Quixote1940 - The Monday Morning Memo

“This was no ordinary duck mask. This was not the ducky-wucky false face any mother would have chosen to enliven festivities at her little one’s birthday bash. Molded from hard plastic, thickish and crude, this mask – a sickly yellow with a smear or two of red – suggested the countenance of Donald’s thuggish cousin; the bad duck who’d done time in Folsom for armed robbery, the one who had been escorted off the backlot at Disney for sexually molesting Minnie. It was difficult not to picture a hand-rolled cigarette or the sub of a cheap cigar hanging from its beak.

. . . Upon entering the examination room, the doctor took one look at me and froze in his tracks. He did not move. He did not smile. He did not speak. Dr. Medwell just stood there for the longest time, staring, seemingly not sure whether to approach me or to retreat. Finally, to relieve the tension, I said, ‘Well, aren’t you at least going to refer me to a veterinarian?’ That broke the ice, but he still refused to examine me until I took off the mask.”

- Tom Robbins, Tibetan Peach Pie, p. 272-273

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