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Why Do Ducks Apply To Oxford If They're Not Allowed In? An Interview With Sir Mallard Jones.

Sir Mallard, a mallard, wears a top hat and monocle. A heart-shaped box of "Mozart Was A Mallard: Fine Chocolates for Ducks" sits behind him. This is an advert. In the background: A piano keyboard.
Sir Mallard Jones advertising his new product. Duck photo: Zdenek Machacek via Unsplash

Duck and Chucks,

I, your trusty duck blogger, am here with my frenemy Sir Mallard Jones. Why? Because Mallard wants to talk about the quackduckery of his education. He's already told me about it, but I remain super-ducking confused, so this is an opportunity to try and be less confused.

Let's have at it:

Duck T: Now, Mallard, over a sushi lunch last weekend, you told me you had a terrible time when you were a duckling because of too much privacy. Can you tell us more?

Mallard Jones: This is a simple misunderstanding, old chap. I went to a private school for ducklings. That is all.

Duck T: But hold on a plover-ducking moment! What school isn't private?

Mallard Jones: I'm sorry?

Duck T: The majority of duckling schools are underground, yes? Zero windows? No way of looking or listening in? Nice and sheltered, to avoid rain and quackduckery? So, how much more ducking private can you get?

Mallard Jones: No, no, no, Duck, my strange little badger! My school was private—as in, my mothers paid for it.


Mallard Jones: No, my good fellow! They paid the school fees!

Duck T: Oh! Now, this is very disturbing. Education ... CAN BE PAID FOR?

Mallard Jones: Absolutely.

Duck T: This seems like total beak-brained lunacy! It's like charging you for a bank account!

Mallard Jones: In my humble opinion, as a duck with a title, a suave wardrobe, a castle, a motorboat, two best-selling memoirs, and a luxurious brand of champagne truffles called Mozart Was A Mallard, paying for something doesn't necessarily make it better.

Duck T: I am completely beak-smacked. You can PAY for EDUCATION?!

Mallard Jones: You're finding it a little tricky to wrap your beak around this one, aren't you, old man?

Duck T: But education is what happens when the sun comes up, or when the herons fly past, or when the geese start honking the National Anthem, or when your duck tax form makes no ducking sense, so you have to go and ask your boss, Goose Luce. Education happens naturally, if you just ducking let it. So why the duck would you pay for it?

Mallard Jones: Well, someone has to pay the teachers. They do extremely important work, don't you know.

Duck T: Okay. Yes. That's a very good point that I had not considered. But doesn't that come out of our duck taxes?

Mallard Jones: Well, in my particular instance, my paid-for education at Saint Quacktor's Educational Lodge for Upper-Crust Drakes meant I had to learn to play the harp, take five courses in "How to Hobnob," be bullied very badly for the shape of my beak, learn to tell the difference between pond water and chamomile tea, and apply to Oxford University, even though they don't accept ducks.

Duck T: They BULLIED you? That's out-ducking-rageous!

Mallard Jones: Indeed. They called me "Banana Beak."

Duck T: Mallard, you're my frenemy, but I wouldn't even wish that on my enemy! They bullied your banana, then made you APPLY to OXFORD?!

Mallard Jones: Indeed they did. It was quite the to-do. You really do have to put your beak to the grindstone to officially fail to get into Oxford University. Fortunately, I came through with flying colors, in spite of a grueling interview. They asked me about someone called Queen Victoria—I thought a "Queen Victoria" was a cake!

Duck T: You had to do an interview to NOT get into Oxford?

Mallard Jones: Well, the interview is what makes it official, you see.

Duck T: Well, there we have it, folks. Firstly, education can be paid for—but the teachers deserve it, so bravo. Secondly, some ducks see it as a plus that they officially failed to get into Oxford. And thirdly, I, Duck T, now need to take a nap.

Mallard, thank you for graciously giving us a little of your time, even if our discussion was completely ducking beak-brained.

Mallard Jones: It's my pleasure, Duck T. And I entirely return the sentiment. Now, would you like a champagne truffle—from my new brand of truffles called Mozart Was A Mallard, in case I haven't mentioned them—and a spin in my motorboat, The Mallard?

Duck T: Mmm. I'll try a truffle. Oh hey! You don't happen to have an affiliate program, do you?

Thanks, friend! Want to stay in touch? Yay! So do we! So why not follow us on Instagram and/or join our d-mail list?


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