A quacking tale
Posted on | July 18, 2008 | 64 Comments
There once was a young man who lived in a small town by the side of a river. He was an enigmatic chap, quite the dandy and he was renowned for his sartorial elegance as much as his hare-lip and his peculiar odour.
Most of all though people knew him because of his hat. No matter what outfit he put on of a morning he always had the same tattered fedora perched atop his head. He wasn’t a tall fellow but for some reason his hat made him easily visible in a crowd. Not that the small town had much in the way of crowds, apart from the one day a year when the annual mallard timetrials took place.
They came from far and wide with their beaked contenders and the birds would have to follow a course downstream to get to the finish line. The winner of the event would be treated like a king for the duration of the year and should anyone manage to defend their crown, well, near legendary status would be bestowed upon them as it had never happened before.
The young man, despite his outward flashiness, was somewhat troubled on personal level. He knew, due to his face, that he would never be a catch for the prettiest girls in the village and even if he won the race with his duck he’d be hard pressed to find a bride. Still, he took the event seriously, spending hour after hour training with Lloyd, who had wonderful plumage and a kick in the final stages of the race that put him in mind of a young Eamonn Coghlan.
So soon the big day came. All the contenders were there. Milky O’Shea’s ‘Cannonball’, Moralising Mick and ‘AJ’, Daithi Ryan with last year’s winner ‘Aidsy’ and the only woman to enter, Gobnait Branigan and her bird ‘Flappy’. The young man was nervous but confident that day. He put on a linen suit with a black shirt and with his trusty hat on his head he set off.
He spoke to Lloyd, who he carried in an old sports bag, along the way.
‘It’s just you and me, old pal. We can do this. Even if I’m always to be a lonely bachelor winning this race would give me some sense of pride, let me tell you’.
‘Quack’, said Lloyd.
‘Just keep focussed on the race now. Try not to dive under the water and stick your arse in the air, there’ll be plenty of time for that afterwards’.
‘Quack’, said Lloyd.
So they made there way to the start and the mind-games between the owners of the birds had begun in earnest. There was all kinds of talk about how one duck was going to beat another, how one owner had no right to even enter the competition because they once made a statement without having the full facts at hand, while Gobnait staunchly refused to be intimidated by the men and farted loudly at them whenever they came near her.
The young man stayed out of the way and tried to remain calm. He knew Llloyd had every chance of winning. He touched the brim of his lucky hat, the hat which had such sentimental value for him, the hat without which he felt naked. ‘Once I have my hat and my duck, I’m ok’, he thought.
The race marshall was Godfrey Reilly, son of the biggest landowners in those parts, whose teeth stuck out like the love child of Ken Dodd and Janet Street-Porter. Nobody could really understand a word he said but when he shot the cap pistol into the air everyone knew the race was underway.
It was a truly titanic battle with AJ and Aidsy out in front to begin with while Gobnait’s frantic yelling at Flappy as they chased the birds along the bank of the river scared the poor thing so much it spent all its energy racing into a 20 yard lead before falling back exhausted. The young man followed as Lloyd swam along in last place. He remained quiet, thinking encouraging thoughts only his mind as he knew he had a deep connection with his racer.
Cannonball, much to Milky’s disgust, found himself more interested in something below the surface of the water which had his owner crying out ‘Orange sauce, orange sauce, you feckless little prick’, but Cannonball paid no attention. It was now between Aidsy, AJ and Lloyd and soon Moralising Mick was cursing his luck as his duck swam into some reeds and decided he’d take a nap.
Lloyd was a good 5 yards behind Aidsy and Daithi Ryan was already thinking of the ovation he’d get as he would become the first man in the history of the race to win it in consecutive years. Would they build a statue for him? Name a street after him? And by Jesus he’d have the pick of the damsels despite being a toothless forty-two year old. But Daithi hadn’t considered Lloyd’s finishing speed and as the finish line approached the young man called out ‘lollipop’, the code word he’d developed to tell his duck to kick on.
He ran as hard as he could down the river bank, barely noticing as his hat blew off his head, so engrossed was he in the race. Lloyd, paddling with all might, his little duck feet going ninety to the dozen under the water, sped past Aidsy and he won it by a beak at the line.
‘Hurrah!’, said the young man.
‘Bollix anyway’, said Daithi Ryan.
‘Quack’, said Lloyd.
The young man ran into the water, scooped up his champion bird and lapped up the congratulations of all those who had witnessed the finest race since 1976 when it had been neck and neck between the twin brothers, Rory and Malachy Hughes, until Rory’s bird ‘Cary Grant’ just sneaked it.
It was only a few minutes later though that the young man realised his head was bare. His hat was gone. Leaving Lloyd in the care of Mary Dwan, daughter of the local publican, he ran back up the river bank to see if he could find it. He looked in bushes, trees, copses and shrubs but there was no sign of it. As he got more and more frantic he met old Jim Neary who ran a book on the race each year and had tidied up with Lloyd’s victory.
