“Shut up and get into your duck suit. And, hey—”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t forget to quack.”

“What the fuck, man?”

“It’s got to be done. It adds to the authenticity of it.”

“What’s authentic about a balding fatass walking around in a duck suit waiting to be shot?”

“Hey, you said it, not me. Now quack.”

“No.”

“Quack.”

“No.”

“Okay, you asked for it.”

Pa-pow.

“Oh God, now I need a new duck suit. I thought you were using real bullets.”

“I was.”

“You’re a lousy shot.”

“I don’t understand it. I graduated with honors at The University of Phoenix’s Sniper Rifle Training Correspondence course.”

“Dude… that’s not even a real degree.”

“Says the guy in a duck suit.”

“Holy shit!”

“What?”

“Behind me! Do you see him?”

“I don’t see anything.”

“Oh, my God!”

“What?”

“You have no right handling weapons when you’re as blind as a bat!”

“What the hell?”

“That guy in a duck suit! You shot the wrong duck, buddy!”

“Oh. Of all the days to have a farm cosplay right next door…”

“You know, I think we better run.”