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

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

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,

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

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

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

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.

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

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!