Muse walked into the shop today. She brought inspiration with her. This was a good thing because this is the one where the bottle truly runs dry. I’ll need more rant juice by next week. Perhaps if I give her the bottle, she’ll take it as a sign. I take it as a sign that Mad Dog stopped into the shop as well and was looking to drag me out for pints. He got fortunate in a backlog of editing, and a friend in from out of town. I, unfortunately, have to finalize a drawing of two steaks to be tattooed on said friend from out of town, and this doesn’t even include the two latest tattoos for the rapidly growing Mad Cow Army.

That’s a different story, and we’re not going to talk about it now. Just accept for the moment that it’s mad, it’s full of cows, and it’s an army. There’re cows in a field, French cows, mad cow round-abouts, cows disguising themselves as pigs and even cows in sheep’s clothing. And we cannot forget Dr Strangecow, all operating under the auspices of Cowmoodore General Ash, Mad Cow #1. But that’s another story.

Ducks are what we are concerned with today. Ducks belong to the Antidinae, or Antinidae, or Antidie, what ever family of waterfowl. Ducks are so anti-die that they’ll even roger a corpse. Even more so, they’ll give no concern to the gender of the corpse either. How do we know this? Because certain things are irrevocably true. One truth is that Ducks, when cooked well, are yummy. Another truth is that homosexual necrophilia is a common occurrence in Mallard ducks.

How can this be true? Well, let me tell you a story. And the facts are there on the internet. Here is where I say that I’m writing a rant for Mad Dog, currently out on the lash. I have my work to do, so I’m not spending the time giving you, reader, what would account as a bibliography. For those that disbelieve and want to be lazy about it, this is a cheap way out for you. For those that really want to discredit ducks buggering corpses, go do the research. All you’ll be able to do is rant. For those of you that want a funny story, this is so mad I couldn’t have ever possibly made this up.

So this Dutch professor is in his office doing all sorts of Dutch professory things, like grading papers while smoking a big blunt filled with White Lightning and being sucked off by a Moroccan whore, when he hears a crash at his window. Bless the Dutch. The world just wouldn’t be the same without them. There’s a race that has justified its existence. Said professor carefully extracts himself from whatever sort of Dutch professory madness he was involved in and goes and looks out the window. He sees a duck on the ground with a broken neck, obviously dead. He also sees, a few minutes later, another Mallard come by and toss a leg over the corpse. Duck must have liked it, too. The professor said it was making all sorts of excited noises and really enjoying itself with this corpse. This raised a few questions in the professor’s mind. It raised a few questions in my mind when I discovered this also, but I didn’t go out and study this subject.

But someone did. What they discovered in their years of hiding out in the marshes, wearing waders and covering themselves in mud was shocking. Now, I’m not one to sit out in the rain and cold leering through a pair of binoculars for weeks on end, working at compiling data on what essentially constitutes duck porn, with the sole intent of producing a years-long valid scientific study on the sexually deviant practices of ducks.

No, I’m the sick bastard sitting in a warm, dry environment finding the people so driven to do that funny. It’s funny because I’ve been that driven. I’ve been the daft one dedicating all my time and energy into a goal I truly believed in. I, however, am just not that driven to sit in a marsh and study how ducks fuck.

See, anyone unfortunate enough to witness ducks having sex will readily admit that it’s not pleasant. In human terms, it would constitute rape. Wee duckette is having a nice swim around the pond when out of the sky drops this big mallard who then gets up behind her, bites her by the neck, holds her head under water, and then forces himself on her. He rapes her. There’s no beauty of life there, it’s just pure biological need, and that need will kill everything in its need to be done. I don’t want to spend years of my life studying that. I don’t want to have to think about how common an occurrence this is, let alone how necessary this is for the survival of ducks everywhere.

But I will find the results of the study funny. If for no other reason than ducks are yummy, and I can assuage my guilt at eating meat over the fact that my duck was probably queer, and therefore a non-breeder.

We all know it’s about sex, right? No sex equals no babies, except for those odd species capable of non-sexual reproduction, and parthenogenesis. That’s a fundamental truth to life. Sexual species cannot live without sex. That’s just nature. It’s natural law, scientific.

Now since this world has religion, and we really don’t want to alienate the Creationists, especially since they have their fingers on the buttons that launch the nukes, it’s also God’s law. God made the world, and he made a perfect world. It is as it is. And that world includes the fact that the majority of the couples found naturally, that is, in the wild, of mallard ducks are homosexual.

