I, Duckman [1.01]

Duckman: I don't get it. I break for animals if they're big enough to dent my car. I don't pop any zits above the eye line. I treat others the way I'd like to be treated.

Duckman: All right, that's it! I've had it! For all the response I get around here, I might as well be invisible! [starts fading away] I know your mother died. I know she left you and the house to your sister, but I still live here! I'm still the man of the house, and demand to be heard! To be recognized! To be... [fades; Grandma-ma farts]

Duckman: My own family ignores me, and who can blame them? There's nothing special about me, nothing unique. I'm just one more duck detective who works with a pig and lives with the twin sister of his dead wife, three sons in two bodies, and a comatose mother-in-law who's got so much gas, she's a fire hazard.

Cornfed: It's the dream again, Duckman. You're letting it win. I know. I used to have a recurring dream. I dream I fell and hit my head on a fishbowl. Hurt myself just bad enough to work the graveyard shift at a convenience store. A group of Hare Krishnas always came in at 4 a.m. and bought 16 gallons of Mr. Slushi and a package of banana flavored Ding Dongs. Then the Swedish Bikini Team jumped out of a magazine and read Moby-Dick to me inside a giant carton of cottage cheese. "Why?" I'd ask myself. "What could it mean? Am I mad? Or is the world just a mystery too complex to understand?"

Duckman: You hear that, Cornfed? I'm not special. Even my own killer doesn't think so. [Cornfed whacks his face]

Cornfed: Get ahold of yourself, Duckman.

Duckman: It's true, Cornfed. I'm just like that bomber, I... I lost my identity when I lost my wife.

Cornfed: But you still have something he doesn't, remember?

Duckman: His chainsaw?

Cornfed: Your children. You're still the only father they have. That makes you special. No one else could've created the family that you did. [beat] I mean that in a good way.

Duckman: Oh, what's the point? Their own mother didn't think I was up to raising them, [slumps on Beatrice's gravestone] and maybe I'm not. Maybe that's why they ignore me. Beatrice made me a better person. Without her here to help, I'm... I'm just not a very good father.

T.V. or Not to Be [1.02]

Duckman: [dressed as Vincent van Gogh] Who's this supposed to be?

Cornfed: I'm guessing, but I think it's a highly misunderstood painter whose rhythmic linear brushstrokes were an arrogant break from the old masters, and it was so desperate for a unique artistic identity that he was trapped in a hellish downward spiral of hostility, madness and self-mutilation.

Duckman: The beard's cool, let's do it. What about your disguise? [Cornfed opens his fang-filled mouth wide] GRAHH!! Who are you supposed to be?!! [Cornfed takes off fang dentures]

Cornfed: Your agent.

Gripes of Wrath [1.03]

Psyche [1.04]

Duckman: [driving from the hospital] Cornfed... do you think I'm attractive? [Cornfed pauses]

Cornfed: ...Sorry, Duckman. I don't date people I work with.

Duckman: No spam for brains, do ya think there's anything wrong with my bill?!

Cornfed: You mean the fact that it curves to one side? The nostrils don't match. It's covered with nicotine stains, acne, scars, varicose veins, and it whistles when you chew. [he turns to Duckman for a beat] I mean, no. Nothing I can see.

Gland of Opportunity [1.05]

Ride the High School [1.06]

A Civil War [1.07]

Duckman: Bunch of dead-skin no-humor pansies! You tell 'em an icebreaker or two about women's libbers, gays, environmentalists, several minorities, the homeless, couple of religions, anorexics, obese people, the handicapped, old farts, baldness, and people who walk real goofy 'cause they just had a vasectomy, and suddenly they get all sensitive, like I offended one of them or something! Makes you wonder why they asked me to talk in the first place!

Not So Easy Riders [1.08]

Duckman: Did I ever tell you my dad's last words to me?

Cornfed: Mm-hmm -- "Careful, son, I don't think the safety's on."

Duckman: Before that!

It's the Thing of the Principal [1.09]

Bernice: Little bubbly?

Duckman: I know it's the water jets plus that dam digestive problem of mine. I..mm.. you didn't mean the water did ya?

Duckman: Hummana Hummana Howwa

Vanessa La Pert: Very impressive Mr. Duckman, but why are you telling me in Cherokee that you have raccoons in your pants?

Duckman: It looks a lot worse than it actually is.

Cornfed: Not unlike nipple clamps.

[The door knocks]

Bernice: Who is it?

Ajax: Ajax

Bernice: You don't have to knock here, You can just come in here.

Ajax: I knew there was one house I could do that at.

Cellar Beware [1.10]

American Dicks [1.11]

About Face [1.12]

Joking the Chicken [1.13]

[Duckman walks onstage in front of an audience]

Duckman: I know you all came here to see Iggy Catalpa, because you think he's funny. Because you like his style. Because you just plain like him, right?

