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04/02/10(Fri)00:38:03 No.212548XXX>>212548495 continued…
He
pondered a moment, scratching his elephantine beard with one bony claw.
“I’ll accept your list of popes in return for one pair of ducks, if you
answer me one question: ‘Was Peter a pope at all?’”
I pondered
back at him. I had no beard, so I had to make do the best I could: I
tugged at my left ear with my right hand, all the while jamming my left
hand deep in my pants. I hope the ruse convinced him, for when I
answered, “Of course Peter was a pope: If he wasn’t a pope, then who
was?”, the duck broker nodded at once and accepted my answer, and my
offer.
Not since Pope Hilarius, the funniest pope alive, had let
the cat out of the bag at Augsburg, ensuring that the Eighty-Nine Week
War would continue for another eighty-eight weeks (and one hour), had
anyone so skillfully put one over on a duck broker before! I snickered,
rubbed my hands together, and twirled my handlebar moustache like a
villain from an old silent movie. The ducks would be mine! All for a
printout from Wikipedia that wasn’t even 73.2% accurate!
I
snickered again, handed him the list, throwing in the rubber band as a
free gift, and took possession of the pair of ducks. They quacked. Off
in the distance, a schmog dorked. Closer by, a granfalloon swooned.
The
duck broker thanked me, we shook noses, and I scurried on home with my
pair of ducks, images of raising an entire duck army bent on conquering
the world zipping around in my head. Oh yes, just one pair of ducks…
today, one pair of ducks… tomorrow, the whole sidewalk!
After
securing the ducks in a small rubber bucket (with air holes), I
immediately ran out and spent a few thousand dollars on duck food, duck
houses, and other duck grooming equipment. I even bought a small car
shaped like a duck for Ravna to jet around town in. |
