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He'd implanted the remote control transmitter

  • He'd implanted the remote control transmitter to the Mallard's cortex. He pushed forward on his remote and the duck moved forward. It squawked angrily at him but he was master

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  • and wouldn't allow the duck to forget it. He'd spent five years perfecting a device which could take over every function of a duck, and now he would use it to

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  • be at the poin tof the V formation when all th educks fly south for the winter. He couldn't wait to find out

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  • if they all went to the bathroom in the backyard. The geese always go EVERYWHERE and makes it so you have to watch your every step. Sadfully,

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  • I stared at my plate of patè, not sure if it was goose liver, human liver, or something out of the backyard. Our stop at Booby Flaise, while cheap, was definitely a mistake. Candy

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  • picked at her teeth casually as she watched me struggle bravely with the paste-like meaty treat. "Perhaps try some sugar?" she suggested, leaning across and sprinkling it liberally

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  • over my Spambaby, now my very SWEET Spambaby. I took a taste. Wow. SO good! Then she added raisins and cinnamon. OMG. Delicious!

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  • As I gorged on raisin-y, cinnamony spambaby, the others sitting at the table just watched us with estranged expressions on their reticent faces. They weren't having any of it.

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  • No, they were eating superfood salad with shredded spinach & edamame beans. I threw away my knife & fork stuffed handfuls of spambaby into my mouth. It was the best dinner party

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  • I picked the salad bowl and poured it on my head. Spinach leaves were hanging on my ears, edamame beans on my head. Then I took my wine for a toast and shouted: I am the master!

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