you?
I guess they don't get cable.
Well, Clem, I just so happen to be a personal guest
of a certain lady by the name of Aunt something-or-other.
So, you'd better start treatin' me right,
or she'll Shania your Twains for good.
Hey.
Gotcha!
(growling)
(whimpers)
Oy vey.
(fighting sounds)
DUCKMAN: Ooh-ooh, ow, ooh-ooh!
Stop, ow, ooh-ooh!
(glass shattering, Duckman grunting and yelling)
(fists smacking blows landing)
(grunting and yelling, fighting sounds continue)
(sustained grunting, yelling and fighting sounds)
(gun cocking)
You stay out of this, Miss Jane!
This don't concern you.
Everything on this ranch concerns me.
Fun's fun, but that there's a guest of mine.
Now, go on, git!
All of you, go on!
You're fired!
Duckman, are you all right?
Oh, yeah.
(coughs)
Just a... just a little winded.
(door opens, footfalls)
If he's here to hit me,
I'm counting on you to kill me first.
(coughs and gags)
Easy, Cindy.
I ain't gonna hit ya.
(inhales)
Ah...
Yet.
Name's McBastard.
Big Jack McBastard.
Now, listen up,
you stinkin' little puddle of girly vomit,
those men you just got fired were supposed to help me drive
2,000 head of catfish to Texas.
Now, how am I gonna move them catfish by myself, huh?
I, uh, don't, uh...
He's right.
If those catfish don't get to Texas,
Aunt Jane will lose everything.
See? All's well that ends well.
No, Duckman, that's bad.
There's only one thing to do.
We have to help drive those catfish.
Oh, what a wonderful idea.
You are nuts!
I'm not going to waste my vacation
on a bunch of catfish!
Duckman, come back.
(door slams)
(tires screeching)
*
Ooh!
*
(band plays flourish)
Hey, wait!
Corny and Bev sleeping under the stars?
With him looking like a big hero?
(hoofbeat)
(yelling)
(screaming)
(crashing)
Ow!
It's going to be a long ride.
There she is--
hell's toilet.
The days are so hot, they can boil your brain,
and the nights are colder than David Caruso's film career.
Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!
(coyote howling)
(playing melancholy tune)
Well, good night.
Make sure you get a good night's sleep.
Tomorrow we've got a date with the Rio Grillo--
orneriest river you'll ever cross.
The Rio Grillo took my pappy, my pappy's pappy,
my pappy's pappy's pappy...
And your pappy's pappy's pappy's pappy?
Bought himself a condo in Laughlin.
Maintenance fees are steep,
but the social life keeps him young.
Oh... catfish are jumpy tonight.
Be careful.
One loud noise and we'll have us a stampede
and we don't want that.
Bev, I'm glad we're alone.
DUCKMNAN: Yo-ho!
I was just securing the perimeter.
Hey, you brought the old licorice stick, eh?
Bev, did you know that I'm often called
"the Joe Satriani of guitar players"?
Here, let me show you how it's done.
No, Duckman!
The catfish!
(plays opening notes of "Roundabout")
(singing off-key) * In and around the lake
* Mountains come out of the sky *
* They stand theeerrrrre!
No! No!
(strings vibrate discordantly)
(rumbling)
Stampede!
Head 'em off! Move!
(neighing)
Help! Somebody help!
Hold on tight, Beverly.
DUCKMAN: No, no, no!
I want to be the one who saves Beverly.
This really isn't the time.
(neighing)
(loud explosion)
Nice riding.
Thank you. I was doing this
Princess Margaret sort of thing.
(grunts)
Don't worry, B.J., I'll save you.
Come on, little doggies, kitties--
whatever the hell you are. (groaning)
Whoa, whoa, wait. Backup. Stop.
(B.J. groaning and grunting)
No, go forward.
No, no, forward!
Yike, that's less than ideal.
He's dead.
Dead? Are you sure?
I am now.
