Duck Calls? We have answers. On the record.
It is at this point in the joke a spectator stands UP from the crowd, having seen something and wishing to report, and says :
“I’m sorry, but this is a sexist joke.”
Greatest fear: someone will shout “Duck” whilst I’m looking at a duck and I am then hit by a random flying object. Probably a duck in statuette form.
This is not a dirty joke.
It was dark inside because it is a dark joke because the proprietor had failed to pay the bill.
Coincidentally, the proprietor was a duck.
Funny things happen in jokes, the world over.
The bar was called “the duck billed platypus” which was often a point of confusion.
“But what’s in a name, anyway?” the proprietor quacked. Just a moniker.
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore!”
“No one asked you,” said the duck.
Then the raven lobbed a projectile toward the duck.
Who failed to duck. And was thusly taken out in an untimely manner. Timing was off. Just enough to cause trouble.
The projectile was a cuckoo clock which had stopped. Twice a day corrected.
Even though it had stopped it made quite an impact upon the duck, effecting the disposition of the bill. All clocks stop eventually.
Even a stopped clock is right twice a day
regardless of the impact upon the bill.
Sometimes a broken clock takes time.
Hospitality isn’t all it’s quacked up to be.
The duck billed the platypus three dollars and forty-seven cents.
“Cents? cents? Don’t make no sense,” said the irate duck billed platypus, waiving the bill in the air.
“You say it ain’t fair?” said the duck.
“I say it ain’t square!” said the platypus.
It was quite a confrontation hanging in the air.
Now, the duck billed platypus, he was no fool. He had done and gone to finishing school. He knew what was what, and the meaning of is, he was not new to this turnip truck biz.
“If you don’t like it,” said the duck to his prey, “why don’t you just up and fly away?”
“Mayhaps I will,” said the platypus. “Mayhaps I will.”
Because the duck billed platypus had finally had his fill. Of the duck and his quack, of the thumb and it’s tack, and he was not prepared to say when he would be back.
“Now see here,” said the duck, but the platypus didn’t hear,
Didn’t hear quack. He had flown to New Zealand, Jack.
Every other duck is odd. That’s just ducky.
That’s the way a duck operates.
The Duck double billed the platypus over a plate of flapjacks. It was a society flap. The stool-pigeons saw to that.
But flapjacks are always funnier than pancakes, always.
“After we seize the means of production
we’ll set all those duck statuettes free.
No more to be lined up in neat little rows,
no more ducks placed in order
All the duck statuettes fly away home,
wherever those good eggs may nest.
On the corner of wild and sycamore street,
if that’s what the duck thinks best.”
I hate when something is described as bigger or smaller than a breadbasket. A basket which carries bread CAN be any size.
Council Bluffs, Iowa is home to the “largest breadbasket in the world.” Three people died in the weaving. And for what?
They have proposed the construction of “the biggest little breadbasket in the world.” The very concept boggles the mind. Maximal minimization. Think small is the big picture.
For years philosophers have pondered whether a breadbox which is too small to hold bread can, in fact, be considered a breadbox. This is a slice of life.
What is the difference between a breadbasket and a breadbox? One of them is used to hold bread and the other is used to trap it. But which is which?
When you find a loaf of bread outside of the bakery – that bread is free range. But it is still cruel.
What is the relationship between being the judge of a pie baking contest, and the age old tradition of hiring on a food taster for royals with LOW approval ratings?
“It is a shame,” said the Queen to the jester, “for in addition to alerting me to potential poison, my taster would tell me which was good and which was bad. Indeed. Even which was the best. Two things in case of tie!”
Then the queen laughed. Because the jester did something which invoked the response. However, neither of them considered how social roles would change inevitably through Time: how that which once invoked amusement would eventually become old hat, then unintelligible. Then at last, silly. The role of the jester would change. The role of the royal taster may even be found redundant if the royalty is considered in poor taste. Even the role of the queen herself, for anyone could be a queen, if but for a day, though the Powers would not be what they were.
For the life of a queen these days tends to be a royal drag.
I am afraid it was eaten by ducks. Nature is cruel.
I kept yelling out, in warning, to the bread, “Duck! Duck!” But the bread, sadly, misunderstood. English is tricky.
Veterinarians don’t like caring for ducks because ducks universally consider them quacks & are not shy about telling them so to their face.
After a vet fixes a duck’s bill, damaged in an altercation with a rabbit and a stick of dynamite, this can be rather demeaning.
For the duck’s part, the duck is irritated by the price on the bill from the veterinarian. The duck finds it despicable.
After all, the duck could’ve turned his own bill around. Then strode off in indignation. The latter part he does anyway, bill in hand…
To the sound of the closing credits.
Go to David raffin dot com. For five dollars a month you’ll learn to swim upstream. Its all free spawning from there. Caviar dreams. Until then, All the best fishes grant wishes to dishes.
“Winner Winner!” by Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0
“Someone Else’s Memories” and “Time Flux” from the album “The Politics of Desire” by Revolution Void licensed under Creative Commons Attribution License 3.0.
Grateful acknowledgment thereof.
