one time i was in philly with my 5th grade class. we rode on thos ebig duck boats. it was fun exept i hate when mom comes on trips with me and my class its so embarassing. i want to just have fun but shes there… ducks are kinda cute but i would rather have a different animal like a baby monkey or KITTEN. baby ducks are cute though. pretty much any baby animal is. and babies in general :-)
Quack. Quack. The yellow duck wandered across the road and to the ditch on the other side, looking for her baby. She looked left, and saw the garbage covering the drain field. She cringed. She looked right and saw a large tire, inside of which was a little tiny yellow head.
The fog covers
my glasses like frost,
covering my thoughts
about the latest text
or my relationship problems,
roommate issues.
The fog covers
my anger,
cooling my misty eyes
into ice,
no longer frustrated
by the scorching weather of
the past two weeks,
straining to catch my breath
under the heat,
imploding from my mind,
boiling on the inside.
The fog covers
my arrogance,
my pride, the envy
of wanting a life
another has.
Wishing for rain.
throwing crusts of bread into the duck pond the flick of the wrist a little too overt and so off comes your charming charm bracelet, plastic beads of verying shapes now drowning in the duck pond along with the balled up crusts of bread. shame. a shame. shamed.
The man looked around the park and glanced the pond, the mother duck led her ducklings under some brush next to the shore as the rain started to fall. It reminded him how he was alone in his own storms.
I never forgot that duck my father bought years ago. First one then two more. But this first is the one I remember the most. He pooped all over my hand and suddenly I didn’t love him quite as much as I did. Then I realized that ducks wake up each morning and rape each other. Lovely.
There once was a duck. It went quack all day in the park, it was a fun thing to look at but then it went to the playground and saw its name scribbled into a bench. But they had speeled his name wrong. The duck was hurt and sad. It looked so ugly right there, just cold and creepy. He felt hurt and confused, his heart broke everytime a child put their bottoms against his gross name.
ducks are birds. They are small and adorable. I like ducks a lot. They quack. They are super smart. Ducks live in ponds and lakes around the world. Mainly in the united states. They have flippers and beaks. They eat fish and bugs.
He ducks behind the convenience store into where there’s light and he fumbles through his pocket for his brand new pack of Camel Filters. He pulls one out and sticks it in between his lips and closes his eyes as he lights it up and pulls the familiar thickness into his lungs. It is harsh and warm and unforgiving, just the way he likes it.
He has not had one in months, but he can’t get this image out of his mind of her car driving away, headlights illuminating his cheekbones and burning silhouettes into his eyes, big round yellow mocking silhouettes.
He remembers brushing her hair behind her ear and he remembers the way her sundress clung to her hips and the way the sun would shine on her forehead and light up her collarbone in the most inviting way. The last thing she said to him was Fuck You. He takes another drag off his cigarette and closes his eyes again.
one of my favourite shows ever is queer duck. It Is about a homosexual duck and his lover, openly gator. they are both cute as fuck. and they fuck men and bitches too. so d
the duck said quack. the girl turned in front and wonder of why it made such a noise. it flapped his wings in fright as the little girl run to grab it, before it took off in flight, skimming the water. The spray caught her face and in a surprise, she turned and ran away.
once there was a duck who had almost no luck. he was a sad little boy who was left all alone by his family. not many people liked him and he was gray instead of a pretty brown or white or black. grey is such a boring color and he hated the way he looked. he hated it so much that when he was little he would try to just disappear. i mean the best thing that ever had ever ever happened to him was that he found a beautiful girl who loved him for his grey color
The duck lunges for my neck. He is a character. He wants to have it’s way with me, but I won’t let him. He stairs in my eyes and says Quack! I reach for his neck and think of Christmas supper. He is not scared of me.
“DUCK!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.
I ducked forward as she instructed just as the pancake-sausage wrap flew over my head and went soaring across the middle school cafeteria.
Today was not going to be a good day.
The ugly duckling got left behind. While media propaganda took over, no one really cared about the little, squabbling one. The duckling just wanted to be heard, and wanted to be seen–beyond than just as it appeared. The duckling wanted to win hearts.
