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Ducks and Chucks, this is a guest post by my best frenemy Sir Mallard Jones, who is shamelessly plugging my new book, The Ballad of Sir Mallard and the Salad & Other Poems. You can sign up and get your free copy here! Loves ya—Duck T.
Greetings, Ducks and Chucks,
It is I, Sir Mallard Jones. Thanks to my best frenemy Duck T, I am guest-blogging here at Chuckle Duck—or as I like to call it, Le Canard Qui Rit. [Sincerest apologies to our readers. That was French. —Duck T, ed.] Why am I here, you ask? Why indeed.
[Get a move on Mallard! —Duck T, ed.]
The truth is, dear readers, I'm fresh from The Annual Duck-Cake Charity Gala, which I happen to have hosted this year at my own humble home, Mallard Castle. I did so to great aplomb, raising twenty thousand feather-farthings for numerous charities, in spite of near-tragic circumstances. [You aren't ducking kidding. My tail feathers are still steaming—Duck].
To catch you up on the gala gossip, I'll show you the following picture, though please note we have zero evidence that the near-fatal Great Mirror Ball/Frosting Accident of 2020 mirror-ball/frosting explosion had anything to do with the radiant Peacock Riley. Riley is Duck T's partner, and a peacock who I am certainly not flirting with. No, sir. Definitely past that stage. [Suspiciously worded, but a relief nevertheless. —Duck T]
Understand that the theme of the night was frosting and I was therefore judging duckloads of iced cakes—we literally had wall-to-wall duck-cakes. [Duck-cakes are cupcakes for ducks and other waterfowl. —Duck] They were all delicious, except Duck's came out a little singed at the edges [Well, I am beak-smacked, thanks a bunch. —Duck]
Of course, the place was handsomely decorated by yours truly. And what black-tie gala would be complete without at least seventeen mirror balls swinging from the ceiling? Yes, I had my staff Swan Grayson and Goose Gone hang them in the great hall, which is just over my grand bedroom, so that they'd be swinging low. I do cherish things that swing low—I mean, who wants a mirror ball in which they can't see their reflection?
It's certainly true that whoever collided, beak-first, with that first mirror ball, thereby setting off a swinging cascade in which mirror ball collided with mirror ball, over and over, must be feeling pretty shabby. There was flying glass, flying frosting, and worst still, flying glass inside flying frosting. There was rather a lot of terrified squawking, quacking, and honking. Feathers filled the air. During the panic, Goose Luce was unfortunately thrown, beak-first, into Peacock Riley's divine peacockberry pavlova. We had to club together to unwedge Luce's frustated, honking self. No wonder the evening has gone down in history as The Great Mirror-Ball/Frosting Accident of 2021.
Anyway, enough about me! If you, dear reader, would like to read more about myself, my castle, my swanky motorboat The Mallard, and my marvelous adventures [more like ri-duck-ulous quackduckery—Duck], just sign up for the Chuckle Duck e-mail list and you'll receive a download link to The Ballad of Sir Mallard and the Salad & other poems absolutely free-of-charge. [That's by me and Star Williams, folks—Duck.]
Just remember, the ability to make a salad is not associated with waterfowl IQ. [What the duck? Mallard, you're scary. I mean, is IQ still a thing? —Duck T.]
Well, that's all from me, dear readers. And just remember: If you can't make history, make a duck-cake instead.
Yours, in good cheer,
The Honorable Mallard Jones (Sir)