Ducks are cute, even with my fading vision. But I agree that sometimes it's difficult to spot a real minger, - particularly when they're in the classic Playduck centre-fold postion (head down in the water, arse and flippers waggling skyward in a 'come and get me big boy' way).
For me, it's the noise the really. There's nothing like the sound of a good old mallard stuck in a Meg Ryan loop. It's that mixture of pleasure, panic and volume.
It seems particularly poignant to me, that today of all days, we're talking about shagging farm animals. The Third Reich wouldn't have had it, that's for sure.
H
That's fine if you're Bill Oddie or Bernard Matthews, but as we all know, the reality is that when they've got your mum and they're threatening to kill her unless you shag a farm animal, you just don't think that clearly, do you? I mean to say, rather like the duck, you're in somewhat of a flap aren't you.
The truth is, you just drive down to a farm, jump out and grab the first farm-ish animal you can lay your hands on, and for arguements sake, let us say it's a cow. And of course, as you know, there is a disparity between cow-fanny-level and gentleman's ahem-level.The fanny is about there. <gestures approx height of cow-fanny> So you look around for a milking stool, only it's not the 17th century anymore, so there isn't one.
Then you remember your mum and realise you're wasting time. You pull out your donger and take a running jump onto the cow's back. The cow starts mooing it's head off, and all the other cows gather round to watch. The dirty cows. And they all start mooing too. Shortly thereafter, in comes the the farmer to see what the hullaballoo is all about, only to find you frantically hanging off the back of a cow, thrusting away, and you're trying to explain about your mum but you know how it looks, of course.
"My mum!" you shout, as you hump the cow with your legs dangling in the air.
God, how embarrassing.