But everyone else has it installed in their minds to notice the beauty of things, and despise the flaws otherwise.
that stupid duck would never leave me alone. i knew it knew what i knew, but i wasn’t going to tell. no, the secrets of my donkey’s arse best be left alone…who knows? he may be the source of all that is good
Ted and Jeremy walked down the dirt path as they always did, on their way to the fishin’ hole. They were stopped just before getting to the foot bridge by Toughy Henderson, the town bully. “Gimme yer lunch money,” demanded Toughy as he held out his beefy paw. “We ain’t got no lunch money,” Teddy said as he turned out his pockets, showing they contained only dirt and worms. As Toughy grabbed them, Jeremy suddenly yelled, “DUCK!”
When Teddy stood back up, brushing off his overalls, he followed Jeremy’s gaze upward, to Beefy airborne in the distance, in the clutches of a white-tailed hawk.
They through the ashes on the floor, over the doorstep, through the hall and under the stairs. He never remembered to duck when he went down to the cellar, too many concussions, poor fella.
flies when it wants to. picks through mud every other time. we get to make love in the water when we’re ducks… if we want to. i can fly really fast when i’m a duck, and i can choose from a myriad of feather arrangements. let’s do this together!
As the fat white fluffy creature waddled closer to the tree Jay was sat beneath, he turned his gaze over to the gray waters of the cold lake. It wasn’t fair. Not at all.
“It’s not fair, Duck”, he moaned. As the first half-choked, wet gargle came from Jay’s throat, the wary duck began to move away.
“Good idea, clueless one. Oh god, I’m resorting to tallking to a duck”, and with that, he let his shoulders fall and cried freely, the duck the only witness.
Duck and cover was a common saying in the days of the cold war as an effective means of shielding oneself from the effect of a nuclear blast. Isn’t it true that this would make no difference because everyone would just die anyway?
I couldn’t figure it out, so I sat by the lake, head resting on m knees. A duck swam by, leaving a trail of ripples in its wake. They seemed to be pointing out a needed path, but where that was I didn’t know.
quacking softly, the newborn duck came into the world from within its mama’s womb. she tucked the duckling into her soft and warm feathers, protecting it from harm and cold. the two ducks sat, mama and baby, two a pair.
ducks. ducks. i remember reading this book when i was little. it was about a family of ducks that lived in new york city. a mother duck and her little ducklings. they wanted to cross the street to live in a pond on the other side. so that’s what i think of- ducks and new york city.
my friend had a pool and ducks would go there in the winter when they had a pool cover on top — she named them peter and wendy, like the storybook. she told me they were in love, and had a nest somewhere, and that peter always cared about wendy and they were just so cute. my friend doesn’t tell me about them anymore, because she doesn’t care about me anymore. i miss peter and wendy.
The duck sat on the end of dock watching the other ducks float up and down in the small waves on the 4th of July. Of course, the duck didn’t know it was the 4th of July. It just knew the waves were small.
Once upon a time there was a duck named Charles McCarthy. He was an assassin trained by the feline KGB to kill all the lions on the planet because of their massive corruption and the fact they eat cute animals. Fin. Duck are awesome
Duck is a very common word. It denotes a bird that lives on the water or can mean an order “DUCK! Incoming”. It would be possible to duck if a duck were flying overhead. In fact, it might be a good idea, just in case the duck drops a duck dropping on your head.
We ducked through the doorway and stood outside the gate. “Well, this is it,” he said, sighing. “Uh huh,” was all I could manage to say. I started crying silently, and he brought me into him. I looked up after a while and pressed my lips to his. The final goodbye, so I pressed even harder.
“DUCK!” he yelled, as the airplane whizzed overhead. The remote control was in the hands of a rogue 5 year old, giggling away.
“You’re going to take out someone’s eye!”
The plane spiraled through the air and rose up high before landing in the ocean.
one time i was in philly with my 5th grade class. we rode on thos ebig duck boats. it was fun exept i hate when mom comes on trips with me and my class its so embarassing. i want to just have fun but shes there… ducks are kinda cute but i would rather have a different animal like a baby monkey or KITTEN. baby ducks are cute though. pretty much any baby animal is. and babies in general :-)
Quack. Quack. The yellow duck wandered across the road and to the ditch on the other side, looking for her baby. She looked left, and saw the garbage covering the drain field. She cringed. She looked right and saw a large tire, inside of which was a little tiny yellow head.
