In Thunder, Lightning, or Ducker's Doopermarket


Duck (a stuffie) is sitting in Duckle's Shoes, trying on a collection of various types of fuzzy slippers. He seems to have chosen the bunny slippers.
Duck trying on flipper-slippers at Duckle's Shoes

Ducks and Clucks,


Great news! I, your humble duck, am getting dramatic! After two grueling auditions, I have been cast as First Duck-Witch in William Beakspeare's Duckbeth. I had hoped to get the title role, but that, of course, is going to Mallard Jones who has the swanky upper-class British accent and a whole beak-load of acting training. But that's okay! I want my frenemies to do well, because that's the kind of duck I am.


After I found out the good news last Saturday, I decided to celebrate by investing in a brand new pair of flipper-slippers. My last ones have gotten all oily, you see, because I have very oily duck-skin. Riley keeps trying to slyly throw them away, actually. The last time I found my flipper-slippers in our own trash can, Riley actually claimed that they thought the flipper-slippers weren't mine.


"Then whose did you think they were?" I asked.


"Riley assumed a burglar had abandoned them at our place," said Riley.


I said, "Well, if there was a burglar, what the duck did they steal?"


To which Riley replied, "They weren't a normal burglar. They were a gift-burglar."


"A what?" said I.


"Gift-burglars are birds who own terrible stuff," says Riles, "so they break into other birds' houses in order to get rid of said terrible stuff without going to the embarrassing trouble of putting it in their own trash can."


Un-be-ducking-lievable.


Anyway, there I am in Flip Me, [That's a flipper-slipper chain store, chucks—Star] having my flippers measured, when who should sit down in the seat next to mine, but Mallard Jones. Turns out he spotted me through the shop window. (I actually think he may have stalked me there.) So Mallard starts waxing duck-lyrical about the play and how I "shouldn't be ashamed" of only having a small role.


"Small," I say, "but integral."


That shut his beak pretty sharpish.

Anyway, turns out Mallard's just bought his own copy of the play, so, while the store-goose is measuring my second flipper (because one of my flippers is bigger than the other) I start to flip through Duckbeth. And oh my ducking gosh! The quackduckery! I honestly have very few lines, but the lines I do have seem to be rife with product placement. Seriously, I have to say, "When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in Ducker's Doopermarket?" [Waterfowl do love their supermarket chains—Star.]


"This can't be the original play!" I say. "William Beakspeare wasn't about product placement."


"It shocked me too, my fine fellow," said Sir Mallard Jones, who speaks in that fruity sort of way. "At the point where my character is meant to hallucinate that I see a dagger before me, this version has me saying, 'Is that a McDuckelo's Pondweed Haggis I see before me?'"


"What?" I reply, perplexed at this quackduckery. "But that doesn't fit with the storyline!"


"Actually, old chap," says Mallard, "in this version of Duckbeth, my character kills everyone by knocking them over the head with a pondweed haggis. It does seem a little cheap, wouldn't you say?"


"It's a ducking disgrace!" I reply.


Anyway, long story short, Mallard called the director as soon as he got back to his castle. [Correction: he got his butler to call the director, then, once the number had been dialed, Mallard took the receiver so he could do the talky bit—Star.] Apparently, this phone call was quite the ducking discussion. But Mallard, being much better than I am at all that negotiation business, discovered just how much cash the amateur dramatics group is making through all this product placement.


Turns out Mallard haggled so brilliantly with the director that everyone now gets paid to be in Duckbeth! The downside is that Schubert's Strawberry Duck Milk is now "the milk of human kindness," and "Double, double toil and trouble" is now "Double Bubble's Flipper Scrubbers."


Yes, the play makes less sense, but yours truly get to take Riley to Vegas this July. And in my humble opinion, some things are worth the sacrifice.


Bless your flippers, William Shakesbeak.


Loves ya,

Duck