Audience: Yeah! Yeah!

Duckman: But you just think you do! Because you are manipulated into thinking you do—by him, King Chicken! [Bernice and others gasp in shock to see King Chicken on stage with a cane] He did it the same way they manipulate us into buying toothpaste, car wax, even politicians! All prepackaged a least offensive, most appealing alternative. But it's precisely when humor is offensive that we need it most. Comedy should provoke! It should blast through prejudices, challenge preconceptions! Comedy should always leave you different than when it found you!

[the audience start murmuring to each other]

King Chicken: The rabble seems roused.

Duckman: Sure, humor can hurt, even alienate, but the risk is better than the alternative: a steady diet of innocuous, childproof, 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.

Forbidden Fruit [3.2]

Charles: Mail call! Dad got a package.

Bernice: Hm... a videotape in a plain brown wrapper.

[Duckman salivating and chuckling]

Bernice: From the boys' school!

King Chicken: [after describing his plan to ruin Duckman's life] And why did I do it?

[A crowd outside of Duckman's house speaks together in monotone]: Duckman made you an outside in grammar school, so you wanted to make Duckman an outsider in society. Mwah-ha-ha, bawk, bawk, bawk.

King Chicken: You're fans!

Room With a Bellevue [3.6]

Duckman: [talking with two psychiatrists after being committed to a mental asylum] Sue me, I'm colorful. Doesn't mean I belong in here making potholders with the wackos. Besides, what gives you the right to judge other people, anyway?

Psychiatrist 1: The diploma. Judging people is pretty much the main benefit.

Psychiatrist 2: And the license plates with "MD" on them! You can park almost anywhere.

Duckman: And when you think about it, isn't that exactly the point?

[The psychiatrists look at each other in confusion]

Duckman: Parking?

[Both psychiatrists smile and relax]

Duckman: And driving. And shopping. And eating and working. Somewhere, somehow, they all got chewed up and spit back out, and they don't taste like living anymore. Don't you see what it's like 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.

Duckman: [pauses] Ah, you never forget your senior prom.

Duckman: [suddenly louder] You think I'm sick? Well, the only disease I've got is modern life: a schnutbusting gauntlet of inefficiency and misery that's one long parade of letdowns, put-downs, trickle downs, shutouts, freeze-outs, sellouts, numbnuts, nincompoops and nimrods, all making every day as much fun as waxing a flaming Pontiac with your tongue, where even if you do luck into the possibility of some fleeting pleasure, like say if some nymphomaniac telephone operators with the muscle control of Rumanian mat-slappers agree to a little strip air hockey, it'll be over before it starts, 'cause some vowel-lacking, feta-reeking cab-jockey slams his Checker up your hatchback and the cab is owned by some pinata spanker from a Santeria cult in Xoacalpa who starts shaking chicken bones at you and gives you a boil on your neck so big 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 anyway 'cause some underhanded undertaker sold my heart, pancreas, and other assorted Good 'N' Plenty to that same Santeria 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?!

Bonfire of the Panties [4.6]

Cornfed: [talking about giving Duckman a "love potion" to increase his appeal to women] Given your proven record of mindbogglingly destructive excess we felt giving you more than that would be like giving Michael Jackson a drum of peanut oil and some Cub Scouts. Allegedly.

Role With It [4.7]

Native American: Remember always -- our strength comes from our blood, from our family.

[Duckman and his family pass in a car, bickering loudly]

[The Native stares blankly and sheds a tear]

Dr. Susan Fox: Duckman, I've never met anyone like you, and I don't know you well but this much I do know about you -- you'll fight to have your steak just right, you'll fight not to have to wear a jacket, and you've fought like hell over a hundred times today to get a peek down my blouse.

Four Weddings Inconceivable [4.28]

[At the end of the episode]

Woman: Stop! Stop the wedding!

Duckman: Sold, Sally! Too late! You should've... [gasps]

Fluffy and Uranus: [gasp]

Bernice, King Chicken, and Beverly: [gasp]

[The woman turns out to be Beatrice, Duckman's supposedly deceased wife]

Duckman: Beatrice.

Bernice: Beatrice?!

King Chicken: Beatrice?!

Beverly: Beatrice.

Honey Chicken: Who's Beatrice?

Duckman: My wife. Uh, my, uh, my first wife. I-I mean... [to Beatrice] You're alive.

Beatrice: Well, yeah. Sure I am. Didn't Cornfed ever tell you?

[The crowd gasps]

Cornfed: Uh... Duckman, I can explain.

[Beatrice and Duckman stare at each other for a moment]

[To be continued...?]

[the episode ends]