Puck the Muck Duck here.
With the impending release of an unauthorized biography, Puck the Muck Duck Run Amok: The Filthy Laundry of the World’s Dirtiest Fowl, it’s time to come clean, so to speak, and tell my story and set the record straight or at least, kinda straight.
The paparazzi caught me. Even the muckiest duck has got to clean up once in awhile.
After college, so many of my fellow duck-mates went off to spend their time getting puckered in bubble baths. Let me tell you, that Muppet serenading a cute little duck in the bathtub was the worst thing to happen to muck-ducks like me since the invention of duck-lip selfies. As you can tell, I don’t like to follow the crowd. (I was always the duckling veering off in my own direction when mom took us out for a swim.)
I go my own way. I waddle to the beat of my own drummer. Well, I don’t really waddle at all. It’s more a “swaddle,” half-swagger, half-waddle.
I’ve always preferred things on the messier side. Admittedly, I’m a little foul-mouthed (sorry) and I’m not afraid to ruffle a few feathers now and then. So, it was only natural that MuckFest® MS and I found each other. They needed a statuesque and Herculean mascot who could perform amazing athletic stunts. When they couldn’t find one, they called me. It worked out because I love the mud and I love all the muckers who love the mud.
What you may not know is that the mucky obstacle-filled course is truly my natural habitat. No weedy ponds or asphalt puddles for me. When I’m not swinging on the Swing Sets, taking selfies at The Spinner, or wading at the bottom of Spill Hill, I’m making waves in the mucky zig-zag pits and the majestically muddy Skid-Mark pool. It’s really a paradise, my dirt-vana, if you will.
I’m what you’d call a “selfie connoisseur”.
And rest assured, when you do something truly hilarious out on the course – and you will, believe me – I’ll be there to laugh at, I mean, with you. Although be warned, my laugh isn’t your usual guffaw, it’s more of a “muck, muck, muck, muck…”
All the action isn’t out on the course. After getting the muck washed off, I invite all the muckers and their guests to join me in the MuckFestival area, where I’ve been known to throw back a cold one or two. Although I’m no disco duck, I do have in my repertoire a striking interpretation of the Funky Chicken that some have called, “The New Forbidden Dance of the 21st Century.” And, if you catch me at the right moment, I may even be persuaded to recite a bit of the muck-poetry that’s been written about me, most notably by a recent U.S. Poet Laureate who strangely denies having ever met me:
There once was a duck from Nantucket
Who really knew how to muck it
With swaggering pluck
He drove around in a truck
‘Cause the Big Balls don’t fit in a bucket.
Now you have a better sense of the real me – the duck behind the mask, or something. So when you see me at MuckFest MS, don’t just give me a head-bob or a lame wave, come up and really say, “Hello” by giving me a squeeze! I’ll be sure to squeeze you back and wish you, “Good muck!”