No! I won't let the Reaper win, not this time!
Live, Big Jack, live!
You're a fighter,
and this is the biggest fight of your...!
Ohh...
Well, at least he died with his boots on.
He sure did. He...
Say, are those a size nine?
I don't believe it.
Big Jack... dead.
What could be worse?
Thank you, Queen Set-Up.
Where are you going?
I want to die as I lived--
like a sniveling little coward.
Wait, I've got an idea.
Keep... holding... on.
Must... be... strong.
Lips... are... chapped.
(loud snap)
(all yelling)
(high-pitched scream)
(panting)
(voice echoing): Nooooo!
Well, that settles it; I'm taking over.
Say what?
Look, someone's got to
come out and say it.
This trip is not going well.
No, no! It's true.
First Big Jack dies, then the stampede,
and now Corny's whole human-bridge fiasco.
Man, that was wack!
Yep, from now on, I'll be in charge
of this catfish drive in the manly,
loved-by-women-like-Bev way that only I can.
And nothing's going to stop me.
(all growling)
Compadres, I got to tell you.
The news of my ascension
has not received the kudos I thought it would. Now,
if you have issues, it's best to get them out now-- anyone?
Duckman, the reason things have been going so badly...
Well, it's your fault.
(chuckles): I see.
Oh, that's very interesting.
And how exactly is any of this my fault?
You got the ranch hands fired.
And caused the stampede.
And killed Big Jack.
And washed away half the herd.
Whoa! If we all talk at once, we'll never get anywhere.
Let's just chalk up the trip so far
to Cornfed's jealousy of me
and never talk about it again, okay?
Now, here's my plan: Bev, you ride in front,
so the pheromones released by your monthly cycles
can waft back and hypnotically draw the herd forward.
Cornfed, you bring up the rear, checking the trail
for loose change and deposit bottles.
And where will you be during this voyage of the damned?
I'll ride in front of Bev, but facing backward
so I can watch her breasts jiggle.
It's not often you see one horse's ass
sitting on another.
You see? That's the right attitude.
So, Cornfed, if you'll take
your far-from-Bev position, we can get started.
Where's my canteen?
I've confiscated all the water.
You'll get water when I'm satisfied that you've earned it.
Easy, pard.
There's only room for one raisin in this trail mix.
You're going to do what I tell you to do
when I tell you to do it
the way I tell you to do it,
and if can't tell you you've done it,
you'll tell me when you're done doing it!
You're worthless and weak,
and this drive is gonna toughen your hides or kill you!
But, above all, just have fun with it.
(vulture screeches)
DUCKMAN: "Death Wish Trail."
Sounds... manly.
So, Bev, move 'em on!
Eeyah!
Duckman, your craven insanity
is apparently now sunstroke enriched.
So, please focus on what I'm saying.
Just a few miles that way is a town
where we can sell the catfish, eat, drink, rest
and bring all our troubles to an end.
It's one of your gal-poaching tricks, ain't it?
You've got your whole gang ready to bushwhack me--
get me out of the way so's you can have Bev all to yourself.
I know what Bev wants, mister, I do!
She wants me to go...
Oohhhhhh!
All right, fine, fine! Be that way!
You're nothing but no-good varmints,
back-stabbing dogs, scurvy, mutinous curs,
double-dealing, herd-stealing, unappealing, matzo-mealing
rod-and-reeling, hooked-on-a-feeling,
sexual-healing, Friz Freleng, Ezekiel-saw-the-wheeling rats!
So go! Get out of here!
I want nothing to do with either of you!
Duckman, it's not safe for you to stay here.
Well, I'm sure not safe with you two lust-crazy schemers.
Go on! You'll be sorry.
I'm meaner and tougher than either of you will...
Daahhh! A bee! A bee! Aaahhh!
Don't worry. When we get to town,
we'll send someone back for him.
Oh, it's awful.
He's so demented.
He thinks we're having a torrid affair.
