7 Comments

A regular tinhorn ducktator.

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Before we concentrated on pork and laying hens the farm I'm on had ducks. They shit more than any other animal on earth and kept vacuuming up the food I placed outside for the outside cats. The ducks had a particular preference for shitting inside garages and workshops as well as any porch or outside table. I don't condone vehicular manslaughter of them but give me chickens any day.

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Duck Done Nasty -- the kink-grindhouse version.

Because even a chicken needs a night off every now and then.

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If he had hit Canada geese instead, Campbell would have had to guide his coasting car to a landing in the river nearby.

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I had never heard of a duck press before I saw it on Bourdain's show last year, and now I want a reason to have one. Not many uses for a legit torture device in a modern kitchen. Not enough to eat the duck, we must squeeze out it's life essence so that it can be mopped up with cous-cous.

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"Sorry, ducks!"

This kind of apology gives apologies a bad name.

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That would just leave a tangled web of defeet.

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