The fog covers
my glasses like frost,
covering my thoughts
about the latest text
or my relationship problems,
roommate issues.
The fog covers
my anger,
cooling my misty eyes
into ice,
no longer frustrated
by the scorching weather of
the past two weeks,
straining to catch my breath
under the heat,
imploding from my mind,
boiling on the inside.
The fog covers
my arrogance,
my pride, the envy
of wanting a life
another has.
Wishing for rain.
throwing crusts of bread into the duck pond the flick of the wrist a little too overt and so off comes your charming charm bracelet, plastic beads of verying shapes now drowning in the duck pond along with the balled up crusts of bread. shame. a shame. shamed.
The man looked around the park and glanced the pond, the mother duck led her ducklings under some brush next to the shore as the rain started to fall. It reminded him how he was alone in his own storms.
I never forgot that duck my father bought years ago. First one then two more. But this first is the one I remember the most. He pooped all over my hand and suddenly I didn’t love him quite as much as I did. Then I realized that ducks wake up each morning and rape each other. Lovely.
There once was a duck. It went quack all day in the park, it was a fun thing to look at but then it went to the playground and saw its name scribbled into a bench. But they had speeled his name wrong. The duck was hurt and sad. It looked so ugly right there, just cold and creepy. He felt hurt and confused, his heart broke everytime a child put their bottoms against his gross name.
ducks are birds. They are small and adorable. I like ducks a lot. They quack. They are super smart. Ducks live in ponds and lakes around the world. Mainly in the united states. They have flippers and beaks. They eat fish and bugs.
He ducks behind the convenience store into where there’s light and he fumbles through his pocket for his brand new pack of Camel Filters. He pulls one out and sticks it in between his lips and closes his eyes as he lights it up and pulls the familiar thickness into his lungs. It is harsh and warm and unforgiving, just the way he likes it.
He has not had one in months, but he can’t get this image out of his mind of her car driving away, headlights illuminating his cheekbones and burning silhouettes into his eyes, big round yellow mocking silhouettes.
He remembers brushing her hair behind her ear and he remembers the way her sundress clung to her hips and the way the sun would shine on her forehead and light up her collarbone in the most inviting way. The last thing she said to him was Fuck You. He takes another drag off his cigarette and closes his eyes again.
I hate fucking ducks. Quack Quack Qu-SHUT THE FUCK UP! Why did nature find the need to create a flightless retarded cousin of the bird?
one of my favourite shows ever is queer duck. It Is about a homosexual duck and his lover, openly gator. they are both cute as fuck. and they fuck men and bitches too. so d
duck! your friend just forgot about you. duck! that boy will never love you. duck! i think i see another heartache coming…
the duck said quack. the girl turned in front and wonder of why it made such a noise. it flapped his wings in fright as the little girl run to grab it, before it took off in flight, skimming the water. The spray caught her face and in a surprise, she turned and ran away.
“Duck!” It was a simple enough command. Just get as low as you can as fast as you can…. yet Jane couldn’t do. She wasn’t fast enough.
“Run!” was just the same. How does a person run on command?
once there was a duck who had almost no luck. he was a sad little boy who was left all alone by his family. not many people liked him and he was gray instead of a pretty brown or white or black. grey is such a boring color and he hated the way he looked. he hated it so much that when he was little he would try to just disappear. i mean the best thing that ever had ever ever happened to him was that he found a beautiful girl who loved him for his grey color
Qwack
She needed help to see the ducks when she went to visit the pond
she rarely let herself go
The duck lunges for my neck. He is a character. He wants to have it’s way with me, but I won’t let him. He stairs in my eyes and says Quack! I reach for his neck and think of Christmas supper. He is not scared of me.
The duck waddled across the road like he owned it, stopping all traffic so he could reach the pond which was his destination.
you learned to duck when i threw my love in your face.
“DUCK!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.
I ducked forward as she instructed just as the pancake-sausage wrap flew over my head and went soaring across the middle school cafeteria.
Today was not going to be a good day.
The ugly duckling got left behind. While media propaganda took over, no one really cared about the little, squabbling one. The duckling just wanted to be heard, and wanted to be seen–beyond than just as it appeared. The duckling wanted to win hearts.
