R.I.P. Donald

RIP Ducky

The little yellow preacher stepped before the crowd and cleared his squeaker. The casket laying in front of him looked almost regal, adorned with a smattering of roses and plenty of tears. The crowd half hidden under handkerchiefs looked up expectantly.


The preacher pushed his rubber wing to the bridge of his gold aviator reading glasses– the ones that made him look somehow more distinguished, his wife said. “We are gathered here today to remember Donald, father, adventurer, and squeaker.” The preacher paused for a moment then set his gaze towards the ground. A slight breeze rushed past, inducing some low-toned hums from some in attendance.


“Donald was a ducky loved by many, and will be missed by many more. He leaves behind a wife, Rina, and two little squeakers, Trombly and Pique. He’ll leave an even bigger hole in the community–”


Rina let out a wail. Unable to contain her anguish any longer, she leapt onto the casket, rocking it on it’s chains. Tears streamed down her face– a face twisted in anger.


“Donny,” she sobbed. “You can’t leave me you fucking idiot.” She flapped her rubber wings against the wood and brass. “What about the kids?”


The preacher stepped back, overwhelmed by the emotion and stood with his wings folded in front. Rina’s mother came to her daughters side and was trying to pull her off the top of the casket.


“Rina, c’mon. Get off there. Donald’s gone. He needs you to be strong for the kids.” Her mother was crying now. After some more pulling and embarrassed looks from some in attendance, Rita’s mother successfully removed her daughter. They walked towards the shade of a nearby oak, Rina still wailing under her mother’s wing.


“He was a fucking idiot mom! He left us with nothing, that drunk asshole.”


Her mother all the meanwhile shushing and pleading with her to not make a mockery of the funeral. It wasn’t working; most of the guests had turned to rubberneck the scene, squeaking a soft harmony in the process. Even the preacher looked up from his hands to watch.


“No, fuck him mom,” Rita shouted, pointing at the casket. “He blew his fucking head off with a firecracker when he had been drinking. He’s an asshole.


The preacher noticed a stifled laugh from the guests and decided this was getting out of hand. He waved over to the attendants and whispered to them. He stepped forward and addressed the crowd. “Okay, let’s continue, so that we may get on with the grieving process.”


A loud crash from the grave made the preacher jump nearly out of his rubber. The casket, he saw, had broken off the chains and fallen.


“For Christ’s sake,” the preacher muttered under his breath. “I’m surrounded by idiots.” He turned to the guests again. “The reception will be at the Donahues in an hour. God bless.” He turned and took off his glasses. More distinguished he laughed in his head.


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