The Yelling Duck
by Froggie von Froggerson
There was an angry duck, and all he did was yell
What he was yelling, no one could tell
But he kept on yelling, though he was not understood
He would not stop yelling as loud as he could
Finally a fellow duck asked, “Why all the rage?”
The yelling duck replied, “I just saw Ke$ha perform on stage.”
And then everyone was like, “Ooooh. Keep on yelling then, little duck.”
(via frankisaurusrex)
Harvey the Jewish Christmas Duck
by Froggie Von Froggerson
Harvey the Duck was a loyal Jew
He followed the Torah and went to Temple too
He always made sure his Yarmulke was firmly on his head
He learned to quack in Hebrew, and always ate kosher crumbs of bread
But Harvey had a secret that know one knew
He wanted a Merry Christmas, even though he was a Jew
Sure Hanukkah was nice, and he loved his new dreidel
And he didn’t care about baby Jesus all snug in his cradle
He loved the spectacle and the twinkling of lights
He loved Santa and Frosty and all the Christmas sights
But how could he tell his Jewish duck brethren he had these desires
How could he tell them it was a Christian holiday he so admires
Harvey would buy Christmas paraphernalia and hide it from sight
But when no one was looking, he would wear his plush Santa hat with great delight
He cleaned out a closet and put up a tree
And he closed the door so no one could see
But Harvey could not keep his secret for very long
For his mother walked in on him, dressed as Santa, singing a Christmas song
What’s going on here! She screamed in horror
Harvey was startled and fell flat on the floor
Mom I can explain, Harvey looked up and muttered
It’s not a big deal, I just like Christmas he stuttered
But your a Jew, you can’t believe in this stuff
Harvey mustered his courage stood tall and said, “That’s enough!”
I’m a good Jew and I have been hiding this too long
I like the spirit of Christmas, is that really so wrong
I am of the chosen ones and of that I have great pride
But all this Christmas cheer makes me happy inside
If that’s how you feel, I guess that’s okay with me
But, I thought you’d be angry at all my Christmas glee
As long as you stay faithful, I really don’t mind
Just make sure you become a doctor
Hey, that doesn’t rhyme
Leroy the Duck Jockey - Audio Version
by Froggie Von Froggerson
Now I’ve seen all kinds of jockeys in my time But there is one in particular that sticks in my mind
For this was no ordinary rider of a horse
I speak of Leroy the Duck Jockey, of course
He was a fierce rider and light as a feather
He would ride fearlessly…rain, shine, or any kind of weather
Now Leroy the Duck was undefeated for a span
That is until Harold the Badger spoiled his plan
Harold rode dirty, bumping and kicking as the horses rode round
And with a forceful push, Harold knocked Leroy to the ground
Leroy lost that day, but he did not admit defeat
He vowed revenge when the two next would meet
The day was near, Leroy prepared for this badger’s worst
He had practiced weeks on end and had memorized this course
He held on tight, prepared for any shove
He and his horse Daisy fit like a glove
The gun fired off and they sped off like thunder
Harold the Badger aimed to take Leroy down under
The final lap came and they were neck and neck
Harold tried to bump Leroy, but could only manage a peck
Head to head and tail to tail
Leroy spurred his horse, he could not fail
Harold grew angry and kicked with all his might
It broke Leroy’s wing, but he shook it off with the end in sight
The horses galloped, panting heavily with every stride
As if they knew the meaning of this fateful ride
Closer and closer the finish came
Victory was in their eyes, with all its glory and fame
The badger made a last attempt to throw this bird from his saddle
But instead he lost his balance ending his chances to win this battle
The mighty duck jockey crossed the line, broken wing and all
The badger laid on the ground, devastated from his fall
For today good has triumphed and evil lay in the muck
Today is victory, for the honorable Leroy the Duck.
Frank the Duck
By Froggie Von Froggerson
Frank the duck was a curious bird
For he did not quack, instead he purred
You are not a cat, his friends all muttered
He would try to quack, yet a purr is all he uttered
The felines would hear this, and gather round
Their curiosity nearly killed them, as they heard this sound
You are a duck, not one of us
If you do not stop, we shall make a fuss
Frank tried to quack once more, but to no avail
His quest for quackitude was nothing but fail
He saught the wisdom of an elder duck
How do I stop this, am I out of luck?
Let me take a look down your bill he said
Perhaps the answer is in this piece of bread
It does seem stuck right where you quack
Let me smack you firmly upon your back
And with a swift hit from the elder’s mighty wing
The bread flew out and Frank could sing
He quacked and quacked until no more quacks could occur
And that was the day, Frank stopped his unatural purr
The Ducken
By Edgar Allen Frogman
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I watched TV, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of infomercial lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a quacking,
As of some one gently smacking, smacking at my bedroom door.
“‘Tis some duck,” I muttered, “quacking at my bedroom door-
Only this, and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak show about vacuums,
With mini-cyclones, increased suction to raise the dirt upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;–vainly I had sought to borrow
From my parents credit card so I could buy the super sucking thing to do my chore-
For the rare occasion I actually clean my floor-
Extra suction here for evermore.
Open here I flung the door, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately duck of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least waddle made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of duck, duck or goose, perched below my bedroom door-
Perched upon a bust of Yoda, just below my bedroom door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more…except for the crapping…evermore.
Then this orange-billed bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure a duck,
Ghastly grim and ancient duck waddling from the sewage lake shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonium shore!”
Quoth the duck, “Mr. Quackers, bitch…and nothing more.”
Look at this duck.
I am looking at this duck. It makes me want to write one of my famous duck poems.
Oh little duck, with tiny black feet
You make the smile on my face complete
If you were mine I would hug you to death
I’d squeeze you hard till you lost your breath
Then my mom would say this is why I can’t have pets
And then I’d be like, “But Mommm!’
And she’d be like, “You have to bury this one. I’m not doing it again.”
Umm…sorry about that. That poem just got real.
I love you fuzzy little duck.