‘I suppose you’re looking for your hat’, he said.
‘Oh yes’, said the young man, ‘I sure am. Have you seen it?’
‘That I have’, said Jim. ‘I saw it come off your head and go into the water’.
‘Oh no’, said the young man. ‘Do you know where it is now?’
‘Aye’, said Jim, ‘somewhere down duck racey river’.
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64 Responses to “A quacking tale”
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July 18th, 2008 @ 9:31 am
Christ.
July 18th, 2008 @ 9:33 am
snap!
July 18th, 2008 @ 9:34 am
eh..jesus?
July 18th, 2008 @ 9:35 am
Wasn’t the worst.
It may also put a halt to the never ending parade of posts going on about breasts, bosums, norks, hooters, bazookas and chesticles (sic).
July 18th, 2008 @ 9:44 am
guh-roooooan….
don’t think there’s been a plum sauce made that can make that joke taste any better!!!
July 18th, 2008 @ 9:46 am
Good man, Twenty.
I had a vivid dream this morning, that I was a guest in your house. It had a sign outside, I can’t remember the word, something like ‘Irn-Bru’ but meaning a viking drinking establishment. It had one belonged to Flann O Brien, and Twenty proudly showed me its immaculate interior and his collection of antique furniture, including a chocolate box, filled with individually wrapped chocolates decanted from their own box.
He had three dogs, all quite SMALL, one of which he said was a retriever, I think, but was a blatant Jack Russell, or possibly even a King Charles Spaniel (which Twenty denied) – Bastardface indeed.
What else? Beautiful wooden floors, tasteful decor, people drinking well-manneredly in the garden and Twenty was a polite and gracious host.
July 18th, 2008 @ 9:49 am
Fuck off Major, not on a Friday, the only day of hope and joy.
July 18th, 2008 @ 9:49 am
Well I’m always a polite and gracious host …
July 18th, 2008 @ 9:50 am
Haha, pish. I hope Johnny5′s brain explodes.
July 18th, 2008 @ 9:52 am
What about the dog, Twenty, is Bastardface in reality a chihuaua?
July 18th, 2008 @ 9:53 am
No, he’s the size of a pony.
July 18th, 2008 @ 9:55 am
the only woman to enter, Gobnait Branigan and her bird ‘Flappy’.
Heh!
’somewhere down duck racey river’.
Nope – don’t get it.
July 18th, 2008 @ 9:56 am
You are of course jumping to conclusions, Johnny5 may not have a brain, in the traditional sense of the word.
July 18th, 2008 @ 9:57 am
Maggot – http://ie.youtube.com/watch?v=zVAwIJE-_84
July 18th, 2008 @ 10:02 am
And this is a very good point, PP. Let’s hope it breaks whatever’s in there.
July 18th, 2008 @ 10:07 am
having not been here that long, i am curious as the Johnny5 hatred – did he commit some sort of blog crime ?
July 18th, 2008 @ 10:07 am
Dear Lord, that was vile Twenty. You finally make sense to me. How you must have suffered. Let it out man.
Can we go back to discussing honeymoon appendages and periods ?
July 18th, 2008 @ 10:13 am
J5 is the ultimate evil Red – let’s hoe that Milla Jovovich – link – pops in to sort him out.
July 18th, 2008 @ 10:13 am
I love the story telling voice Twenty has when he’s working up to a pun. And the sense of supressed delight and self-satisfaction. It makes up for the groanworthy puns, I think.
Though perhaps few would agree.
July 18th, 2008 @ 10:15 am
There is no J5 hatred, he just has a mild dislike for these kind of posts.
Which makes me hate him more than usual.
July 18th, 2008 @ 10:16 am
So the no-one got the Robbie Robertson reference then Twenty?
July 18th, 2008 @ 10:18 am
Who is Robbie Robertson?
July 18th, 2008 @ 10:18 am
and before you say..i didnt click to the youtube link,sadly i knew the minute i read the last line..
Great song mind..
July 18th, 2008 @ 10:19 am
Jo – http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robbie_Robertson
I think most people would get it, Fillerup.
July 18th, 2008 @ 10:19 am
I’m sure I used to have that album on cassette too. Not sure why.
July 18th, 2008 @ 10:19 am
i hate i always speed read through the text waiting to get hit by the pun.
It was a classic. A TRULY FUCKING AWFUL classic mind you.
July 18th, 2008 @ 10:21 am
No lost on me.
Do you have any photos of Gobnait Branigan?
I’d say she’s hot.
July 18th, 2008 @ 10:24 am
We had that Robbie Robertson album on tape too(must have been on special offer on Golden Discs).. i’d say its well gone by now..
The only cassette i think i looked after and is still playable in my folks house is the 1st Rollerskate Skinny album -Shoulder Voices..
