They had him at last. Years and years of long, strenuous surveillance and hard work finally found its prize. And there he was, cuffed and turned so he was viewed in profile. His good side. There was something about him that demanded… not respect, but something similar. It demanded that you reached out your fingers and tickled him. Or told him a clever joke to try and get those mischievous beady eyes to glimmer.
Even the fellow taking his picture had to resist the urge to tackle him to the ground and give him a good wet willy. The chains at his feet clung to his ankles as he turned to face the camera for a frontal shot. “Stripes aren’t my style, eh?” he murmured to the photographer, chuckling slightly at his own lack of creativity. The photographer eyed him without a change in expression, still wondering how unprofessional it would be to start a tickle fight with the inmate. Deciding it wouldn’t bode well with the boss, he concentrated on taking the mug shot. “So, uh, what’re you in for?” he asked, trying to sound casual. SNAP. He took another picture. Blinking the dizziness out of his eyes, the inmate was thoughtful for a moment. “It’s a long story son. I’d tell you I’m innocent, but look at me—we both know what I am. There is no denying it. I’m as guilty as the day I was hatched! I… I…. I’M A QUACK DEALER!” and with that the inmate let out one loud, enormous quack. Immediately doors swung open and dozens of officers and guards flooded into the room.
Feathers flew up in the air as the duck was tackled to the ground. One officer jumped onto the photographer and slammed him to the floor. “Don’t worry, you’ll be alright!” he yelled over the quacks now resonating through the small room. QUACK QUACK QUACK. The duck was in a frenzy! The officers, finally pinning him down, looked like they had just had the pillow fight of their lives. “What are we gonna do?! This quack dealer is out of control,” shouted one young officer, clearly a rookie. “Wait!” the photographer cried. “I know what to do.” Everyone stared at him, even the duck, although he continued quacking ridiculously loud. The photographer rolled the slightly overweight cop off of himself and stood up, cracking his fingers menacingly at the duck. “Time to break out the fluffy fingers,” he murmured under his breath, his eyebrows arching with excitement. Secretly, he was ecstatic that he now had a valid excuse to tickle the duck. The other officers looked on in envy as he got ready to unleash his fingers. Who could resist tickling a cute little duck after all? The photographer began gently and then went into a full assault, causing the duck’s quacks to sputter and transform into laughs of glee. Suddenly, all the officers forgot their roles of honor and civic duty and began tickling the duck as well.
As the laughter subsided, they all lay there smiling and content. The duck let out a few chuckles every few seconds, but no quacks came out of his beak. Then the dean of the prison walked through the half-open door to see the scene of feathers and officers sprawled out on the floor. In horror, he pointed dramatically at the grinning duck and shouted, “Duck, you’ve dealt your last quack!!”