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Let me tell you about ducks. They’re the cutest, fluffiest, gnarliest, vilest creatures ever created upon this earth. So, we moved onto the farm three years ago and decided to go balls-out and raise chickens, bunnies, mini-horses and ducks.
I can’t say I wasn’t warned about the fucking ducks. Every single person I encountered told me about the dangers of raising ducks. I chose to ignore their advice and discount it as being ignorance. I can raise the shit out of a chicken, so why should a duck be so bad?
Fuck me. I guess I can best sum up the experience of raising ducks as: They will shit on and subsequently destroy every thing you own and love. They will make you chase them like they’re about to served up Peking style any time you need to check them over. They will act like every move you make is a direct threat to their life. They will shit on EVERYTHING. They will stink. Like death. They will bathe in the kiddie pools you place out for them, and subsequently SHIT in them every single minute of every single day. They will kill your firstborn baby. They will steal your soul. They will shit ON EVERYTHING. They will make your neighbors curse the day you were born. They will cause earthquakes and famine and volcanic destruction.
THEY WILL SHIT ON EVERYTHING YOU LOVE.
{Shaunna and I spotted this Triumph today in the hills just outside of Sedona, Arizona and immediately thought of Rrrick. It needs a sidecar for Crystal to be truly authentic.
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“I say old chap”
When the day comes (and it honestly will- we’ve been sorta looking for some time), Rick needs to advise us on finding a good bike with sidecar. Shaunna driving, the dog the passenger. Mostly. I want to ride bitch from time to time.
(Source: fuckyeahsidecars)
{“(Graham W.) Jackson (Sr.) became a personal friend of Eleanor and President Franklin D. Roosevelt, and had played command performances in Washington numerous times. He was present in Warm Springs, Georgia, when Roosevelt died in April 1945. The two had been collaborating at the Little White House on a version of Dvorak’s “Goin’ Home” the day before. Jackson became a national icon when Ed Clark, a Life magazine photographer, captured a photo of a tearful Jackson, accordion in hand, playing “Goin’ Home” as Roosevelt’s funeral train left Warm Springs”
