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(   ____  ____  ____                                                        )
 ) |    ||    |\    \                                                      ( 
(  |    ||    |/____/    el duck!                                           )
 ) |    ||    |\    \    ir file number 035                                (
(  |____||____| |____|   released 09.10.00                                  )
 ) |    ||    |\|    |   by linear                                         (
(  |____||____| |____|   we're just fucking with your mind.                 )
 )  _impulse reality_                                                      (
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	I glanced up at the clock. 5 past 12. The cold night air engulfed my
body. I shivered. It had been four hours now, and it didn't seem to be coming
to an end anytime soon. My eyes shifted back to his. Back to the duck's. He
hadn't said a word, nor had a single sound escaped his body. He just stared
at me with a peircing gaze that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on
end. This duck was trying to intimidate me, and it was working. I broke into
a cold sweat, shifted uneasily in my seat, and urinated myself. Still, the
feathered terrorist just looked at me from across my newly purchased dining
room table - which, ironically enough, was actually in my living room. Tears
welled up in my eyes, and I soon found that all efforts to hold them in were
useless. They rolled down my cheeks and on to the tablecloth, which had been
handed down to me by my mother when she had been informed of my appartment's
new dining table. She really liked that table. And, looking back, I mean, 
who didn't like that dining table? It was a really nice one.

	"What do you want from me, you stupid duck? You have no right coming
in to my residence at this hour! I'm tired, frightened, soaked with my own
urine, and I have work tomorrow, you son-of-a-bitch duck! Leave me be, duck,
and give me my sleep!"

	Still, the duck said nothing, but merely looked on. His look now had
the unmistakable element of disgust clearly painted across his face in a
deligthful shade of blue that matched my second-hand tablecloth. My tears
continued as did the duck's cold gaze. The cold, chilling gaze of which I 
knew was a gaze of unquestionable power. I knew at that moment that there was
nothing I could do now. This duck would have his way with me, and there was 
no possible way to stop him. The only thing I could do now was wait. I would
find out what he wanted alright, but how much longer it would take was a 
question that only the duck could answer. And, as I had found out earlier, 
attempting to establish communication with this duck was useless.

	By the time my tears had stopped (and my body had become 
significantly dehydrated), I had managed to glance back up at the clock -
fearful of taking my eyes off this monstorous duck. Two more hours had past.

	It was precisely at this time, 2:05 AM, that I instinctively knew
that I no longer had any desire to expand on, or even write a proper finish
to the story I had started. After all, it was going no where, and any ending
I could offer would be rather anti-climatic. Kind of makes one wonder why I 
even bother at all.

	Shit.

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