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- I just listened to a thing on NPR about a kid whose dad died when he was 10 or 11 and the kid spent the next 50 years obsessed with time travel, got a Ph.D., became a physics professor, all the while secretly working on a time machine, all so he could go back in time to tell his dad to stop smoking, to take better care of his heart. Who is the duck? Maybe you haven't been shot and stuck in a refrigerator for two days, maybe you haven't died on an operating table, maybe you haven't had your heart ripped out, chewed up, and spit back in your face. Maybe you have. You are the duck and so am I. We are the duck, the duck is us. Hunters, you fucking jackasses, kiss my tailfeathers. (That is so hokey, oh I know. Maybe it would sound better if I'd said 'Hunters, you fucking poser jackass cowards, you fake fucking fucks...'.) I'm going to call my dad now.
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