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▲I’m a huge fan of Duck Dynasty, much like everyone else. I don’t think I’ve ever seen glitchy or hacked Duck Dynasty merchandise before, but I don’t think I want to after the experience I had.
It started when the postman, who I notice is wearing a super creepy fake beard that obscures his eyes and forces the reader to ignore the tense swap in the middle of this sentence, arrived at precisely 9:37:58 AM CDT, left a rain-soaked cardboard box on my doorstep, and vanished with a laugh that reminded me of Tim Curry—though not the Tim Curry from "It" or even "The Hunt For Red October;" this was the Tim Curry from "Clue," the spookiest murder mystery of all time.
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I left my old, rundown split-level after about forty-six seconds of horrified soul-searching and finally summoned the courage to pick up the package.
It was addressed to Hank T. Chog (
I unfolded my Kershaw Duck Commander® knife and cut open the packing tape, careful not to push too hard as I slid the knife toward myself—I
Inside the package, along with an evil grammar demon with the power to change tenses at will, is an exquisitely carved duck call, a Laserdisc marked DUCKDIENASTY.RM, and a note. It reads:
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KYLE STOP PLEASE HELP ME STOP I COULD NOT RESIST THE CALL STOP DESTROY THE DISC AND THE CALL OR IT WILL ENSNARE YOU TOO STOP I CANNOT DO IT STOP IT IS TOO LATE FOR ME STOP IF YOU DO NOT ACT SOON IT MAY NEVER STOP
"Well," I thought aloud with a sudden mid-Atlantic accent, "that was certainly strange. I
The recording began with the tail end of an advertisement for
"Dad, Jase,
"I done told that John Luke a
"I just
"That
Just then Si opened the door, got on the floor, and did the Dinosaur.
"
"
BLOOD MALLARD
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HEAR ITS CRY
These words stayed on the screen for five minutes and twelve seconds, then the show slowly faded back in. It appeared to be a different scene, with the Robertsons behind a duck blind waiting for a skein of Welsh Harlequins to come into range of their shotguns. With any luck, the breed would soon be one step closer to extinction at the hands of Remington and Sons. It was boring and predictable, just as it had been all those years
BLOOD MALLARD
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HEAR ITS CRY
{{centerdash}}
That night I lay (or
I hopped out of bed, took a shower, dressed in a plaid shirt and black dress pants with red Converse All Stars and grey wool socks, ate a bowl of cornflakes, and drove to work. Because my truck is really slow—not much faster than my ATV, despite having flame decals—I had to leave about a half hour earlier than most people do.
I arrived at my local
rfect. 7/10 IGN.
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About halfway through my day (so about 3:30 or so) I was interrupted by a sound I recognized as the Duck Dynasty title music, and I realized my cell phone was ringing. I put down the case full of Colt M1911A1 pistols I was moving to another shelf and answered.
"Hello, Hank. I bet you know who this is." Because my phone is a 1987 DynaTAC, I
"Bootman Bill?"
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"Sonic the Hedgehog?"
"Getting
"
"Your SOUL!"
"Never!
"Forget it, I have to try that with everybody. Anyway, I have a friend coming to ask you for a favor, and you'd be wise to do as he says. I think
"Howdy, Hank," he said with a maleficent grin. "I need you to do me a favor." Terrified that I would soon be a red oval gradient on the wall behind me, I replied. I was too scared to press the silent alarm button under the counter.
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"What is it?"
"This store has somethin' I want, and
"
"A full setta autographed Duck Commander® Signature Series calls." I gasped. Those were my
"All right," I said. "How long do I have?"
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"One hour. If I get back and you ain't got the calls, then your next meal is a mouthfulla 00 buck." He left the store with an evil smile and vanished into a dark cloud of smoke, leaves, and official Duck Dynasty T-shirts that fluttered away on the breeze. As the last of the leaves settled to the ground, I knew there was only one way to steal the duck calls: a sneaking mission.
{{centerdash}}
With my skull suit on and my AP sensor equipped, I knew I would be nearly undetectable, but I would still have to keep my wits about me as I slinked into the stockroom. I was in luck; my boss was still hungover from the weekend and was asleep on a chair in the middle of the room. Since his desk was on the other side of the room and the right-hand side was covered in boxes full of Dangerous Hunts 20X6, I would have to make my way around the other side, which I could see was positively lousy with mousetraps (we have a rodent problem), bubble wrap (from packing up the remaining copies of Dangerous Hunts 20X5), and landmines (a new product from
On my way to my
When I finally reached the desk, I pulled out my official Duck Commander® Polaris handheld laser cutter and cut a hole in the glass case. I could have just opened it with the handle, of course, but lasers are just so much more awesome. I pulled out the three autographed calls and replaced them with the generic ones, then put the glass back.
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When I returned from the stockroom, successful in my mission, Beaux was there waiting for me, shotgun aimed at my chest.
"Ya got
The duck calls began to glow. The signatures of the Robertsons burned bright yellow and streamers of light flowed from the calls into Beaux. Then suddenly it all stopped. The glow faded and the streamers cut off. Beaux looked terrified and angered.
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As far as I could tell, all the ritual accomplished was a tense swap. Beaux and the calls I stole for him vanish in a storm of smoke, leaves, and T-shirts like before, and the rest of the work day goes as usual. My boss never even notices that his precious calls are gone.
{{centerdash}}
When I arrived home, I plopped down on the couch, exhausted and confused, and picked up my remote, ready to relax with my favorite TV show, Duck Dynasty. As I aimed the remote at the screen, I suddenly saw it again: the duck call
I examined it more closely as I held it in my hands, and I realized I had seen it before: this was the call Si was about to blow when I first saw those hideous words:
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Unable to resist, I slowly drew it up to my lips and made a "tut" sound. I didn't hear the sound at first, but after an eerily realistic pause I heard a sound like glass scratching on concrete. It was so loud I felt my ears bleeding and I tried to stop but the dreadful cry continued. It was the scariest thing I'd ever heard, and I began to cry as the noise drilled into my skull. I collapsed onto my living room floor, and as I fell my head collided with the coffee table. The last thing I can remember from that night is a short, sharp shock to my left temple; not so much a pain as just some random feeling. How wrong I was to dismiss it as such.
{{centerdash}}
When I awoke, I realized I was strapped to a bed in some kind of interrogation room.
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"It is done!" he shouted. "I'm a Robertson now, a real Robertson! And finally my reign of terror can begin!"
{{centerdash}}
I will describe myself as I see myself: I am a great soft jelly thing, having wasted away into a fat slob in front of Duck Dynasty. But I can't stop watching it. After Beaux Robertson joined the show it became impossible to resist watching. I quit my job. I eat nothing but Hot Pockets. I refuse to sleep so that I wouldn't miss the unending marathons of Duck Dynasty reruns. But most of all I play the Blood Mallard. As long as I have the air in my lungs I keep the dread music going. It became so second-nature to me that I can even blow the call while watching the show, and I don't even notice the sound. The sound is everything. The sound is eternal. I cannot stop. I have no life, and I must blow.
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AND THEN A SKELETON POPPED OUT
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