A duck hunter was telling me about last weekend at Kerang where he was having
no luck. He hunted the whole morning and couldn't get a single kill. On the
way home he went up to a farm house and flying over the barnyard was a big
flock of fat Black Ducks.
Seeing his last chance for success, he took aim at what looked like the
biggest duck in the flock and gave it both barrels. The duck fell from the sky
and landed in the middle of the barnyard. As he neared the barnyard and the
dead duck, he could see that he'd got himself a beauty. But when he was a mere
20 paces from the duck, a farmer stepped out of the barn, picked up the duck
and headed for the farmhouse.
"Hey!" said the hunter, "Come back with my duck!" "Your duck?" said the
farmer, "It was lying dead in my barnyard; it's MY duck." "No! No! You don't
understand!, shouted the hunter, "I shot it and it just happened to fall here.
"Okay, city fella. We'll settle this the country way," says the farmer.
"Country way? What's that?" said the hunter.
"We take turns hitting each other as hard as we can," said the farmer. "Last
man standing wins the duck.... That is, unless you're Yella." "Of course I'm
not yellow," said the hunter. "Fine. Country way it is," says the farmer.
"Since we're on my property, I'll go first."
With that, the farmer took a half step back, steadied himself, and kicked the
hunter square in those most private parts of the hunter's body as hard as he
could. The hunter gasped, screamed like an animal, fell on the ground, curled
up in a knot, turned 3 shades of purple, and nearly died.
After a full half hour and with considerable difficulty, the hunter
straightened up, gasped again, and in a high strained voice said, "Now...
The farmer replied: "Nah, I give up. Here's your duck."
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