When 5 Ducks Take on Snakes, Dusty Gulch Prepares for Bloodshed
By Roderick (Whiskers) McNibble, Special Correspondent for the Dusty Gulch Gazette
Dusty Gulch Stadium is no place for sneaky ducks.
This morning, word hit the paddocks: five Plentaview ducks are squaring off against a band of unruly American sidewinding snakes, and the locals are not impressed. They like their ducks in a neat row, thank you very much ...but order is clearly on holiday.
I tracked the contenders down to Dusty Gulch Rugby Field and filed this exclusive: the ducks and snakes aren’t just playing ...they’re threatening the very rules of the game and everything we hold dear: trust, honesty, and a fair go.
In this sun-scorched arena, where politics tackles rugby, the ducks have swapped their tidy formation for a chaotic dance with the Yankee Coilbacks, while a goose- media mogul Goosie Loosie - hovers, honking half-truths into breadcrumbs of confusion.
Referee possum Didelphis Noxbridge keeps a wary eye on proceedings, but with Dusty Gulch citizens ready to blow the final whistle, this isn’t a match. It’s a reckoning - for trust itself.
Welcome to Dusty Gulch Stadium, where politics meets rugby and the stakes are as high as a kangaroo’s hop.
The old adversaries, Boris the Bear and the man known only as " Da Golden Trumpet" or DJT, for short... sit in the grandstand. Boris, snacking and sipping an Emu Brew, the local ale, and wrestling a jar of honey between plays, sat, arms folded, saying, “This Beargate stuff is rubbish.” DJT’s nodding along, snacking on gold-dusted lamingtons.
The chaos? That’s homegrown.
No ducks guts were used in the creation of Emu Brew. No emus were used to haul wagons either. Photo is not historically accurate.
First Half: Ducks and Snakes in Cahoots
The two teams, " Plentaview Poultry " and The " Yankee Coilbacks " are supposed to be playing a fair game according to the International Rules of Rugby. Instead, here they are, the ducks passing the ball to the " Yankee snakes" . Strong winger for the Ducks, led by the sly but agile player Feathers Downunder, flaps into the fray, while a yankee duck slides in with his own slick moves.
Reservists from Maple County and Buckhouse follow, feathers ruffled, and a bedraggled Kiwi - playing for the ducks, just gets dragged along. The rugby ball? It’s not leather- it’s power, careers, political futures. Drop it, and you’re out for good.
Halftime Goose: Honks from the Sidelines
Just when you think the play couldn’t get messier, in swoops the Goose on the Loose - led by none other than Lord Squawk Squawk's editor, Goosie Loosie. Loose on the Truth but with millions of followers online. He's not even a player; he’s a noise machine. Honking headlines from every corner, stirring panic, feeding the frenzy.
Every honk distracts the players and turns the crowd into a restless mob. Truth, rumour - it’s all breadcrumbs now. And there, waddling proudly alongside the goose, is Maurice EDuck - the self-appointed censor of Dusty Gulch. He’s the one who banned Trevor the Wallaby’s knees and now has his sights set on the emus’ toes. Every honk Maurice amplifies, every whistle he tries to silence. The more feathers fly, the happier he gets.
Second Half: Enter Prentis Penjani
The chaos isn’t just on the field. Prentis Penjani, the smooth shapeshifter, is working the sidelines. One moment he’s with the ducks, the next with the snakes, smiling as long as the payoff is right. Money, influence, power - it’s all currency to him. He’s already placing bets on who drops the ball first and whispering to anyone with deep pockets that he can spin the story their way.
The Ball in Question
But what is this ball everyone’s scrambling for? Really. Is it blame? Credibility? Control? Whatever it is, it’s heavy, and whoever fumbles it may never recover. Even the Goose, once untouchable, looks nervous. The crowd senses it, and the tension is thick. DJT and Boris are on the sidelines now, arms folded, watching like hawks.
The Crowd Speaks
Because here’s the truth: the referee isn’t the Didelphis Noxbridge anymore - it’s the citizens of Dusty Gulch. And they are restless. In the stands, Mavis from the CWA adjusts her hat and says to anyone who’ll listen, “They can honk and hiss all they like, but the day’s coming when someone’s getting stuffed.” Next to her, Beryl McCluskey - a large woman who’s known to enjoy too many McFookit burgers, marmalade on toast, and a good lamington - leans back with a hum. “I haven’t sung yet,” she warns, her voice warm and thunderous. “And when I do, you’ll know the game’s over.”
Final Thoughts from the Mayor’s Box
Mayor Dusty McFookit leans over the rail and grins darkly. “This isn’t rugby anymore, mates - it’s survival. The ducks are squawking, the snakes are hissing, Maurice EDuck’s honking with the goose, and Prentis Penjani’s swapping scarves faster than a chameleon at a fashion show. But the real danger isn’t on the field.
It’s in the stands. The crowd’s baying for blood, and they don’t care whose blood it is - as long as it isn’t theirs. Without the crowd, the spectacle is nothing, and today, the spectacle belongs to them.
Full Time: Trust on the Line
The scoreboard? Goose 1, Ducks and Snakes 0. But the game isn’t finished. With the crowd roaring and Beryl clearing her throat, the next whistle could change everything.
