Contributed by Gene Kelly
It is common that famous actors and actresses become weary of being identified in public, by admiring fans. They disguise themselves to evade annoyance from autograph requests. Being elderly is an advantage if their film persona was recorded in their youth. But still as senior citizens, evading admiration has challenges.
By coincidence, two legends of film met while strolling along Hollyweird’s Walk of Fame. Daffy Duck and Donald Duck simultaneously saw through each other’s camouflage. Both were attired in trench coats, hiding their feathers, sun glasses and fedoras. Instead of telltale waddling, they engaged in Prussian goose stepping.
As they approached the intersection of Hollyweird and Vine, they tipped their sunglasses up for eye ball contact. Quacks of amusement made a duet chorus. Both our famed, feathered fowls took to reminiscing about days of old black and white, Daffy and Donald. While strolling along, they distracted each other by reminiscing. They lost track of just where they were, but for the moment weren’t concerned.
Daffy told how he had quit the National Association for the Advancement of Colored Ducks, due to their absorption of Marxist ideology, common within Hollyweird. Donald told of disgust from being slandered as a cracker quacker deplorable. Then they commiserated over past studio manipulations of their speech impediment lisps, common amongst ducks. They also expressed disgust with the toxic masculinity stereotype, and “me too” mania, metastasizing through judicial culture.
Soon, our duck duo had bonded beyond their youthful rivalry as film star competitors. They knew they were fortunate to never be cast in the Marx Brothers Duck Soup. And they resigned themselves to not finding a relaxing swamp to paddle about in, since swamp creatures were in an uproar over EPA drainage issues.
Donald and Daffy soon came to casually refer to each other as Don and Daff for short. They were surprised to learn that they had both studied disguise tactics within Mad Magazine’s Spy vs. Spy and James Bond. Our elderly ducks, one black and one white, found common cause as deplorable privileged suspects. Yes, black Daff had pity for white Don being stereotyped, due to the color of his feathers and not the content of his character. Daff had read The White Ducks Burden. Don had read Soul on Ice. Daff realized Amos and Andy had simply been recycled by opportunists and applied to honky Don.
As they strolled along, off the beaten tourist paths, Don and Daff were deliberately giving curious tourists the slip, the better to enjoy their undistracted common company. But their casual stroll away from their chauffeurs would have a tumultuous turn.
Since both of our wandering ducks were elderly and had neglected seeing optometrists, they didn’t see the Sesame St. sign when they passed beneath it. And they had relaxed their goose stepping by reverting to waddling, due to absorption in quacking as birds of a feather. Camaraderie had distracted them, so they didn’t realize peril was ahead. About halfway down the block past the street sign, PBS studio union employees spotted Don and Daff and called the police.
Yes, soon our fowl friends were approached by flashing lights and sirens, loaded into the back of a cruiser and taken to jail. The charge was illegal immigration by capitalists into a government-financed socialist utopia. The questions that came to the fore were how much would bail be, and would they face extradition proceedings.
Fortunately, Daff knew a lawyer at Heckle and Jeckle Law Firm, so bail was soon arranged. Such are the perils resulting from fame and fortune. It explains why portrayals of Hollyweird personages at the grocery check-out line involve so many psychiatrists and lawyers.
Positive developments came from our famous quackers being briefly incarcerated. They realized they had a common hobby, driving Harley choppers. So, they resolved to leave the city for a refreshing rural departure. Their goal was Mardi Gras in New Orleans.
After mechanical maintenance and arranging bank balances, our feathered friends rendezvoused and departed California, for saner regions. By the time they reached Phoenix, they needed rest. Daff and Don were humiliated by rejection, when seeking lodging at a motel. They were told they might shed feathers and should move on.
A pause at a truck stop for a shower got them more rudeness. They were told they might plug up the plumbing. When they departed the laundromat and shower facility, the matron in charge scowled at them through the picture window, as they mounted their Harleys. Our duck duo went disorderly when they repeatedly chanted, “The woman is in the window! The woman is in the window!”
Our wandering birds had acquired lone duck traits from years of celebrity manipulation and became true lone ducks, not the romanticized “hero riding off into the sunset” variety. They headed out of town, planning to spend the night not as stars but under the stars. After an evening of quacking around a campfire, our famous geriatric ducks slept until dawn.
Daff and Don never made it to New Orleans, because a major hurricane caused by global changing stopped them. Instead they drove to St. Louis, sold their Harleys and paddled happily ever after in the Missouri River with no California dreaming.
