Memoirs of a quack face
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“The detective never went anywhere without his little yellow hammer.”
Here I stand. Waiting... waiting for the crumbs to fall. Fall. I need crumbs. They keep me alive, I love crumbs.
The crumbs of the world
The world contains many crumbs. I love crumbs. The crumbs fall into the water. They leave ripples.... ripples of joy. I eat them. I love to eat them. The crumbs are wasted sometimes. Wasted. They are thrown out. Into the trash. I am sad when that happens. I fight other ducks sometimes. Fight to the death. I eat the crumbs if I win. Oh, the glee I get from crumbs. I savor bread crumbs the most.
I say quack.
I say quack. All ducks say quack. They say quack unless they are deformed and disturbed. Instead they say pacack. Pacack. I don't like disturbed ducks. They act like retards. It is not good. It is not fun. I like to throw algea and stuff at retard ducks who say pacack.
I protect a convict.
I have issues in my life. One night after coming home from swimming practice I ran into a shady figure. Shady. It was a bullfrog. He escaped from prison after he ate the queen's pet fly. He ate it. Ate it. I keep him in my cellar so he doesnt get caught. He is happy there. I am happy here. Happy.
- Fredric Featherbottom, A quack face.
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