Yub
Anachrophobic
Doctor Duck awoke to the fresh morning sounds outside the studio apartment above his warehouse lab. The screams were barely audible above the inbound air traffic. His assistant had turned off the sound damping again, but engaging it was a simple matter. He ruffled his feathers with his robotic left arm and flapped his wings a few times. The sound of Mac 10s and Kalashnikov assault rifles firing in a frenzy rang out as he waddled downstairs for coffee. Cursing his assistant he swore that he would kill this one quickly and its cloned replacement would defiantly not be anywhere near as daft. This was, however, a lie. It was a familiar one, as the scientist fowl spent his mornings more often that not cursing his assistant and thinking how best to dispose of him whilst re-engaging the sound damping and preparing his cup of joe. The successive clone was always as daft as the last, if not more so. The super intelligent cockroaches living in the lab were a clue as to why, but Doctor Duck had not as yet seen them, let alone discovered the fact that they could beat him at chess. He had just loaded the hopper with his favourite blend of beans when he heard the doorbell ring.
MING MONG!
The doctor thought this odd, primarily because he did not, in fact, have a doorbell.
MING MONG!
He finished his coffee preparations, perplexed as to the source of this doorbellish sound.
MING MONG!
It was not the sound of a doorbell. It was the sound of somebody making the sound of a doorbell if they had been punched in the face repeatedly.
MING MONG!
Doctor Duck checked the exterior door video camera feed. It was his incredibly ugly and immensely acumen deficient assistant, pointing at his own head and shouting those two words over and over, with a delay over several seconds between each call.
MING MONG!
It appeared that this particular clone of his previous assistants had enough of an IQ, unlike his ancestors, to give himself a name.
MING MONG!
Enough, thought the feathered boffin. The exhibition of brainpower, however slight, was enough to narrowly save this clone his life, but not enough to fully escape the wrath of the doctor. The metal plate beneath the newly christened Ming Mong's feet coursed with just enough voltage cause him a minute or so of unbearble pain, then unconsciousness. A quick quack of delight, then the doctor went to get a nice hot cup of coffee.
MING MONG!
The doctor thought this odd, primarily because he did not, in fact, have a doorbell.
MING MONG!
He finished his coffee preparations, perplexed as to the source of this doorbellish sound.
MING MONG!
It was not the sound of a doorbell. It was the sound of somebody making the sound of a doorbell if they had been punched in the face repeatedly.
MING MONG!
Doctor Duck checked the exterior door video camera feed. It was his incredibly ugly and immensely acumen deficient assistant, pointing at his own head and shouting those two words over and over, with a delay over several seconds between each call.
MING MONG!
It appeared that this particular clone of his previous assistants had enough of an IQ, unlike his ancestors, to give himself a name.
MING MONG!
Enough, thought the feathered boffin. The exhibition of brainpower, however slight, was enough to narrowly save this clone his life, but not enough to fully escape the wrath of the doctor. The metal plate beneath the newly christened Ming Mong's feet coursed with just enough voltage cause him a minute or so of unbearble pain, then unconsciousness. A quick quack of delight, then the doctor went to get a nice hot cup of coffee.