Very good..
July 18th, 2008 @ 10:24 am
Is Gobnait Brannigan Nonny’s real name ?
July 18th, 2008 @ 10:25 am
I had that Fillerup, tink I still do, in my lttle box of cassettes
July 18th, 2008 @ 10:58 am
Sweet jesus on a pogo stick…
July 18th, 2008 @ 11:03 am
90% of Twenty’s groan-worthy pun stories are rooted in those MTV insomnia nights during the eighties. Although this Robbie Robertson video was pretty cool ‘and’ directed by Martin Scorsese who was a serious fan of The Band.
Did you hear about the two ducks flying over Belfast?
One says ‘Quack’ and the other says ‘I’m goin’ as quack as I fucking can!’
July 18th, 2008 @ 11:04 am
I just had a quick peking at that post I can’t decide if it’s eider good or bad.
July 18th, 2008 @ 11:16 am
How do you get down off a horse?
Hold your computer screen up to the mirror for the answer
!kcud a ffo nwod teg uoy ,t’nod uoY
July 18th, 2008 @ 11:30 am
What fucking mirror? we don’t all have a wanking mirror installed MB, certainly would raise a fiew eyebrows in the office.
July 18th, 2008 @ 11:36 am
Use the little one in your handbag PP
July 18th, 2008 @ 11:48 am
Can’t the Charlies scored it, might polish my helmet and see if that works
July 18th, 2008 @ 11:51 am
Morgor, where have you been…..
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/england/london/7512440.stm
July 18th, 2008 @ 11:52 am
Good thinking! I heard you were good with tools.
July 18th, 2008 @ 11:57 am
I actually had a pet duck for a few years. We’d fill his pond now and then and he’d go fucking mad flapping around and quacking and jumping and out and shitting in excitement.
July 18th, 2008 @ 11:58 am
Morgor…..
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/england/london/7512440.stm
July 18th, 2008 @ 12:00 pm
Is “fill his pond” a euphimism for some dodgy sexual practise? And if so I am not surprised at his reaction.
July 18th, 2008 @ 12:12 pm
Maggot you little shit.
July 18th, 2008 @ 12:30 pm
Good Lord.
July 18th, 2008 @ 12:30 pm
Aidsy was just left to lament “I coulda been a contender! I coulda been somebirdy!”
July 18th, 2008 @ 1:14 pm
punchline was just fowl
July 18th, 2008 @ 1:22 pm
Maggot you little shit.
what have I done now ?
July 18th, 2008 @ 1:22 pm
Gobnait’s gonna get ya…
July 18th, 2008 @ 1:24 pm
Maggot is your avatar a hair lice? It’s fucking disgusting and funny at the same time.
July 18th, 2008 @ 1:26 pm
young man, far right of picture, gobnait, ourth from right. really wouldn’t want her to get you
http://spectre.nmsu.edu/media/photos/052005-DP-DuckRace1.jpg
July 18th, 2008 @ 1:28 pm
Maggot is your avatar a hair lice?
Sniff – Lice are common and vulgar – I mean, look at nonny’s pubes! My avatar is the mouthparts of a cousin, the “Hairy Maggot”.
July 18th, 2008 @ 1:35 pm
Jesus Maggot, you been drinking the “fighting jooce” again, Nonny’s gonna crucify you for that comment re lice.
July 18th, 2008 @ 1:37 pm
I’m only repeating what I was told PP!
July 18th, 2008 @ 1:43 pm
Anyway, lice cannot live in Arctic conditions.
July 18th, 2008 @ 1:55 pm
I refuse to speculate about her nether regions PP.
July 18th, 2008 @ 2:05 pm
porridge, are you telling me duck racing is real?
Heh, Gobnait’s gonna get ya…
July 18th, 2008 @ 2:05 pm
And I am the one condemned as the antagonise’r, the irony is deafening. I am pretty sure the only pubes either of you have ever seen in real life have been your own so I will ignore your petty comments.
July 18th, 2008 @ 2:19 pm
Calling someone a little shit is pretty antagonistic sweetie !
July 18th, 2008 @ 2:23 pm
“Is Gobnait Brannigan Nonny’s real name ?”
I think you’ll find you started. SWEETIE!
July 18th, 2008 @ 2:26 pm
Calm down you all, it’s Friday,it’s sunny and there’s pig racing on in Wicklow this weekend, what more can one want from life?
July 18th, 2008 @ 2:27 pm
It was an innocent question! I thought Twenty was giving us a clue with the Duck’s name.
July 19th, 2008 @ 12:48 am
That hurts at this time of night…
July 20th, 2008 @ 11:18 am
brilliant.
July 24th, 2008 @ 1:23 pm
Why does the duck talk at the end?
“‘Oh no’, said Lloyd. ‘Do you know where it is now?’”