This is pure Crack, it's just mental!
Written by both me and Jamie after a really odd but genius conversation, the whole duck idea actually started from 'I EM 4 YERZ OLD' then we were chatting in macro speak for like 10mins haha! Anyway just enjoy it! It's a bit of fun!

Disclaimer: Neither me nor Jamie (ButtonsMagoo) own the Boosh, we just have amazingly mental imaginations!

"Vince!" Howard suddenly called from the lounge, "Why the hell is there sand all over the floor? Where did it come from?" The sound of heels clicking against wooden floors echoed across the hall.


"This sand!"

"Well done." Vince grinned dizzily back at his northern friend.

"Why is it here? You are not turning this place into Blackpool beach, we had enough hassle when you brought back half of Skeggness in your Chelsea boots. Where ever you got this you can take it back." Howard snapped, running his sandal clad feet through a drift of sand piled up by the kitchen door.

"I got it from B&Q but I lost the receipt, so this is ours."

"Well, get it cleared up then! I want to see this place clean by the time I get back."

"Where are you goin?" Vince rolled his eyes and pressed both hands on his hips.

"Jazzercise class sir. Get it cleaned or I'll come at you."

"I'd like you to keep your bodily fluids to yourself thanks very much. And what if don't want to clear this all up? What if I like this sand here.?"

"You'll get it cleaned."

"B- but!"

"No but's do it. I'm off, gonna do some yoga exercises to Charlie Mingus oww chicka chicka!"

"God I can't believe him, who does he think he is? The Sand Police?" Vince muttered to himself as he heard the door to the flat shut. He rooted through the kitchen cupboards for some bin bags and a pan and brush to begin clearing away the sand.

"Oi! What the hell are you doin'?" A tiny squeaky voice called suddenly making Vince jump back slightly.

A pink rubber duck, laying on it back rolled around in the cupboard right in front of the ancient bottle of 'Jif micro-liquid' Vince peered inwards and cocked an eyebrow.

"What the fuck?" He mutterer to himself, prodding the rubber toy with his outstrechted finger, tipping it back on its 'legs'

"Hey! Less of the prodding mate! How'd you like it if I prodded you in the stomach?""Oh sorry... Who are you? And what are you doin under the sink?"

"Never mind that, what are you doin to the sand?"


"I love sand! I was plannin' on goin for a stroll through that when you'd buggered off to bed."

"But ducks like water...Don't they?"

"Oh, not just pretty." The duck sniped, hopping down from the shelf and landing in the pile of sand at the foot of the cupboard.

"I'm a sand duck. Why d'ya think I'm pink eh?"

"Oh... I didn't mean to offend you or any ...uh." Muttered Vince, dumbstruck.

Vince watched the duck as it wriggled around in the pile of sand by the cupboard, it dipped its beak into the grains and flicked some up at Vince's shoes.

"Look, you can't be here when my mate Howard gets back. He's gonna go mental if I don't clean this sand up."

"How about we make a compromise then?"

"What you thinkin' Mister Duck?"

Vince crouched down and looked into the beady drawn on pupils of the pink floundering creature. The duck stopped.

"OI!" It shouted, making vince topple back off his haunches and land comically on his arse. " My name is James mason, don't you be callin' me Mister Duck, cause I'll slash your tyres."

"I... I don't drive."

"Oh... I thought all humans kinda drove machines on wheels."

"Well I don't. Look, I think I've got a way you can be happy and Howard can be happy." A smile played at the tiny duck's rubber mouth.

"Vince? I hope you've cleaned up that sand!" A northern voice called from the stairs, Vince just nodded and smiled to himself as he sat cross legged on the sofa waiting for Howard.

Cheekbone was perched, precariously in Vince's shaking hands, Howard stomped up the stairs, examining the flat with a smile on his face.

"Good boy."

"Boy?! You ain't my dad." Vince laughed, dropping the magazine and turning round to look at Howard.

"Wait, you missed a bit," Howard pointed a finger at a small pile of sand under the coffee table, "Where's the brush?" He turned to the kitchen cupboard and gripped the handles, "Where did you put the sand by the way?"

"No! Howard, don't open th-"

Howard reached down to the silver handle and pulled it open, the sand pouring out the cupboard, the pink duck surfing the orange wave, a pissed expression painted across its rubber face.

"What the hell?" The duck squeaked as it tumbled to the floor.

"- cupboard," Vince finished, smiling. James Mason laid on the floor again on his back.

"Okay, this shit is taking the piss. I hate being on my back I'm not a prostitute, I ain't got my squeak hole open 24/7 roll me over NOW!"


"OKAY! THAT'S IT. ATTACK BOYS!" James shouted, pink , green and yellow ducks began filling out the ovens the windows and the cupboards, followed by crashing plates. The room filled with ducks, squeaking and shouting obscenities at each other, and at Howard.

"BRING ON THE TRUMPETS!" Came a squeaky shout as the fireplace was flooded with colourful rubber ducks. Howard turned around and looked at Vince who was sat on the sofa in awe, as ducks began to drop from the ends of Howard's moustache, joining the various ducks all on the floor.

"VINCE!" Howard screeched, as Vince collapsed to the floor with tears of laughter pouring down his face.