Since, let’s break it down, ducks need to fuck. We are left with a dilemma. This is where reference points come in handy. They help us not to lose sight. So, we stick with the perfect world. God’s or mathematical proof, it’s all the same. Everything is explainable.

Let’s start with God’s. That equals the duck in my belly a little faster. So we all know that we’re not to harm a soul. That’s what we’re taught. Then we’re taught filtered views of that idea, with certain ideologically relevant perspectives. That’s God’s world. It’s a perfect world. Everything is explainable. God set the world the way that it is, and a very large part of that is, is breeding. All species must breed, even memes.

Also, God set the animals below us in some way. He made them our lunches, our servants. Surely animals don’t have some sort of social system that allows them to bond together in couples. Surely they don’t have some sort of emotional bonding that allows them to share time together and enjoy it the same way we do with the family’s pet dog? They’re animals, what do they know?

The solution is thus: All ducks must breed. Ducks are food. God has placed enough heterosexual couples of ducks on earth to ensure that the species will survive. Duck is a healthy source of protein. God, in his wisdom, created queer ducks to ensure that we people would always have a ready supply of tasty duck. He made them queer so that we never had to worry about the lost little souls of countless unborn generations of little ducklings. And queers are against God’s law. We are morally righteous in our voracious eating of homosexual duck. We’re destroying an abomination against God’s will. God’s proof is that ducks are yummy.

Now, the sharp reader saw the inherent flaw in the logic there, and we’re going to come back to that. We’re also going to have to come back to the whole necrophilia thing. For the first time, I’m looking at that word count and starting to feel hindered by it. We haven’t even started on the science of all this yet.

Let me reiterate that the facts are out there on the Internet. I cannot afford space to fill this with volumes of citations and references. There’s the sun, the moon, and the stars. Go get ‘em. The Internet is useful for a few things other than porn, even when you’re planning on destroying it. Ask Mad Dog about it. He’s got a thing or two to say on the subject.

The facts are: a large percentage of mallard duck couples are homosexual. Ducks will have a go at a fresh corpse, they almost seem to enjoy it. Ducks are such randy bastards that they will go at each other in the air. This happens often enough that the act has its own term: rape flight.

The consequences of that term are almost over whelming. There are, first of all, the physical connotations attached to those words, which, makes it for us, both physically impossible and morally apprehensive, and another key point. That point being that it has been studied so much, and given so much value, that there is a community out there that uses that term as part of its normal conversation.

Talk about nerds. I don’t ever want to be associated with that lot. People might think me one of those creepy duck lads. I wouldn’t want anyone to think that I had spent hours obsessing about duckonian deviancy. They might view me funny. It’s a good thing words are permanent. I’m glad I cleared that up. Now there is no way that anyone can ever associate me with homosexual necrophilia in mallard ducks. It is written.

I’ll be that mad bastard sitting in a warm, dry environment finding the humour of it all. There is nothing in the world so sacred that it cannot have the piss taken out of it. After all, it’s a perfect world. Everything is explainable. Homosexual necrophilia exists in mallard ducks. It makes sense. Why not?

Science will, as is its purpose, attempt to explain everything while readily admitting that it doesn’t have all the answers. Science will recognize the inherent flaws in its logic and work at a solution for them. That solution will be so important to someone that they will go and spend years gathering notes on duck perversion so we can all read about it and sleep better at night with a greater understanding of mallard duck sexual practices. Thank fuck someone felt it that important. I wouldn’t be able to write this without that soul’s research. Thus I say, to each their own. Fair play to you, your waders, and your notepad, whoever you are. Because of you, we will never view ducks in the same light again. And we will find all the inherent flaws funny.

I mean, when you stop and ponder for a second, there’s more to ducks than one would ever guess. There’s certain hidden values to ducks. Like, when you’re busy fucking one, the webbed feet can paddle the nad sack nicely as it’s kicking when it’s trying to get away. You just need to clip the claws down. And it only works with ducks. Swans are too large, they’ll scrape your thighs. The legs of loons are too long, they’ll scratch your taint. We all know you don’t want to be walking around town for the next few days trying to heal a scrape on your taint. That’d just be pure misery. Not much humour in that.

No, I don’t want to think too much about ducks and their sexual deviancy. I’ve got more important things to do. I need to get two steaks designed to tattoo on a vegan, and I need to get ready the stencils for the two newest members of the Mad Cow Army. After all, I am working in the morning, there’s a shop to be run. Pity there wasn’t room for a yarn about necrophilia.