But everyone else has it installed in their minds to notice the beauty of things, and despise the flaws otherwise.
that stupid duck would never leave me alone. i knew it knew what i knew, but i wasn’t going to tell. no, the secrets of my donkey’s arse best be left alone…who knows? he may be the source of all that is good
below bullet holes before they exist, but only just before.
Ted and Jeremy walked down the dirt path as they always did, on their way to the fishin’ hole. They were stopped just before getting to the foot bridge by Toughy Henderson, the town bully. “Gimme yer lunch money,” demanded Toughy as he held out his beefy paw. “We ain’t got no lunch money,” Teddy said as he turned out his pockets, showing they contained only dirt and worms. As Toughy grabbed them, Jeremy suddenly yelled, “DUCK!”
When Teddy stood back up, brushing off his overalls, he followed Jeremy’s gaze upward, to Beefy airborne in the distance, in the clutches of a white-tailed hawk.
duck. buck. fuck.
fuck you, for breaking my heart.
fuck you, for coming back, over and over again.
fuck you, for making me fall in love with you.
duck. buck. fuck you.
They through the ashes on the floor, over the doorstep, through the hall and under the stairs. He never remembered to duck when he went down to the cellar, too many concussions, poor fella.
Ducks are so damn annoying. They quack and quack! Screw you and your weird duck sounds. Go find a female and make those noises at her not me!
flies when it wants to. picks through mud every other time. we get to make love in the water when we’re ducks… if we want to. i can fly really fast when i’m a duck, and i can choose from a myriad of feather arrangements. let’s do this together!
As the fat white fluffy creature waddled closer to the tree Jay was sat beneath, he turned his gaze over to the gray waters of the cold lake. It wasn’t fair. Not at all.
“It’s not fair, Duck”, he moaned. As the first half-choked, wet gargle came from Jay’s throat, the wary duck began to move away.
“Good idea, clueless one. Oh god, I’m resorting to tallking to a duck”, and with that, he let his shoulders fall and cried freely, the duck the only witness.
Duck and cover was a common saying in the days of the cold war as an effective means of shielding oneself from the effect of a nuclear blast. Isn’t it true that this would make no difference because everyone would just die anyway?
I couldn’t figure it out, so I sat by the lake, head resting on m knees. A duck swam by, leaving a trail of ripples in its wake. They seemed to be pointing out a needed path, but where that was I didn’t know.
quacking softly, the newborn duck came into the world from within its mama’s womb. she tucked the duckling into her soft and warm feathers, protecting it from harm and cold. the two ducks sat, mama and baby, two a pair.
ducks. ducks. i remember reading this book when i was little. it was about a family of ducks that lived in new york city. a mother duck and her little ducklings. they wanted to cross the street to live in a pond on the other side. so that’s what i think of- ducks and new york city.
my friend had a pool and ducks would go there in the winter when they had a pool cover on top — she named them peter and wendy, like the storybook. she told me they were in love, and had a nest somewhere, and that peter always cared about wendy and they were just so cute. my friend doesn’t tell me about them anymore, because she doesn’t care about me anymore. i miss peter and wendy.
Duck under here,
the rains are coming hard
and water’s filled the yard
Duck under here,
night is coming fast
a cool chill and frost bitten blast
Duck under here
and shelter with me
where nothing will ever harm thee
The duck sat on the end of dock watching the other ducks float up and down in the small waves on the 4th of July. Of course, the duck didn’t know it was the 4th of July. It just knew the waves were small.
Once upon a time there was a duck named Charles McCarthy. He was an assassin trained by the feline KGB to kill all the lions on the planet because of their massive corruption and the fact they eat cute animals. Fin. Duck are awesome
Duck is a very common word. It denotes a bird that lives on the water or can mean an order “DUCK! Incoming”. It would be possible to duck if a duck were flying overhead. In fact, it might be a good idea, just in case the duck drops a duck dropping on your head.
We ducked through the doorway and stood outside the gate. “Well, this is it,” he said, sighing. “Uh huh,” was all I could manage to say. I started crying silently, and he brought me into him. I looked up after a while and pressed my lips to his. The final goodbye, so I pressed even harder.