Yeah. Imagine.
Betrayed. Abandoned.
Discarded like last week's TV Guide--
and not the special fall preview issue either,
but that crappy kids'-show issue
with that dink Jonathan Taylor what's-his-name on the cover.
That two-faced, two-timing, tutti-frutti
too-ra-loo-ra partner of mine
is gonna sell the catfish, hog all the credit
and then run off to Barbados or Acapulco or Encino with my Bev.
I'll stop him! I'll stop him
if it's the last thing I...
Can't... go on.
Will... die... here.
You can't just give up!
Ye gods!
It's TV legend and star of Welcome Back, Kotter
Ron "Horshack" Palillo!
And I'm here to tell you that you just can't quit.
You've got to get right up and keep going...
keep trying!
That's the only way you'll beat Cornfed
and get that nice gal Beverly.
I will keep trying, Mr. Palillo-- I will.
But before I do, a request?
(whispering)
Very well.
Oh! Oh-oh! Oh!
(sniveling): I've seen it a million times
and, yet, it never grows old.
I did a Love Boat, too, you know.
Good-bye, Duckman!
Dwaaah!
Are you a mirage by any chance?
(grunts): Nope, you're real.
Hi, guys. I sure hope you're not miffed at me
for getting you fired.
You know, it's actually kind of a funny story when you...
(grunts)
'Course, losing your job in this economy is no joke.
Guys, wait, you didn't come all this way just to lynch me.
(yelps)
We sure as hell did.
Wait. I can make you all rich.
(gun cocking)
Why should we believe you?
Hey, I'm tight with Ron Palillo,
and I was just on my way to shoot my backstabbing partner
and rustle his catfish.
If you boys come work for me, I'll cut you in
for say, an industry-standard eight percent?
Quiet! I don't trust you, you Pip-Squeak!
But out of respect for TV's Horshack,
we'll give you a chance.
Fair enough.
Now let's ride!
(player piano playing saloon music)
(cocking gun)
I think it was wonderful
what you did for your Aunt Jane, Cornfed.
You know, a girl could get used to
a dependable guy like you.
But then, there's Duckman.
Yeah, I know what you mean.
A man's got two things in this world:
His good name and his loyalty to his friends.
Duckman may be crazy, but he's the best friend I've ever had.
I respect that.
But we can still fool around
in secret, right?
Oh, definitely.
(gunshot)
DUCKMAN: Cornfed pig?
That's right, you catfish- rustling, partner-swindling,
blowfish-hooting, Connie-Chunging coward!
I'm calling you out.
Oh, please, don't go!
He's crazy!
A man's got to do
what a man's judgment tells him circumstances require.
I always knew this'd happen someday.
I wish you'd told me.
I would have practiced.
Duckman, we can call this off.
Nah.
I'm in a killing mood.
(all screaming)
(spurs clinking)
We draw at high noon.
And just so's you know, my boys have got orders
to shoot you dead no matter what happens.
After you kill me, kill him.
You got it.
(snaps fingers)
Hmm.
(sighs)
Bu-bu-bu-bu.
(whistling nonchalantly)
Hey, my watch says 2:30.
The clock must have stopped.
Shoddy American workmanship.
Draw on three?
Sure.
1-2-3.
Now, it's fair.
You girls still want to draw?
No way!
A guy could get hurt.
Oh, I thought I'd lose you both.
Thank goodness for Big Jack McBastard.
Say, uh, Jack, how the hell did you survive being trampled?
Not to mention being eaten by vultures and buried alive.
(inhaling deeply)
(exhaling sharply)
Long story.
Happy trails, folks.
(horse neighs)
Funny, I've already forgotten who he is.
Hey, uh, I owe you two a big apology.
I had no right to behave the way I did.
I want you to know that if you two were
to start seeing each other, it'd be okay with me.
In fact, I think it'd be great.
Come on, let's go home.
JACK: Happy trails, folks.