Ducks and Chucks,
Here, my friends, lies the truth: There's no such thing as a "basic duck." Yet here's what I've been hearing on the pond over the last few weeks:
"Don't ask Sir Mallard to look after your eggs. When it comes to emotional intelligence, he's a basic duck."
"No basic ducks will be allowed at the Bantam of the Opera afterparty."
"If you get a yen to drop your Starduck's cup in the pond, remember: don't be a basic duck."
The truth is, ducks and chucks, if we start thinking one type of duck is better than another, we're in big ducking trouble. I mean, come on! The quackduckery of it all! So, I've decided to educate the pond about the dangers of saying "basic duck."
This mean-spirited beak-slop of a phrase came into existence because of King Duckanory III. As ducks, we no longer have a monarch, but in the nineteenth century, King Duckanory III made a law that all ducks who were deemed "basic" would be [vegans and vegetarians, there's a meat reference coming...] served on a bed of wild rice with a side of mash and a raspberry coulis. Why there had to be sauce involved is beyond me. I have it on good authority that even plush ducks taste excellent in the flesh.
The idea behind the extinction of "basic ducks" was apparently to "better the future." Of course, the whole plan was deeply cruel and a flipper-slapping mess. Politically, it was devastating. Ethically, it was feather-brained. Digestively, it was pond-quivering. And speaking as a duck who loves raspberries, I've heard there were none left to sprinkle on your pondweed flakes in the morning.
But you know why the law was axed in the end? Because what our feather-brained monarch had actually done was to roast all the ducks who were different to him, so all his duck conversations had gotten REALLY DUCKING BORING. Plus there was no one left to fix the king's prize moped. (Apparently, the ability to fix a moped was deemed "basic" in the nineteenth century, which goes to show how riduckulous this whole sham was.) Also, as I'll be telling the pond at tomorrow's pond meeting, just because you think a duck is basic doesn't make them basic. It's honestly more likely to imply that your thinking needs some work. After all, every duck is precious and makes each pond a far better place.
So here I am, defining a phrase I'll soon be banning. Yes, I have suddenly become aware of the irony of this. But am I still going to press the publish button? Yes I am. Because our histories are important. Also, Star pays me by the word.
Hang in there, my human friends. I know it's bad out there. I'm sending HUGE flipper-hugs.