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DuckDieNasty.RM: Difference between revisions
Fixed formatting issues from the transfer from my word processor.
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“Well,” I thought aloud with a sudden mid-Atlantic accent, “that was certainly strange. I haven’t received a telegram since nineteen-aught-six.” I knew it was a bad idea right from the start, but something came over me. I felt . . . possessed . . . almost. I walked briskly into my living room, popped DUCKDIENASTY.RM into my LaserDisc player, and plopped onto the couch with a piping hot pepperoni Hot Pocket and a hot fudge sundae. As the LaserDisc splash screen appeared on the screen, accompanied by the THX sound played in reverse, I jumped, spilling the Hot Pocket off the plate. It would have landed on my shamefully small penis (I never wear pants when I’m watching Duck Dynasty, obviously) but luckily it became stuck on my beard. I pulled it out and wiped the excess beard hairs on my napkin, then continued eating as the disc played.
The recording began with the tail end of an advertisement for Jeff’s Killer Bleach, and I shuddered in memory of what that product did to my clothes when I tried it—my favorite Duck Dynasty t-shirt was burned to ashes on contact! As the advertisement ended, an episode of my favorite TV show of all time, Duck Dynasty, began. Willie and Jase were trying to redneckify quantum physics by replacing all the wavefunctions with Si’s face and introducing a new operator, the Robertsonian, which determines the Americanness of a particle in Planck Freedoms. They seemed about to succeed, when suddenly Willie’s incredibly handsome son <s>Jean-Luc </s>John Luke busted in, a worried expression on his absurdly <s>British</s> <s>French</s> beautiful face.
“Dad, Jase, y’all gotta stop! Y’all’re gonna mess up the space-time continuum if y’keep playin’ around with the laws a physics an’ such!” The show cut to the usual interview over background defocused stock footage with Willie facing the camera—clearly it was composited using Autodesk Smoke 2011. He shook his head.
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