Mad Duck

This is Mad Duck. Mad Duck looks like I feel when I’m angry. His beak is poised, ready to peck, and his wing is up like he might hit you, or he might just fly away. You can’t tell. But you can see in his eye that he means business. He’s staring right at you. There’s no escape. Mad Duck never blinks. See his razor sharp talons? They could scratch you up. He’s serious. Mad Duck lost the fourth talon on his left foot in a battle with an orangutan. Boy, that was one sorry orangutan. Mad Duck pecked out his eyes. So don’t mess with Mad Duck. And don’t mess with me.

Tonight, Mad Duck leaves for Paris. But he is not going to the city of love in search of a woman. No, he is finished with wearing his heart on his sleeve. Mad Duck no longer believes in love. Look at the heartbreak in his soulful eye, at the way his hat casts a shadow over his once ebullient beak. Mad Duck got burned by a swan he met on the internet. She did not appreciate his mysterious je ne sais quoi. It was fowl play.

Today Mad Duck went on a job interview. It did not go well. The man in the suit and tie did not speak Mad Duck’s language. “What do you consider your strongest attribute?” the man asked. “Quack!” Mad Duck answered. “And what about your weakest point?” the man inquired. “Quack!” Mad Duck replied. The man in the suit and tie did not see the paradoxical insight Mad Duck offered. He did not understand that strengths and weaknesses are doubled-edged swords. The man cleared his throat, and then he lied to Mad Duck. “It’s been a pleasure,” the man said. It had not been. “We’ll be in touch,” he finished. He has not called.

Unemployed and heartbroken, Mad Duck continues to wander through this dog-eat-dog world on his personal quest for meaning. He is 99% certain that the quest is futile, yet his relentless optimism concentrates his will on the 1% chance of discovering a reason to swim again. Tonight, Mad Duck is able to disguise his woes beneath a sexy costume and a bottle of witch's brew. No one can see the real Mad Duck, the sensitive, aspiring writer, who lies beneath the mask.

Yet again, Mad Duck drowns his sorrows in alcohol. Yet again, he’s casting his broken heart aside. Some people call this faith, but Mad Duck knows, it's about positive energy fields. Something might just go his way this year. According to his visionary, Rita, it’s a year of change, but then, isn’t every year? Mad Duck sighs. The seconds tick down, and he raises his champagne glass high. He toasts you an optimistic 2008.

Mad Duck is cold. His old orangutan battle scars throb in the winter weather. Thankfully, his sister, Matilda, has knitted him a long woolen scarf to keep the north wind out of his feathers. The chartreuse fringe really brings out the sparkle in his thoughtful eye. Warm and loved, Mad Duck is starting the new year off right. He has vowed to become vegetarian and to learn Mandarin Chinese.

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