Warning: Disturbing Waterfowl-Related Content Within

I’m kind of not joking here. This is going to get disturbing. I’m going to talk about naughty bits. (Mom, if you’re reading this, stop. Seriously. Some of the rest of you, too.)

It all started innocently enough. I learned that our state museum was going to have a Star Wars exhibit, and so I went to the website to learn more. There in the corner was a bit of trivia about our great state: “In 1992, Indiana ranked No. 1 in the nation in the production of ducks and popcorn.”

Let that sink in for a moment.

Ducks and popcorn. Kind of awesome, kind of ridiculous.

But 1992? That’s 21 years ago. I hadn’t even been to Indiana in 1992, and I feel like I’ve been here forever.

“We can’t rest on our laurels,” I thought angrily, making a mental note to find out later where exactly my laurels are.

I decided to focus on the ducks. After all, with giant corporations out there genetically modifying our food, I didn’t want to run the risk of creating some deadly popcorn mutation that would pop while still on the stalk at upwards of 80 mph, ramming full-speed into people’s faces and potentially hurting if they weren’t fully popped. Also, I understand that fake butter flavoring is apparently bad enough to give cancer to cancer (which means that when I sat all the way through The Neverending Story II in the cinema, watching the movie was sadly not the worst thing I was doing to myself).

So ducks. How does a state increase duck production (henceforth called “producktion”)? Do we play Barry White near ponds? Or do ducks need to hear someone whose voice is more ducklike, like Tom Waits? (Note: I know what you’re thinking, but despite the title, “Bone Machine” is probably not the right album to put ducks in the mood.)

Then came the mistake. I Googled “breeding ducks.” And I found this: http://www.webvet.com/main/2009/01/09/duck-mating-sex-lives-ducks

Go read that, if you dare. I’ll wait here, wishing I had a few shots of whiskey to help me forget that I read it.

Dear Lord. Ducks are evil. (Also, perhaps “Bone Machine” would be the right album.)

Some “highlights” (and I really don’t like using that word in this context) from the article:

Often, a gang of three or four [male ducks] attacks a female duck, sometimes resulting in her injury or death.


The Argentine lake duck’s phallus probably holds the record at 16 inches.

(Additional, cautious use of Google will teach you that they sometimes use it as a “lasso.” However, nothing on Google will help you forget the idea of a 16-inch corkscrew-shaped duck weiner. I am now remembering that I had a duck sausage at Goose Island, and I feel all kinds of confused and conflicted.)

…as many as one in three duck matings are rapes…

(I was concerned about genetically altered popcorn ramming people in mid-air at 80 mph? I was concerned about the wrong thing.)

…unwanted sperm could be stored in side chambers to be ejected later.

So, y’know, Republicans had some idea what they were talking about, but they forgot it was about ducks.

Ducks. Ducks are so evil.

Stop for a minute and think about ducks you’ve liked. Here’s some help: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_fictional_ducks

Good luck scouring that from your brainpan.

Well, you know what? I think that bit of trivia is actually pointing out that we’ve actually turned around the culture of this state! It’s been 21 years since we led the nation in the production of both choking-hazard snacks with cancer-causing yumminess and brutal, felonious unfit-for-society ducks. Also, we’re going to have that Star Wars exhibit, which gives us additional points for awesomeness.

So, here’s to Indiana! Up with Wookiees, down with ducks.

(…get it?)

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