(closed starter)
A furious yell ripped through the trees. “You haven’t seen the last of me! Nothin’ can stop the rise of Daffy Duck!” He shot through the air like a feathered missile and smashed beak first into a thick oak with a ringing THWACK! For a second he stuck there, flattened against the bark, before slowly peeling away in one long, miserable slide. Down he went, feathers scraping wood the whole way, until he dropped rump first into a filthy puddle with a loud, muddy splorsh.
Shaking pond water from his feathers, he sat up on his elbows and gave his head a hard rattle. Ever since that big picture with Porky, the duck had been flying high, but he sure wasn’t about to sit around polishing his trophies. No sirree. He needed another starring vehicle, and he needed it fast before the whole world forgot who the real star was. As ridiculous as it sounded, he was talented, he was brilliant, and boy was he handsome devastatingly, unfairly handsome. But most of all, he was an actor, a true thespian!
He wiped mud from his bill with the back of one wing, grumbling louder with every word. “Those Warner producers didn’t know a good idea if it bit ‘em on the tail feathers. A hundred season masterpiece about the life and times of Daffy Duck? Genius! Pure genius! And they tossed it aside like yesterday’s birdseed. The hacks. The absolute hacks!”
Just as he wound up for a full-blown tirade about the criminal opportunity they were missing, a long shadow stretched over him. Tall, rabbit-shaped, ears and all. Naturally he assumed it was that wascally
He tilted his head back, blinking. “Oh hey, Lola. How’s it goin’?”
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