Gay is the television critic.
Dear 'Duck Dynasty' dudes,
Come to Long Island, boys. I know you're all busy with duck whistles, and not shaving, and starring on A&E's hottest show on the cable TV -- eight, nine million viewers a shot -- but you don't know ducks unless you know LI.
Ducks is us. Or ducks was us.
But that's another story. Today's pitch: We have the world's biggest duck. (And I don't mean Quackerjack, the mascot for our Long Island Ducks baseball team.)
How big is this bad boy? Take all the ducks that have had the lousy luck of flying over your local Louisiana bayou, multiply them by 10, and they wouldn't even weigh half as much as this duck's bill. He -- at least I think he's a "he," but he could just as easily be a "she," though probably "no discernible duck sex" is the box I would check -- is huge.
Hugest dang duck you ever saw.
Now, I get your reluctance to come to L.I.; you Robertsons are big TV stars now. Why risk coming here to have a giant duck sit on you -- some kind of karma for all the ducks you've done in over the years. But look at this as a challenge. (As Jase said on the show: "You can talk any redneck into a challenge. That's why so many rednecks die in strange ways.")
Or even consider this an "RV." (Jase: "RV to us stands for Redneck Vacation.")
Did I say this duck was big? Hot damn, he/she/it is big. But y'all know "big," or at least Si Robertson does: "Any animal can get big, boys. Hey, once I reached down to pet a little dog and when I did -- hey -- it was a 5-pound squirrel."
(But what about a 40,000-pound squirrel? That's how much our duck weighs.)
Our big duck doesn't have a name. That's why he's called Big Duck.
Our Big Duck doesn't fly -- but he's moved around a lot. Right now, he's in Flanders.
Our Big duck is a senior citizen -- 82.
Our Big Duck is inedible, although Si might figure out a way to make something out of him. ("I am the MacGyver of cooking. If you bring me a piece of bread, cabbage, coconut, mustard greens, pigs feet, pine cones ... and a woodpecker, I'll make you a good chicken potpie.")
Our Big Duck is some kinda art, too. Steve Wick, an editor for this here newspaper called Newsday, once called him "Art Ducko."
Our Big Duck -- heh, heh -- doesn't even need a shave. (Si: "Never insult a man's beard, or you either get thunder or lightning.")
Awright, boys. Pitch is over. After tonight's show, check out our duck, but leave your guns at home. The Suffolk County Po-leece will not take kindly to you shooting at our big duck, and -- now that I think of it -- nor would our Big Duck.