Date: Wed, 11 Feb 1998 15:58:29 -0500 From: tori Subject: INT: And Then There Was George. Duck: Goose Tink begins: [Playing Rules Peculiar to This Interactive: No One Shall Write A Living Breathing Person into this Interactive. I.e., all characters herein shall be fictional, wholly fictional, and nothing but the fictional characters, please? The Mismanagement Tanks Ye for Your Cooperation.] tink: And Then There Was George... Once upon a time, there was George. He was a duck just like you and I until the fateful day that changed his life forever. He waddled and fluffed his feathers like any other duck, quacked up at his own jokes, even went bowling (not candlestick, of course) trying to impress the hens, just like any other duck. If you had seen him in a flock, you wouldn't have looked twice. Just another duck. I mean, after a hard day's work, George would stop by the bar with the other ducks and have a couple brews. Maybe a few fried grasshoppers, a little gawking at the fandancers lifting their feathers, and then he was off to his little bachelor pad in the pond like a thousand other ducks. And then he met Winifred. Talk about the goose that laid the golden eggs! and Tori continues.... One night George decided to go bowling instead of going to the bar. He'd noticed that his thighs were starting to look plump enough for grilling, so he figured he could lose a few pounds *and* drink a few beers. (Like many male ducks, he thought everything was better with a few beers). He waddled into the dark, noisy bowling alley, and immediately found the smoky bar. "First things first," he mumbled. A half hour and two beers later, he walked carefully up to the counter to pay for the game and get his bowling shoes. How he hated those shoes--the bright greens and purples that irritated his eyes. It seemed like such a mockery of the breathtaking pond. Shaking his furry head, he laughed, "You're waxing poetic, George." "Whatcha say?" the grizzled bullfrog behind the counter asked. "Can't hear ya, Sonny." "NEVER MIND! THANK YOU!" "Don't need to shout, Sonny. You're welcome." Still smiling, George fluttered his shiny feathers and waddled to the lane at the far end of the bowling alley. He liked it down here--people would leave him alone unless they really meant to talk to him. No casual talk for George--not tonight. Bowling tonight was serious business. He leaned over the little table and put his name, date and lane on the sheet. Ever a packrat, he kept them in his scrapbook he stored at Tom, the Beaver's house. "May I help you, sir?" the slightly raspy voice startled him. "Darn!" he said, looking at the the big black mark across his sheet. Then he looked up. Into the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen. Star blue, they entranced him. His own made their way down, devouring the Goose's figure. Everything was perfect. She was just the right shade of tan and white. The exquisite shape for swimming for hours. But then, he saw them. They were more than perfect. The colors blended like the sunset over the pond. Those bowling shoes. He was in love.