The Talking Duck

This story lends new meaning to the saying "fuck a duck."

Jeff walked into his kitchen and saw a duck on the counter.  To his amazement, the duck began to talk.  
The duck said, “What’s the matter, never seen a duck before?”
“Holy shit!” replied Jeff, “You’re talking!”
“I can fly, too,” said the duck.
“Wow!”  Jeff hollered for his wife.  “Honey, get down here!  Bring your phone!”
His wife came running into the kitchen with her phone.  “What the hell is going on?”
“This duck can talk, it was talking to me!  Go on, talk!”
Using her phone, the wife began recording her husband and the duck, but the duck was mute.
“Damnit,” said Jeff, “I swear this duck can talk, we were talking!  Talk, damn you!”
The duck said, “Quack quack.”
“Goddamnit!” yelled Jeff, “He’s not doing it now but the duck can speak English, we were having a conversation for God’s sake.  He told me he can fly!”
“Okay,” replied his wife, still recording, “And you’re sure about this?”
“Yes!” exclaimed Jeff.
His wife stopped recording and left Jeff and the duck in the kitchen.  She went outside to make a phone call.
“What’s the deal?” pleaded Jeff, “I know you can talk.”
“I have a confession,” said the duck.  “Your wife knows I can talk, too.”
“What?”
“Did I stutter?  I said your wife knows I can talk.  She and I hatched this little plot to blackmail you.”
“Blackmail?”
“Well, it’s actually more like extortion or false imprisonment.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
The duck explained, “Any minute now, the cops are going to come bursting through the doors and will take you away.  Your wife just called the police and told them that you’re insane and dangerous, and that you said a duck was talking to you.”
“Bullshit, that’s bullshit…” Jeff shook his head. “You are talking to me, you’re talking to me right now!”
There were sirens outside and the police had entered the house.
“It’s been nice chatting with you,” said the duck.
Two police officers rushed into the kitchen and were followed by Jeff’s wife.
“There he is,” said his wife, “He claims the duck is talking to him.  I have it on video.”
Bewildered, Jeff turned white.  “What’s going on here?”
One officer said, “Would you mind stepping outside, sir”
“Why?”  
“Sir, let’s step outside so we can discuss the situation.”
“Wait a second,” said Jeff, “This is a setup!”  He glared at his wife, “You know he can talk, he told me you know!”  Jeff pointed to the duck then looked to the policemen. “He can talk, he can talk!”  
Everyone looked at the duck.  The duck said, “Quack quack.”
“You mother fucker!” yelled Jeff, lunging toward the duck who flapped his wings and jumped back out of the way.
The police rushed toward Jeff and wrestled him out of the kitchen.
The wife screamed, “He’s crazy!  He’s crazy!  Please don’t let him hurt me!”
Struggling with the police who were forcing him out the front door, Jeff could be heard yelling, “You bitch!  You’re in cahoots with the duck!”
The police shoved the combative man into the police car, had a few words with his wife, and then drove off. 

Several weeks later Jeff was staring out the window of his room in the psychiatric hospital.  He was contemplating his upcoming court appearance and potential release which hinged on his good behavior and the psychiatrist’s opinion of his mental health.   He had accepted the fact that he was schizophrenic, that the conversation with the duck was a delusion, and he was now taking antipsychotic medications.  He was optimistic as he gazed outside, but grew horrified when he saw the duck flying toward his window.
“No, no…” said Jeff, backing away from the window.  
The duck landed on the window sill and said, “Long time no see.”
From the opposite end of the room Jeff trembled. “What do you want?”
“I just came by to wish you luck on your upcoming hearing.  I know it’s an important day for you since you have to demonstrate that don’t belong in the loony bin.”
“Get out of here!” yelled Jeff.
“I want to show you something first,” said the duck, reaching into his wing.  “These are some pictures of your wife and I.  We’ve been seeing each other.”
The duck slipped his wing through the wrought iron window bars and pressed the photographs against the glass for Jeff to see.  Jeff stepped closer and looked at the pictures.  One picture showed the duck and Jeff’s wife driving in a convertible and donning sunglasses and scarves.  Another one showed them picnicking on the grass near a pond where there were other ducks floating on the water.
“You have got be fucking kidding me,” said Jeff.
The duck showed him some more pictures.  One featured the duck and the woman holding hands so to speak and walking on the beach.  There was one of them sharing a bowl of sorbet on the patio of an ice cream parlor.  But the photograph that really triggered Jeff was the one of the duck and his wife in his old bed, covering up half their bodies with the sheets.
“You fucking bastard,” said Jeff.  
The duck put the pictures back under his wing.  “We’re going on a cruise to Mexico next week,” said the duck.  “We booked the trip using your credit card.”  The duck pulled out Jeff’s credit card and showed it to him.  
“God damn you!”
“Did you know I can also speak Spanish, amigo?” said the duck.
Jeff began banging on the window.
“Tu es loco,” said the duck.  “That means you are crazy.”  The duck twirled the tip of his wing around the side of his head and said, “Cuckoo, cuckoo.”
“How dare you!” cried Jeff, “Why?!”
“Because you are mucho stupido,” said the duck.  “Good luck with your hearing, pendejo.”
Jeff slammed his fists on the window and yelled, “I’m going to kill you!”
Two security guards entered the room and constrained him.
“The duck came back!” Jeff said, “Look!  He can talk!”
The guards looked to the duck who stared back at them from the window sill.  
Jeff exclaimed, “He’s got my credit card and is sleeping with my wife!  Tell them what you told me, you little shit!”
The duck looked at the men and said, “Quack quack.”
“You mother fucker!” cried Jeff as he lunged himself toward the duck.  The security guards pulled him back and then rode him to the ground and held him down.  As the duck flew away he could hear Jeff yelling out.  “Get back here! He said he’s taking my wife to Mexico!  He was speaking Spanish for Christ’s sake!”
The security guards dragged Jeff out of the room and took him down to the padded isolation room. 

The following month Jeff was sitting in his chair in the mental hospital.  He had been denied release on account of his recurring duck-related schizophrenic episodes, and was to be held at the hospital for a minimum of one year.  There was a knock at his door and a staff member entered the room and delivered his mail.  From the letters he picked out a postcard from the Yucatan Peninsula that featured the Mayan Temple of the Wind God along the turquoise coast of Tulum.  On the back of the postcard the following was scribbled in poor handwriting: ‘Hola Papi.  Living la vida loca.  Quack quack.’
Jeff ripped the postcard apart and let out a bloodcurdling scream.