Maudlin Mallard misses mate
Daisy deceases; Donald devasted, despondent.
Hi, I am Donald Duck. I’m speaking through an interpreter, voice synthesizer and 44 inch mailing tube in case you can’t comprehend ducktalk.
[Full mandatory disclosure. I am on probation from a charge of excess feather exposure because I refuse to wear pants in public places and have a DA hairdo. It silly, I know. I mean -- my down repels water, covers a multitude of sins and can be shorn off for sleeping bag stuffing in a pinch. What’s more -- Elvis, Fabian and Danny of the Juniors – they never got busted for their hairdo’s. What’s big deal?]
As Official Spokeswaterfowl, I believe I quack for the entire bobbing and floating community of Duckburgh – loon, coot, gallinule, drake, albatross, eiderduck, meganser, widgeon, rubber duckie and Scuffy the tugboat alike – when I say we are all down in the bill about Miss Daisy Duck.
She was on factory tour of the Willbeeegas Food Company. She slipped, tripped and plunged into a vat of boiling kale, cabbage, canellini and cumcurcimin casserole and drowned -- after a bean bubble busted in her face. For that batch, the company had to sadly add boiled duck to the ingredient list.
I have three young blood nephews Huey, Dewey and Louie and also adapted nephews Fooey, Screwie, Hark-Patooey and the runt of the nest, Youtubey. Plus Daisy has three surviving nieces April, May and June -- and a sole nephew, August. All these little ducklings dearly need a new Aunt.
I know no modern day dinosaur damsel can every replace Daisy. But this heartbroken drake would consider hen candidates, If you can shoehorn webfeet into stilettos, apply eyeshadow over facial feathers, and wear lipstick on your duckbill – email me for a possible paddle-by or float-in.
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