When Ducks Go Wrong

A duck is arrested for public lewdness.

They take him to the station house and try to fingerprint him but it all turns into a fucked-up mess of feathers and ink

So they say screw it and just book him.



He is given prison pyjamas but refuses to wear the pants, and craps all over his cell.

Ducks' rights advovocates champion his cause and get him a flashy celebrity lawyer.

"These charges are a quack!" he thunders into a forest of microphones. "I mean, a crock!"

He goes on to publicly demand a little wading pool for his client.



In jail, the duck is nervous. Some of the other inmates may be hunters, or chefs!

He cannot even play basketball in the prison yard, because he is as short as a fireplug and, with his webbed feet, can jump about as well. Besides, he is white; no, I mean really white, like a pillow case.

The duck is brought before a judge.

He is still not wearing pants.

The judge touches his temples, obviously becoming headachey, and asks how does the defendant plead? Does he understand the charges against him? Is he able to assist in his own defense?

"Approach, Your Honor?" requests the celebrity lawyer, solemnly. The judge motions him to the bench.

"My client," intones the attorney mellifluously, "is a goddam duck. He does not speak English. He quacks, er, I mean, craps himself, and flies south for the winter.

Furthermore, he has been given only bread and water while in custody."

The judge stares.

"Isn't that what they eat?"

Neither of them knows what to say next. His Honor bangs his gavel and booms, "Case dismissed!"



Outside on the courthouse steps, a crowd greets the freed fowl.

"Hooray!" they cry.

The duck bites a kid trying to pet him, and, flying away, craps on the upturned cameras. 

"Goddam duck," everyone says.

Plus, he is still not wearing pants.

"Fuck a duck," grumbles the prosecutor, walking away.

Meanwhile, the police arrest a foreign national named Babar...