Letters to the Ducks Guy: Session 1

Today we are starting a new feature here at the Ducks. As you can imagine, I receive tons and tons of fan mail. I probably spend a good seven, eight hours a day reading the letters and getting back to my faithful fans.

(Note to Jeremy from Alabama: The autographed cat is on its way. Enjoy!)

(Just kidding. I didn't really autograph and send one of our cats to a loyal reader... as far as you know.)

Anyhow, this got me thinking that I should probably share some of these with you guys, the dedicated Ducks readers. Who knows, maybe one day you will see your own letter published here at DOOAR? (You can only hope.)

Of course, please be mindful of the fact that I get literally -- read as "not literally" -- hundreds of millions of these things every day, so the odds are slim. But slim odds are still odds (says the eternal optimist)!!

To kick things off, I decided to just put one letter up today. I'm envisioning a future wherein three to four are published (and perhaps answered) in a typical "Letters to the Ducks Guy" post, but also looking at a "present wherein the Ducks Guy has a lot of non-blog stuff to do."

(Note to devoted reader Kathryn: You gave me mad props on my exceptional use of the word "wherein" the other day, so the previous sentence was for you. Enjoy!)

Let's get to this...

Hey Ducks Guy,

In your first post of this year [Pre-First Post (of the Year)], you mention that "clowns are creepy." I really resent that. I mean, some clowns might be a tad creepy -- statistically-speaking, any large group is bound to have some bad apples -- but stereotyping all of us is just plain wrong. We are people, just like you, and it hurts our feelings when insensitive jerks make claims like that.

Sometimes it hurts us to the point of volatile anger... and then we start drinking. You know what happens then, huh, wise guy? Well, the Mrs. decides she "can't handle being with an alcoholic clown," so that frigid b*tch leaves and we're left alone in our apartment. Just us… and the empty cupboards and the gun she never knew existed. We're left there with all the time in the world to think about it. And then our thoughts drift to that one blogger who made the comment about us being creepy...

I'm going to leave you with one parting thought: I know where you live...

Chuckles T. Clown

Yikes. (That's really all I can say about this one.)

(Note to self: Pick a less-creepy letter next time...)